Robben Island

We went to the Waterfront District today for a little shopping, a little bite of local cuisine (bobotie  - a Cape Malay dish of curried beef with a custard topping), and to catch the ferry to Robben Island.  Robben Island is famous (or infamous) as the prison where Nelson Mandela and other ANC leaders were held for many years.  The ferry ride was EXTEMELY choppy, and Clif was about 30 shades of green by the time we arrived at the island.

The tour of the island involved a bus tour where we saw some of the buildings used as prisons, as well as the houses for the wardens.  We also saw our first penguin on the bus tour.  The second part of the tour was inside the prison itself, and the guides were former political prisoners.  Our guide was named Sparks, and he was held in Robben Island for seven years.  He showed us the courtyard where the prisoners ate their meals and had some exercise time.  It is also the place where Nelson Mandela hid his manuscript for The Long Walk to Freedom, his autobiography.

We saw the cramped cell where Mandela slept.  He had three blankets - one to lay on, one for a pillow, and one for a blanket.  There was no cot or bed, just a blanket on the hard floor.  There was no glass on the window, so the cold winter rain came right through to where the prisoners were sleeping.  They had a bucket for a toilet, and they were responsible for carrying their buckets to the other side of the prison to dump them every morning.  The prisoners were fed differently, depending on their race.  The black prisoners were given less food and less variety than the other prisoners.

The most fascinating place to see was the limestone quarry where the prisoners worked for 8 hours a day for 13 years.  Originally, the wardens wanted the limestone to pave the roads on the island, but once that project was completed, they continued to have the prisoners dig and move the limestone around the quarry simply as a way to keep them busy.  The highlight of the day for them was lunchtime, when they moved to a cave to get out of the sun and to have conversation.  The literate prisoners taught the illiterate ones how to read and write during the lunch break.

It was an usual experience to go to a museum where the history was still so fresh and the people who lived it were there to tell their stories.  It made the whole thing seem like it was just yesterday when they were released.  And it made me wonder, what must it be like to spend your days in your former prison, telling your story over and over again to tourists who seem more concerned with taking your picture than hearing what you are really saying?