Last night before eviction
NE OF the things that really defined many of our lives was the notorious Group Areas Act.
I still remember that night before we were evicted.
It was a Saturday and I was lying on my bed and looking up at the ceiling and trying to make sense of all this while listening to LM Radio, which came with a crackling sound from Mozambique on our Pilot radiogram.
I still get nostalgic when I hear a crackle on the radio. It also gives me a strong urge to adjust the aerial.
There was no FM in those days. LM Radio came on shortwave 49m band and we had to spend a lot of time adjusting the tuner or rearranging the aerial.
For me those crackles on the airwaves are as memorable as old cracked up black and white photographs.
While lying on my bed, I was listening to the Beatles singing Yesterday and with my mind in turmoil, I was rearranging the lyrics.
Paul McCartney was singing, “Why she had to go… I don’t know why… She didn’t say” and I was thinking, “Why do we have to go…? I don’t know why… They didn’t say!”
My brothers and I were just schoolboys and we were traumatised about moving. We didn’t really care about moving to a place near the sea.
We were devastated about leaving our beloved football grounds, the St Louis Churchyard and the sandy ground on the other end of the road.
We were also devastated about moving away from our favourite bioscope, The Rani Theatre, where our Uncle Billy was the doorman.
We were also devastated about the thought of being separated from our friends and cousins, most of whom were moving to Chatsworth.
We told my parents and grandfather that we didn’t want to move.
They understood, but laughed and said we didn’t have a choice.
We knew that. We just didn’t want to accept it. My brother Charlie and I put a plan together.
We told my parents we will move, but we didn’t want to be a part of the eviction.
We wanted to go from our Clairwood home in the morning to watch a football match, like we normally did on a Sunday, and go back to our new home in Isipingo Beach after the game.
My parents understood how we felt and agreed. They didn’t need our help, anyway. We had a big extended family who took care of that.
We went to New Kingsmead to watch Durban United play Germiston Callies. It wasn’t a big derby game but it was football, and nothing else mattered.
It was easy going to the ground but somehow it didn’t really occur to us how we were going to get to Isipingo Beach after the match.
We caught a bus from Clairwood to the rank near the Victoria Street market and walked to Alice Street to to catch a “Green Mamba” to New Kingsmead.
It was called a “Green Mamba” because it was a green bus. That makes sense.
But the senseless thing is that it was for non-whites only. There was a blue bus for whites.
That wasn’t the end of the colour-coded buses. We were told by some people at the grounds that we must look out for a yellow bus at the rank that went to Isipingo Beach.
That was some helpful advice, but the yellow bus had just left and it was the last bus on a Sunday evening. We did see the yellow bus going and we thought we could catch it in Clairwood.
When we got to Clairwood, we could see the yellow bus, but it took off just as we got off. Charlie and I just looked at each other helplessly. We didn’t play the blame game.
He didn’t say it was my fault and I didn’t say it was his. I realised what an amazing temperament my brother had, which helped him become the football player that he became. I wondered what my parents were thinking at that moment.
Luckily, there were buses going to Isipingo Rail. We decided to catch a bus to Isipingo Rail and then walk to Isipingo Beach.
We had to cross a railway bridge into Prospecton, which was reputed to be dangerous. It was getting dark and we were getting scared, but we managed to cross that bridge and get to a straight road that led to Isipingo Beach.
After a very long and tiring walk, we managed to reach “home” to our grateful parents.
That was the start to another amazing journey.
• Acclaimed cartoonist Nanda Soobben is the founder and creative director of the Centre For Fine Art, Animation & Design (CFAD).