The Warmth of Other Suns

                                        

I have been immersed in Isabel Wilkerson's book, an account of the decades-long migration of black citizens who fled the South for the northern and western cities, in search of a better life between 1910 and 1970. This epic story covers an exodus of six million people but Wilkerson follows the journey of three main characters, each representing a different decade of the Great Migration: Ida Mae Gladney (1930s), a share-cropper's wife who left Mississippi for Chicago, George Starling (1940s), the valedictorian of his "coloured" high school class in Florida who escaped lynching in Florida and landed up in New York and Robert Foster (1950s), a Morehouse-educated  surgeon from Louisiana who finds himself in California. 

Wilkerson writes easily about difficult subjects - I was shocked at the brutality of the conditions they were escaping and I had no idea of the extent of what she calls the Great Migration, before I went to the MoMA on our recent visit to the USA.  

Wilkerson's mother left rural Georgia and her father southern Virginia to settle in Washington, D.C., so she has a personal interest in this story. She has done a great job of bringing the stories to life and recording it for generations to come. In her Epilogue she mentions some of the many well-known children of people who left the South to give their children the opportunity to grow up free. These include Toni Morrison, Michelle Obama, Serena and Venus Williams, Michael Jackson, Diana Ross and Oprah Winfrey.

     

Michelle Obama 

Oprah Winfrey

                                                     
I was deeply moved by this work of narrative non-fiction which humanises a history of race, class and politics. It is the author's revelation of the personal details of the struggles of ordinary men and women which brings this story alive.

The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson is published by Vintage Books.

For more on the Migration in this blog, see Jacob Lawrence and the Migration Series

Image of book cover from: http://isabelwilkerson.com/

Images of Obama and Winfrey courtesy of www.shutterstock.com 

Our Blended Heritage

The entrance to the Castle of Good Hope

Since Eidul-Adha*, or the Feast of Sacrifice, falls on Heritage Day this year, I thought I would share a little of our Cape Malay history.

The Slave Lodge 

Soon after Jan van Riebeeck arrived in the Cape, slavery was introduced to satisfy the Dutch East India Company’s need for labour. After an initial shipment of slaves from West Africa, slaves were imported from the east coast of Africa, Madagascar, Mauritius, Ceylon, India, the Malay Peninsula and the islands that make up modern Indonesia. 

For the following 180 years, South Africa was a slave state. Although the slaves were not associated with Malaysia, they spoke Malay, a kind of universal language from the area. The Nationalist Party government in all their wisdom introduced the Population Registration Act in 1950, whereby they divided the “coloured” people into seven (yes, 7) subgroups, one of which was the Cape Malay group.

Some early 20th century  Muslims in the Cape
(courtesy of the Simonstown Heritage Museum)

Many of them were political exiles and skilled craftsmen – carpenters, tailors, and cooks, who were able to earn a living and eventually buy their freedom and settled in the area known as the Bo-Kaap. Many of the slaves managed to hold onto their Muslim faith and culture and even though there was intermarriage, their religion and culture kept them together. 

Young Bo-Kaap residents

Bo-Kaap street 

Perhaps most representative of the blended history of the Cape is Malay cuisine – predominantly Indonesian in origin, the dishes have been influenced by India (curries, rotis, samoosas), Netherlands (baked puddings tarts and biscuits, e.g. melktert to which they added their own nutmeg or cinnamon), and the French Huguenots (preserves); exotic spices have been added to create dishes like bobotie, pickled fish and sosaties and accompaniments of sambals and blatjangs.

*Eidul-Adha, or the Feast of Sacrifice is celebrated about 70 days after Ramadan at the completion of the hajj, or pilgrimage to Mecca - . A young goat or lamb is sacrificed to commemorate Allah’s command to the prophet Ebrahim (or Abraham), to sacrifice his son. The meat from this animal is distributed to the needy, family and friends. 

Read more: 

Echoes of Slavery: Voices from South Africa’s Past by Jackie Loos, published by David Philip 

The Cape Malay Cookbook by Faldela Williams, published by Struik

For more on Heritage in this blog, see also:
The Slave  Route Challenge 
Celebrating Africa
Lavender, Potjiekos and Travel 
Orpheus in Africa 
Walking through History 

Stories that will never be demolished

Rows of street names in front of wall-hangings recording
memoriesof the vibrant community which once was District Six

I'm not sure how museums will survive the digital age but I can't imagine that viewing images on a screen will evoke the same emotions that I experience whenever I step into the District Six Museum. For me, it's like settling into an old, comfortable chair and turning the pages of the family photo album and setting off a chain of memories. Perhaps it's the familiarity of the area - situated opposite the Sacks Futeran Building where I remember going with my parents to buy clothes and fabric, around the corner from the Grand Parade and the Castle. Of course, it's also across the road from the Caledon Police Station where many of us got arrested in the "old days". 

