By Matt Guerrieri, Global Healthcare Technologies, Winter 2013
Street in Obs
Dreads, afros, bangs, bobs, corn rows, crew cuts, mohawks, fauxhawks, rattails, mop tops, mullets, braids: if hair means anything- and trust me, it does- Cape Town’s hair says that this city is trendy. In a country desperately grasping at national unity, Capetonians proudly express their individuality on the tops of their heads. Style and dress, too, make loud statements about attitudes and beliefs. Here, they seem to seem to say, “come one, come all.”
Take Munya- tall, thin, dark-skinned with wide-set eyes and an easy smile. His long dreads bounce up and down on his back as he saunters casually down Lower Main. A bumbling group of foreigners trails awkwardly behind him. Obs’ main drag is littered with faded exteriors and dusty windows masking beatnik bars and hip cafes. Record shops, liquor stores, and small boutiques line the haphazard street, decorated with colorfully dressed locals who loiter outside.
“Which direction are we facing,” I ask, “north?”
Munya’s tight, neat dreads twirl as he shakes his head. “I don’t know, man,” he laughs with a shrug. “I only know towards the Mountain and away from the Mountain.”
Munya has lived in Cape Town for eight years and knows the city like the back of his hand. Originally from Zimbabwe, he came with his family to escape the political and economic turmoil of his home country. As we stare across the Cape Flats toward mainland Africa, Munya smiles and pulls something out of his wallet.
“It’s kind of sad,” he says softly, “we used to tease the Zambians- a million Zambian dollars can’t buy you a loaf of bread- but now, things have gone the other way.”
He shows us the Zim fifty billion dollar bill from his pocket.
“What can you get with that?” one of us inquires.
“Nothing,” replies Munya, “just a laugh.”
When asked if he would like to go back after finishing his masters, Munya answers, “Maybe someday- if it gets better. But now, Cape Town is home.”
As we wander through the vibrant city, we can’t go more than a few blocks without running into someone Munya knows. Handshakes, hugs, and friendly greetings are exchanged as we pass a medley of different colored skin, hair, and eyes. The kaleidoscopic crowd moves slowly, flowing aimlessly across streets, through alleys, and in and out of buildings. Our parade slithers and winds around pedestrians, outpacing them, often outpacing our gentle guide. Nevertheless, during the day we manage to miss both a bus and a train. Munya is unfazed. Time, like direction, is a relative thing. Some buses are early; some trains are late. People never hurry; everything gets done on Africa time.
Long passed sunset, we arrive back home and wave goodbye to Munya with promises of seeing each other again soon. Before going to bed, I take a refreshing, cool shower. A big glob of shampoo oozes out of the bottle and plops onto my head. While massaging the viscous solution into my scalp, I begin to wonder, “What does my hair say to people?” (Aside from, perfection of course.)
In truth, the way a person looks can only disclose a superficial insight into his or her personality. However, this mode of self-expression undoubtedly evokes a distinct culture in Cape Town. The city’s youth emanate a bohemian vibe that celebrates diversity, acceptance, and freedom. As everywhere, but particularly here, South Africa’s young people hold the key to a brighter future. Known as the “born-frees,” the first generation of South Africans to have lived without subjection to the oppressive apartheid government has just turned eighteen. The country hopes that from this generation, a new South Africa, unshackled by the bounds of racism, will emerge- that the longstanding animosities of apartheid can at last be replaced by earnest collaborations to alleviate poverty and proliferate justice. It is up to these young Samsons to mend and germinate their wounded country- and to do it in style.