We went to church : Ken Gibbs

ARNISTON FISHERMAN’S COTTAGE

There is a very attractive road across the southern end of South Africa from Cape Town to what used to be called Port Elizabeth (now renamed as Gqeberha – pronounce that if you can !). It starts in the ‘Fairest Cape in all the world’; takes in whale watching near Hermanus; back on to the N2 highway which allows a side trip into the Swartberg Mountains through Meiringspoort and a return over the mountains to the Cango Caves in an area where the indigenous fynbos abounds; rejoining the N2 highway, towards Knysna, then Plettenberg Bay – where you can find pansy shells/sand dollars on the beach; The Tsitsikamma National Park; over the Storms River Bridge where you can, if you are so inclined, go bungee jumping; ending in Gqeberha. All of these places are worthy of a visit and I was very privileged to have been able to wander there in my youth.

PANSY SHELL/SAND DOLLAR

As a young, penniless student, I undertook to hitch-hike from Cape Town University via the Garden Route, thence to Pretoria and onwards to Bulawayo (my home town), which was a trip of around 1,700 miles as a bet that I could do it for less than £ 1.00. In fact, I arrived back home with 4 shillings still in my pocket. Those were the days !

*****

Between Hermanus and George, one can turn south off the N2 towards Bredasdorp where there is a candle making business which, in my time in the area, was doing a lot for women who had few opportunities for employment. It started in one woman’s kitchen as a hobby, where she was given to disappearing “to make a couple-a-candles”, but is now exporting them; and for artists reading this blog, to discover what Kapula Candles does for the local community today, click here. It has transformed the chances for sustainable employment for many women of colour in the area, and is definitely worth a read.

Why should anyone be interested in Bredasdorp, you might ask ? Well, drive a few miles further on to reach Arniston which is on the coast, not too far from the southernmost tip of Africa where, if you climb the steps to the viewing platform of the lighthouse there at Cape Agulhas, you can look due south and know that there is the Indian Ocean to your left, and the Atlantic, to your right.

WHERE OCEANS DIVIDE

Arniston was, at this time, a small community made up of (mostly white) retirees, and ‘coloured’ fisherfolk who lived in cottages, with their menfolk going to sea in decorated wooden rowing boats. The environment seemed to encourage second home ownership, which at this time was almost exclusively for the white section of the population.

 

DECORATED FISHING BOATS

A brother and sister-in-law owned a small, timber built cottage here, which had a verandah from where one could watch francolin drinking from the birdbath, and other birds busy going about their everyday business. It was a short walk from the beach. Life was peaceful.

On my first visit, I decided to try my luck by fishing on the beach. I was the only white person there and was welcomed by the coloured folk who guessed – quite rightly – that I hadn’t done much fishing recently. When I eventually got a bite and hooked a fish – much to my own amazement – there was a rousing cheer as I landed the fish. The nearest fisherman came over to inspect and announced that while it was indeed a fish, it was far too small to keep so I had to unhook it and take it back whence it had come. Not the best start to a glittering career as a surf fisherman ?

Arniston is well known for the fishermen’s cottages which pre-date the arrival of tourists to the area and which are much sought after by artists today as subjects for painting, because of their almost universal appeal. If one adds the sight of the traditional fishing boats which are highly decorated, any picture which includes a fisherman’s cottage or one of the painted boats, can immediately be identified as to its location.

*****

Mention of Arniston is, to us, family. Sandy-white beaches, fishermen concentrating on the feel of a taut line under tall, slender rods, gaudy painted boats, well restored fisherfolk cottages and the visit to the local church. Ah, that left a memory that brings a smile to the face every time.

Naturally, it was Sunday and I cannot recall whether our consciences were troubled or we were troubled because our consciences weren’t troubled, but whatever the case, we went to the local church which was mostly attended by fisherfolk. Because most of them were part indigenous, our less than well sunburned skins gave us away as foreign visitors. Accordingly, the pastor started the service – in English – to welcome his visitors (looking at us), and apologizing that the service was going to be in Afrikaans. Luckily, my brother-in-law was able to thank him in fluent Afrikaans indicating that we had expected no different, and were here for the event, not the language in which it was conducted. From some of the murmurs around us, it seems that the congregation both respected their pastor and were also happy to see us amongst them. The service started.

Some minutes into the service, there was some commotion outside which marked the progress of a woman who was intent on attending the service along with us all, and presently, she found her way into one of the back pews from where she started berating the pastor. It was obvious that she was still with the drink taken – probably from the night before – and was also likely to be a lady of easy virtue well known in the community. The pastor answered her with great patience seemingly as if he’d done this many times before. We visitors were having some difficulty maintaining our decorum as all we wanted to do was to laugh out loud, so incongruous was the situation. After a number of loud comments from the back pews and some soft responses from the pastor, it seemed that he felt it was time to move on, and he asked a couple of sidesmen if they could help her back to her home so she could “rest”. More commotion with the pastor apologising to us with protest sounds off as the woman and her “helpers” made progress away from the church. What was so remarkable about the affair was that despite the disruption, the pastor kept his cool throughout and never mentioned a word of reproach. Small wonder the congregation respect him, as we did that day. Life in the raw, for sure.

So, if Arniston is part of your tourist itinerary, come equipped with a good camera, be willing to be accepted into the community, and be ready for some interesting surprises; and attend church to see true humanity at work. UNICEF could take a leaf out of any book about Bredasdorp or Arniston - and be the better for it, where actions speak louder than words.

*****