Port Elizabeth - Names may change but places remain

“The Herald” editorial of 15 March 2023 is flawed in its assertion that we should “just accept it ”— that Port Elizabeth was renamed to Gqeberha.

Two years ago, in a controversial and disputed process, the National Minister of Arts and Culture acted without a legislative basis (Government gazette 44181 of 23 February 2021) to approve the change of name from Port Elizabeth to Gqeberha, despite the objections of thousands of citizens and a democratically elected City leadership.

The fact of the matter is that Port Elizabeth is still Port Elizabeth, as it is duly so named in terms of the National Ports Acts, 2005 (regulation R11 of 22 January 2010).

By any interpretation — nationally or internationally — Port Elizabeth, still exists. But, before those mandarins of geographic renaming descend on Transnet clamouring for more name changes, we would be well advised to consider the meaning of gqeberha.

The geographic renaming process has failed us by imposing a name where the meaning of gqeberha is largely unknown.

A range of interpretations of gqeberha exist.

The name change proponent, Boy Lamani, viewed it as the Xhosa name for Walmer township, while others see it as the Khoisan name for the Baakens river.

Some maintain that it means “taaibos” (Searsia pyroides) and others maintain that the name comes from UnGqeba, a tree used for assegai shafts (Buddleja saligna).

Bizarrely, others interpret it as the isiXhosa name for Queen Elizabeth!

Submissions made by the Historical Society of Port Elizabeth to the South African Geographic Names Council for information on the meaning of the name remain unanswered.

But, the meaning of gqeberha is in fact well established.

It refers to a wetland plant — Phragmites australis — the common reed, which is the most widely distributed angiosperm (flowering species) in the world.

In isiZulu its known as umhlanga, the name of that well-known seaside resort in KwaZulu-Natal — UMhlanga — situated on the Ohlanga river with its large stands of common reed.

In Port Elizabeth, gqeberha was anglicised as Kabega and applied to the Northern tributary of the Baakens river above Frames Drift.

Later, isiXhosa residents applied it to the wetlands and commonage area at the headwaters of the Hume river, popularly known as Walmer township or Gqeberha.

Gqeberha is a wetland plant, like cacadu (Bulrush or Typha capensis), a name once foisted on the former Western District municipality, and subsequently changed to the Sarah Baartman municipality.

A sceptical public, seeing the wasteful expenditure of changing names from Western District, to Cacadu, to Sarah Baartman, can thus be excused for questioning the economics of name changes when three names have been used over the past twenty years, at considerable expense to the taxpayer!

Ironically, urbanisation has destroyed the very wetlands upon which the gqeberha plant was so dependent, and we continue to do so.

Instead of using gqeberha as a metaphor for sustainability and wetland conservation, our lifestyles continue to destroy more wetlands, while paying lip service to the real meanings of the political narrative which is driving renaming.

Where gqeberha was once a wetland plant providing cultural, ecological, household, medicinal and sustenance services, we have — and continue to — dump waste, housing, canalised stormwater, and sewage systems in the wetlands, destroying the very ecological processes which historically sustained communities.

The wetlands of the Hume, Baakens, and Papenkuils rivers — and many more — have been systematically destroyed, and names such as Smelly Creek are now commonplace.

The Papenbiesjies fontein wetlands (Hume river) nourished a city, and are now home to the pollution of manganese stockpiles and leaking bulk fuel storage facilities, which continue to destroy our city centre, pollute our groundwater, and threaten our marine environments.

Placemaking is a central concern of geographic renaming, and it is here where the name of Gqeberha has failed dismally.

Renaming has become an instrument of legitimating a failing state, whilst imposing “his” or “her” story upon a history which should be a sum of all possible histories, for those of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

But, before the mandarins embark with renewed vigour on renaming the Port of Port Elizabeth to the Port of Gqeberha, they should consider the satirical, social, and economic implications of naming our port a Port of Reeds.

A history which encompasses the sum of all possible histories, of the wetland heritage of Gqeberha, a port of love and prosperity, and a sustainable future is not only desirable, but infinitely attainable.

Only one thing retards us — us.