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A TALE OF TWO CITIES AND THE STORY OF A COMMUNITY_____________________________________________________ | |
| Author: | Beinart, Julian |
| In: | For Us |
| Date: | 1962 |
| Pages: | 14-19 |
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JULIAN BEINART To begin with, this is a tale of two cities. Both are Johannesburg. One city is JHBG I and in it live people of all colours, very rich and very poor. The other city is JHBG 2 and in it all are of one colour, all poor. JHBG I is like most cities: half a million people on 90 sprawling square miles (233 square kilometres), neonlight dense in the centre, streetlight thin on the outside. J H BG 2 is unlike any other city: half a million people on 26 square miles (67 square kilometres) of dark sameness, 28 people on every acre (0.4 hactare) for 17000 acres (6.8 hactare). Our twin cities are Siamese twins but unlike other twin cities who hold hands, often across a river, our cities shun each other across a mile of minedump space. Interchange is one-sided. All the people of JHBG 2 cross the gap because they need and want to come to JHBG I. Perhaps 5% of JHBG I — bonafide inquisitives and functionaries armed with permits — return the visits. This is our Johannesburg. No use giving one of the cities another name and forgetting about it. It is still there, not an exurb, not a suburb, but a city, a dormitory, asleep. These are our cities. Apart each dies its own kind of death; one day together again, who knows what it will be? * * * This is also the story of a community. Once upon a time Johannesburg was one city and the community of our story was five miles (8 kilometres) from the city's centre. Unlike its ugly brothers and sisters it had a dull name: Western Native Township. Inside its iron wall, 2000 houses packed eight feet (2.44 metres) apart. In this grid-iron camp, each house had two rooms and an open porch: 400 sq. ft. (37 sq. m) for a family. Houses were born and then rented with no floors, no ceilings, no plaster, no fences, no gardens, no waterborn sewage, no water supply, no electricity. But people came and liked living there. It was near town and that was most important to them. It was cheap and transport was easy. It was near many kinds of shops, a hospital, cinemas, a swimming pool — near also to shebeens and Sophiatown. It was small and they could walk in it. And because they liked being there, they made it a better place in which to be. They built gardens with trees, pergolas, hedges and courtyards. They built gates to announce the entrances and numbers of their houses. And they changed their houses. To make more space they enclosed the open porch and in doing so, produced solid facades facing the street, each 22 ft. (6.7 m) by 7 ft (2.1 m). high. And then to make their houses more beautiful they decorated these street-facing rectangles. Someone started and soon many were doing it. Families of decorations appeared: rising suns, circular blobs, indented rectangles, razor blades, diamonds, quoins. And eccentric shapes as well: smiling faces, trees of life. Colours of every kind, textures rough as gravel, others smooth as plaster. And to keep their world this way they organised themselves. Ways of controlling the young, of stopping the dirtying of streets. Organisations for amusement, political parties, shebeens, stokfels, St. John's brigade. Given the pall of an army camp, they gave it a smiling face. Each man was himself and so each house was itself. Each street was a collection of individuals, variations on a basic rectangle order. Slums occur when pressure to capitulate is greater than resistance to improve. Then people turn away, inwards, and their houses turn away with them. WNT was a community of resistance. Its people looked upwards, and their houses looked outwards. For forty years they smiled at each other, house to house, and house to people. And then the people were moved away and the community died. * * * And so we come back to the tale of our two cities. For two cities meant the death of one community: its resistance, its face and its smiles. Communities are valuable, as valuable as life. Shall we always have cities which destroy communities or shall we construct communities and so build cities? W N T WNT was a place of understanding, cohesion. That is why we used to call it "Thulandisville." The city council used to respond without delay to the pleas and demands WNT residents made. It is because of this that WNT earned itself this name which literally means "O.K. I heard you." We had all the things any community could want — a library, shopping centre, community hall, playgrounds and sportsfield and our famous real avenue — "Roberts Avenue" flanked by trees — it was a favourite for lovers especially on Sunday afternoons. The place was small enough to allow and encourage visiting, a thing that has disappeared here in Moroka. WNT was a fine place. We were a happy and tribeless community. We were happily mixed — Zulus, Xhosas, Sotho, Tswana — the lot. To crown it all we got on very well with Chinese and Coloured in Newclare where we used to do most of our shopping. For instance I got married to a man from Nyasaland. My daughter got married to a Zulu. That's WNT. Today we are separated. There is ethnic grouping. WNT was a lovely place. The