Cape Town documentary film-maker Isalee Jacobson was not impressed with the reintegration of immigrants in Khayelitsha.
Tuesday, June 10 was to be ”reintegration day”, according to the Western Cape authorities. Khayelitsha would throw a huge celebration, people would stop working, a sheep would be slaughtered and the foreigners sheltered in community halls would again set up house among their smiling, welcoming neighbours.
The trouble was, most of the refugees were too frightened to go back.
Seven community halls house the remaining fugitives; 500 chose to remain rather than go back to their home countries, run the gauntlet of returning to the township or move to the camps in and around Cape Town.
Most are Zimbabweans, with a scattering of Malawians, Congolese, Mozambicans and Nigerians.
Refugee representatives attended a preparatory meeting with Khayelitsha police commissioner David Molo, who told them reintegration day would be a ”beautiful” event and the township would be an example to the rest of the country.
This was not enough for Mahad Omar, the Somalian representative, who wanted to assure local Somali shopowners that police would protect them. Molo told him that an ANC counsellor, whom he names as Bevu, would provide details of police stations and contact numbers.
Representatives from Médécins Sans Frontières and someone called Mike from the Treatment Action Campaign (TAC) complained that the talk had led to nothing concrete. The feeling was that the police had been ordered to clear the halls and would do so at any cost. Two other refugee representatives at the meeting, Juma and Obert, reported back to the committee at Andile Msizi Hall. They told the committee members there would be no police protection for people going back to the townships.
Asked about compensation for their destroyed and stolen possessions, they reported Molo’s flippant remark that, after all, Zimbabweans had come to South Africa with nothing.
The committee members reacted violently. If the police would not protect them, they would be forced to fight back. Juma was pragmatic: the police in South Africa have so little control over crime that one shouldn’t expect them to protect foreigners. But he didn’t know what advice to give the people: returning to the townships might be a death warrant.
Reintegration Day dawned and the residents of the halls were collected and herded off to OR Tambo Hall for the festivities. Obert pointed to the police band and wondered what they were doing here — he hadn’t come to be entertained.
The programme was slow to start, there was a long wait for a representative from Western Cape Premier Ebrahim Rasool’s office. Instead, a local pastor apologised on behalf of the community and suggested that the various groups sing their national anthems.
The TAC’s Mike was angry that the government could throw this party when they hadn’t bothered to re-educate local residents, who continued to assault foreigners.
The announcement that home affairs department representatives were present caused people to rush to a table manned by officials to find out about their future. The officials said they were only there to distribute pamphlets.
Rasool’s representative eventually arrived and talked about everyone living under one African sky. ”No road is easy,” he pointed out.
A refugee who called himself Bazooka went up to the podium to highlight the issues of security, food, permits and a potential backlash on June 16, Youth Day. There was no response to these concerns. ‘
After the programme ended at 3pm, lunch — a single hotdog roll each — was served. The government officials went off to a private room for sandwiches and chicken.
Among the foreigners, the atmosphere was bleak. They came in good faith and left with empty promises.