Close to the sky in IY
Imizamo Yethu in Hout Bay has its ups and its downs, and a preacher-turned-journalist who is telling its stories
In March 2017, the worst shack fire in Cape Town’s history killed four people, razed more than 3,500 shacks and left 15,000 people homeless. Two years on, many Imizamo Yethu fire victims remain in limbo, with entire families still living in temporary 3m x 3m shacks. Relief for them is at least another two years away. Walking through Imizamo Yethu (known as “IY” in these parts) I can, for a moment, imagine I am in a quaint Italian village. The alleyways are narrow, the ground is cobbled underfoot, and the view is wonderful. The moment passes quickly, because I’m walking along a path carved by sewage, slipping on rocks that channel effluent downhill, bordered by shack walls made of sheet metal and pilfered road signs. The view, however, remains wonderful because IY looks onto prime real estate. Sol Kerzner’s impressive home is on the opposite slope, and a leafy valley below resounds with the clip-clop of horseback riders. Up here in IY, the metal walls on my left bounce to the beat of reggae music and the walls opposite vibrate with the passion of gospel. As a bishop of the Salem Apostolic Church in Zion, IY resident Owen Xubuzane finds salvation in preaching, which sometimes involves night-long vigils followed by baptisms at sunrise. He is also an intern teacher at the local Silikamva High School, and he is IY’s citizen journalist.
Trained by the nonprofit Cape Digital Foundation, Xubuzane is the presenter, cameraman and editor of IY
TV. With a cellphone and a basic editing app, he makes daily online broadcasts about everything from budding musical talent to the plight of fire victims in the Temporary Relocation Area (TRA), which is where we are heading. We have just interviewed a tattoo artist, Joseph, in his shack at the top of IY. He spoke to us through a haze of sweet-smelling smoke while stabbing a new design into the skin on his ankle using orange ink and a sewing needle.
From the highest vantage point at the top of IY the aspect is spectacular. Those who have to defecate up here when the council toilets are bunged up or broken, which is often, at least have the view to distract them.
Down at the bottom of IY the sewage eventually exits the alley and fans out onto a flight of steps leading to a traffic circle. Here, luxury 4x4s towing horseboxes are joined on the road by amaphela (“cockroaches”, the nickname for informal taxis) in the cheek-by-jowl mix of wealth and poverty that is Hout Bay.
We pass a small cafe on the right where local tour guide Kenny Tokwe has lunch and meets tourists with a philanthropic bent, then we pass row upon row of portable toilets and enter the TRA. Compared to the labyrinth of metal shacks on the higher slopes, it is regimented, uniform, like a refugee camp.
After the 2017 fire, concerned citizens engaged with the city council to ensure such a tragedy never happened again. They recognised the need for better infrastructure, better housing, and better access by road so emergency vehicles could reach the area. Lack of access was the key factor in why the damage was so bad two years ago.
At the core of the new plan is an initiative called super-blocking. The area affected by fire would be rezoned and afforded better infrastructure such as roads, sanitation and buried electricity connections. During that time affected residents would move into a TRA built on municipal land.
Families of four or more were allocated two of the 3m-square shacks that could be joined together. Some families weren’t so lucky.
Outside one 3x3 I meet Khowulezile Mcaphukisi, who is breast-feeding her baby. She invites me in to meet her husband and older daughter. The baby is put tenderly on the bed next to two sleeping toddlers. Another two children are on their way back from school, making a total of eight who share this small space.
Xubuzane is reporting the stories of the people in the 3x3s. While I am there, he interviews residents who are collecting water. They turn on the tap at the end of a row of toilets and brown water gushes out. We wait
Thousands are perched on the slopes in shacks more derelict and flimsy than those they replaced