beer hall was not far from the location and the beer used to sell like hot cakes. My friends were within easy reach. So was town. I came to Johannesburg in 1929. I had lived in a big house with all the amenities one can think of. When I landed in Johburg I got the shock of my life. I could not understand how people could live, sleep and eat in the same house. But after 33 years I suppose I am used to it now. Since the majority of the people have left WNT all that is gone. These were gay people. They were tidy as well. Today, WNT is filthy. The coloureds do not know what the drain has to be used for. They litter and garbage the streets. Oh! such filth. I think of a butterfly when I look at my design. It's a beauty. It will be a sort of heirloom. We would like to pass it from generation to generation. The neighbours used to call at my house to find out where I had got the bright idea — design. But I did not tell them — I did not want them to copy from me. They admired the pattern. I wanted to be different from the other people in WNT. In addition, I liked the design. Now the design makes me think of tombstones and graveyards. It is a memorial now because WNT is dead. No-one in WNT had used the colour combination I wanted to use. In fact, I saw the colour combination on a kiddie's house — a doll house. The book in which I saw the design was brought home by my husband who works at Whitehall Court, Killarney. Actually the designs were holes in an unoccupied house as depicted in that magazine. The house, we thought, was incomplete because the scaffolding was still there. It just came. I did not even think about it. I thought about it when it had already been done. It reminds me of happiness, because it made my house attractive and it meant and stood for what I could do. I wanted a rough texture from the stone work because I believed the stone would hold the soil together, and make the wall withstand rain and scourging sun rays. As a young girl my mother taught me various tribal designs . . . my mother believed that it was an indispensable facet of my broader education. It has no significant meaning for me. It is merely decorative. The design had a diamond shaped motif. In order to have more space, the verandah was converted into a kitchen. The greater portion of the extension consisted of corrugated-iron. The material was bought at a second-hand building material dealer in Sophiatown. Above the corrugated structure was a window which occupied the central position. Because of the smallness of the kitchen, ventilation was a real problem. To solve this problem, thin pieces of wood were used horizontally and vertically above the corrugated iron base. A window would have been cumbersome and inconvenient for passersby — the kitchen and street were separated by a fence. Therefore, canvas which could be folded and unfolded — like those you find in shop dressing windows — was used. There were three such canvases. The central position — "the window" — had a piece of canvas just above, and the two ventilated areas sandwiching the "window" also had strips of canvas. The three strips of canvas had three different colours — blue, white and red. The ventilation area was painted red and the diamond shapes built into it were painted white. I saw these designs from a neighbour about four or six houses away in WNT. The front view is important. If we decorated the other walls passersby would not be able to see the decorations. We did not have money for interior decoration. Besides, it was not customary to decorate inside walls. The design reminds me of two things: Cyprus trees and the insignia of a diamond card. The block of houses in which I live drew a lot from my designs. They asked the Xhosa man who did my wall to decorate theirs as well. We used to call the decorator "Nyoza" as we did not know his real name. Poor thing — dead now. The houses were the same in WNT — shape and size. I wanted mine to be different. This would leave my children with a memory of the house in which they were born. The builder wanted me to accept a design with a sunrise motif but I declined. I wanted something different and simple. When he showed me his subsequent design, I accepted. I can't say how much I paid for the front wall design. The builder charged me £22 (R44) for plastering the walls, interior and exterior, and for the design. The design meant nothing. I did not want it to have a meaning. I just felt like doing it. Today the design reminds me of all the money I spent on it. Today the design reminds me of a place I had come to call my home; and it gives me a deep longing for my friends. The circle is a typical European art form. They will like our home design for this reason. Many things the whites do are based on the shape of a circle. The ash-tray you are now using; the wheel, the watch. The design reminds me of a Christmas tree. But when looking at it now, I think of a tombstone. The neighbours liked the design, but they wanted to beat me. They wanted to produce something better than what I had done. The design reminds me of my brother who is pretty scarce these days. I haven't seen him for three years. The design makes me appreciate the beauty of art. |
     
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Ritz - renamed Whitehall Court, 1925, Killarney, Johannesburg, Gauteng. pp 18  |