I dunno. It might be time to think about moving down to the coast again. Not just in the sense of those dark-skinned, sun-dried white tramps who used to hike down
towards Durban at the first hint of winter. In a more permanent sense.
It is true that the threat of winter makes Johannesburg a highly unattractive proposition at around this time of the year. But it is also true that Durban is becoming more attractive in its own right these days, which is the way it was always supposed to be.
When I was a boy, you see, we used to go down to Durbs on the steam train, riding in a wood-lined second-class carriage that smelled of soot and crackling leather. We would get on the train at Johannesburg’s Park Station in the evening, run up and down the corridors in our pyjamas as it hauled off into the night, and wake up to find the long line of carriages curling through the Valley of a Thousand Hills, chugging effortlessly down towards the Indian Ocean.
There were waterfalls tumbling down the hills and staggering mountains all over the place, and thick vegetation and choking black smoke from the coal engine at the front as you leaned illegally out of the windows to take it all in. Ah, yes, those were the days.
Durban, and I suppose KwaZulu-Natal in general, is kind of different from the rest of the country. It has that thick, lazy atmosphere that makes you suddenly think that you are in Africa, after all. It is definitely not like Joburg or Cape Town or, God forbid, Bloemfontein. And that is why the tsotsis and the black bourgeoisie like us used to find no problem in making their way down there over the Christmas holidays and at Easter, or just for the hell of it anyway.
I guess the old Durbs took a dive at some stage. Professor Jeff Guy took the trouble to chastise me a year ago when I wrote about the sad decline of downtown Durban. I was regretting the rundown features of its formerly flashy Fifities architecture, and the tattered feathers of its rickshaw drivers, once a proud and prancing race, now just a few guys desperately punting for business where there is virtually none to be had.
A recent revisit of Durban shows me that that picture is still pretty much the same. But there are other interesting developments in the mix now, which is why I say that the Banana Republic might once again be a serious contender if one finally does decide on relocating — even if it’s just for the duration of the Highveld winter.
True, there are still the usual symptoms of poverty and desperation that rub up against you almost everywhere you turn. There are street kids and brain-crazed drug addicts of all ages. The refreshing thing about Durban is that the druggies are of all races too. Desperation shows no signs of racial discrimination down here — at least not in the city centre. (On the fancy North Coast it’s a different story, of course.)
In downtown Durban I was approached by an Indian child of approximately 10 years of age who thrust a handwritten letter in my face. It read: ‘Dear Sir / Madam, Please help this child who is not with her family. Her father died last year, same like her mother. Any donation you can give her will be gratefully received. God bless you and all your family!”
It was something of a Dickensian scenario. It also had attractive elements of low drama. If the child had no family, who had written the letter? And of course, along with the comical unlikeliness of it all came an element of tragedy. For an adult to send a child out to beg in the streets is the trough of desperation, and it is not pleasant to witness it anywhere in the world, manifested by whatever race.
Well, it’s going to be a long time before we eradicate poverty anywhere. But what was refreshing about Durban this time round was that, amidst all this grimness, there seemed to be a new mood of brightness and optimism. Stuff is beginning to happen.
There is, for example, the new harbour development that has taken a cue from the success of its Cape Town Waterfront role model, but has a user-friendly feel that is all its own.
For a start, it is located on the edge of Durban harbour, which is still a working port. There is something special about sitting at a restaurant gazing out towards the ocean and seeing actual working vessels, ranging from tramp steamers to
magnificent ocean liners, easing in or being eased back out by hard working little tugs. It brings back to me some of the excitement of old Durban — the harsh realities of real life blended in with the languid sensations of a sea resort where it is pretty much summer the whole year round.
Things are buzzing. The joint seems to be jumping. And when there is a fresh spirit of optimism and a new sense of belonging in the eyes of the locals, it somehow seems to throw a new light over the whole environment. You see in sharp relief, for example, some of the more beautiful features of the city, tucked in among its uglier façades.
Most of downtown Durban looks rather like an extended version of
Johannesburg’s Hillbrow — block after block of unimaginative apartment blocks, all gone to seed, dilapidated, abandoned by the white middle classes that they were
originally intended for.
But Durban also has the distinction of being home to some of the finest examples of art deco architecture in the world. You see these peeping out as you look up at its skyline in the extraordinary coastal light. In there among the dross, signs of artistry, grace and civilisation.
Durban is definitely different. Its racial mix, whatever Mbongeni Ngema might say, is part of its charm.
So, yes, stuff is starting to happen down in Thekwini. And if we can get it right in Durban, we might well be on the way to getting it right in the rest of this turbulent land.
John Matshikiza is a fellow of the Wits Institute for Social and Economic Research
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