A Humble Piece Of Earth

Route 67 is a source of pride in South African history A Earth of Piece Humble

By Andrew Howarth

On a grey afternoon not uncommon for a winter morning in coastal South Africa, a group of 11 gathers under the King Edward Hotel portico in Port Elizabeth. All but one are unfamiliar with Route 67, the colourful set up that commemorates

Nelson Mandela’s 67 years of public work.

Each of us came with an expectation, and each would leave with our own perspective.

There was a lot to take in on this journey down the Donkin Reserve hill.

What I learnt was more philosophical in spite of the enriching bouquet of facts, figures and questions posed by our enthusiastic tour guide.

Entering Route 67, we are welcomed by a coral tree, ancient and iridescent against the opaque sky. The coral trees are a testament to indigenous resilience. They dot the roads, parks and schools with their signature flare of burning orange petals and bright red beans. The tree provides a natural disinfectant, and pre-colonial people used its leaves for teeth cleaning. The beans are collected by children as keepsakes and said to bring good luck. They embody the childhood joy and memories of many adults who grew up on the Eastern Cape.

Beaded mosaics mark the floor in various patterns, symbolically ambiguous. The beads flow from styles prominent in different cultures, often fairly removed from one another. However, they all seem to meet in intimate lines, making it difficult to distinguish one’s culture from another’s.

Around the Donkin Reserve, the refurbished Victorian district looks new with fresh paint, clean streets, artwork and restored wooden and brick structures. An island of reinvention amidst the grimy workings of Central — a blossom amongst decay. The hotel where we started has been preened and polished in an ambitious move to reform the decrepit waste to which this historic suburb has been subjected.

Port Elizabeth is a city of understated romance. Born in an era of colonial stratagem, it has been inhabited by many cultures, all leaving their distinctive histories. The Donkin monument shoulders its lighthouse. It was built during the 1820s by Sir Rufane Donkin, governor of Cape Colony, as an expression of his devotion to his wife who died of scarlet fever in India and did not have a proper burial. The monument is inscribed, “To the memory of

Photo by Chris Allen

This statue depicts a man called Prester John, said to be a descendant of the Three Magi, in conversation with a Portuguese explorer. Prester John also was alleged to have been a crusader-era Christian king in Ethiopia — or a Mongol from the time of Genghis Khan.

one of the most perfect human beings who has given her name to the town below.”

As I walk along the tiles depicting traits Africa has assumed, I reflect on how a man who thinks someone is so perfect could not be far off himself if he goes to this length for another, and then I look right and see the metal effigy of Nelson Mandela — a man with one hand raised and the other at the height a child could grasp, a man who devoted himself to a nation. South Africa has been his Donkin.

Mandela spent 67 years in political service to a nation that did not always regard him. He spent nearly three decades imprisoned for his anti-apartheid stance. Mbeki, Sisulu, Tambo, Biko — Luthuli men of character were vital in the liberation — are not held in as great esteem as Mandela who became South Africa’s first president elected in a fair election.

History cannot be measured, calculated or explained. It is intrinsically gathered from experience and stored to memory. Thus, to broach sensitive topics in our nation’s history is difficult, and I wonder whether my friends from Mississippi comprehend the heaviness of some of the topics, the sombre notes in comments, the political defences or the tactful remarks. In their experience with us, I wonder what their understanding is of our shared memories. I wonder if all contexts are understood because of the sheer mass of content encumbered in those brief but elaborate conversations, debates and sometimes arguments.

If my non-African friends are to take one thing from Africa, let it be that South Africa is not done with its turbulent transition.

We speak at length about the means of expressing what is and what has been. “Where is our space? What defines where we belong?” We address the issue of a stolen history, one that our elders are too frightened or ashamed to talk about and our governments too reluctant to put in curriculum.

Route 67 is a bold step toward a history for South Africa, one that combines a nation’s heritage — diverse and disputed as it evolves into a shared knowledge.

Route 67 is by no means a grand tourist attraction. There are no ornate decorations or intricate scaffolding, no stained glass or architectural breakthroughs. It is simple — a humble piece of earth set aside for the creativity of South Africans. Indeed, it is a source of pride in the creation of a South African history.