The Caledon Police Station

Maybe it's the energy which has seeped into the walls of the former Methodist Church which reminds me of the chapel on the hill in the old Zonnebloem complex, where my brothers and I went to school, me in my green dress with white collar and Panama hat, them in their grey shorts and white shirts. Whatever it is, I love going back and this morning an overseas visitor provided an excuse to for another visit. However painful the memories of living during apartheid may be, the exhibition at the museum humanises the experiences while celebrating the rich diversity of people who once lived in the area. 

When I see the barber's corner, the display case with the games we played in the road, the photographs of the Peninsula Maternity Home where my sister was born, the familiar recipes on the wall, or the wall-hanging with the name of the rugby team my father played for, I feel that our lives mattered. Most of all though, when I walk up the stairs to the wall that bears the names of families who lived there and I scroll down to find mine, I feel that our experiences have been validated and dignified.

                            

As the byline on the museum brochure says: 60 000 stories that will never be demolished.

You may also like: 

Healing Memories of District Six

The Fatal Attraction of The Abbey Bookshop

The Abbey Bookshop was a serendipitous discovery. We had been looking for a place to eat after wandering around Notre Dame Cathedral and headed to the Latin Quarter. It was the Canadian flag, flapping in the damp, chilly breeze (Paris in July!?), that we noticed first.

     

We approached the near-toppling towers of books hesitantly, but with more interest when I saw the English names on the book spines, and the narrow stone steps which seemed to lead underground. Signs indicating different genres hung from the ceiling or were pasted onto the front of bookshelves which formed a narrow maze of aisles. I’m not exaggerating when I say that we had to sidle sideways down the aisle if a new customer came in.

This was dangerous territory ... and I don’t mean the books threatening to fall down and bury us if we made a wrong move. I’m notorious for returning from trips, suitcase laden with books that I simply had to buy because I wouldn’t be able to get them at home. I spied a hardcover, which looked like a children’s picture book, but, on closer inspection, revealed the words of a Leonard Cohen song, illustrated with paintings by Henri Matisse. “This will be a good memento of our visit,” I said to my daughter, determined to stay strong.

She, however, had been lured down another aisle after crime fiction titles. So, what could I do, but ask the assistant where the travel books were? “Down the next aisle, behind the ladder,” she pointed.  And there they were…Colin Thubron, Pico Iyer, Jan Morris, Paul Theroux…Egypt, China, Japan, Turkey and Venice. Above that, names that had been thrown about in our writing class – Raymond Carver, Italo Calvinho…I felt like I had died and gone to literature heaven!

My daughter meanwhile was being instructed to move shelves to find what she wanted…shelves that slid along tracks to reveal more shelves behind them. We didn’t stand a chance.* We finally made it to the till, me trying to keep my eyes averted from the book on Cuba I couldn’t possibly have found at home.

“Time to find lunch and pore over our purchases,” I said to my daughter. The assistant, with a deft sideways manoeuvre, pulled out a leaflet from under her desk (probably the only place she could keep them) and asked, “Would you like some recommendations for something French?” So, we did find what we were looking for after all. 

*we really didn’t stand a chance; the bookshop was celebrating 25 years and 40 000 books!

Orpheus in Africa

South Africa’s rich legacy of music can be traced back to the 17th century when the indigenous Khoi people first played European folk songs on a ramkie, the guitar-like Malay instrument, and fashioned their dances on those of the Dutch. Country estates had orchestras made up of slaves. In fact, music was a highly valued skill which could ensure a higher price for a slave. The Malays, who were brought to the Cape from the East Indies by the Dutch, blended their music with Dutch colonial ballads. Coloured labourers brought to work on the diamond mines in Kimberley combined their own music styles with that of Africans who they came into contact with. 

The Lutheran missions and the Salvation Army contributed to the development of African choral traditions, the most famous example of this heritage being Enoch Sontonga’s Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika which came to symbolise the struggle for African unity and liberation in SA. The fact that the missionaries offered free musical education was a major attraction. 

Another influence on local music was minstrelsy, which took hold after McAdoo’s American Jubilee Singers toured SA at the end of the 19th century. Their influence can still be seen in Cape Town’s annual coon carnival. But it was jazz that would influence and shape most black music, from mbaqanga, marabi (shebeen music) to the penny whistle or kwela craze.  Rather than simply copying American jazz, Ian Smith (musician and director of the Delft Big Band) believes that the Cape Town sound evolved from the minstrels, the slaves, and the Malay choirs. [extract from paper on music as resistance]

In his book In Township Tonight! David B, Coplan, paid tribute to the musicians and composers who contributed to the cultural and spiritual quality of black life during apartheid, giving expression to the their lives under apartheid. His book explores the history of music in SA from indigenous traditions, slave orchestras, gumboot dancers and minstrels to the birth of jazz. 

I missed it earlier this year, but David Kramer's Orpheus in Africa returns to the Fugard Theatre on 22 September. It tells the little-known story of Orpheus McAdoo, who toured South Africa in the late 19th century with his Jubilee Singers. It runs until 31 October but the first season was sold out so book early.