After a recent 5-day International Conference – Freedom Our Responsibility by the Lyndi Fourie Foundation – at the University of the Free State, the organisers arranged a trip to Platfontein, in the Northern Cape. The San community in this neglected settlement have a painful history that goes back to the days when some of the men were trackers for the apartheid army in Namibia. Changing times meant they were treated like discarded army surplus and dumped in a makeshift settlement. Two decades after democracy they are still battling to build a viable community. Questionable tourism exploits bring some income and sometimes a confused gaze. Our University of the Free State student writers Lerato Molisana and Palesa Morei refused to tow the tourism line and compiled this outstanding multimedia story.
Lerato Molisana
Lerato Molisana writes…
We leave carrying nameless faces in our cameras. Snapshots of a history told in painful spectacle. Dances and displays of a culture they tell us is ‘vanishing’. We shoot video clips but can’t explain the feelings of embarrassment.
The clicks in the San language are sharp and angular. There is no translator to round it out into something we understand. The tongue meeting mouth tones mock our efforts to connect. I rely on my intuition to make sense of what I see at the !Xum Cultural Village in Platfontein.
We travel there for 2 ½ hours by bus. Tyres aggressively bonding with the sandy road and churning up dust. The children don’t mind the fine powdery sand in their faces. They run towards the bus with smiles and an uncontainable excitement. We stop at the entrance and the children crowd around us.
So far it is a scene I’ve seen played out on TV shows and in documentaries. I always cringe. The girl in the blue anorak could be me in my primary school days. Her mates could easily be doubles for my childhood friends. So why am I here?
Each delegate steps from the bus into the dust, their sleek city shoes triggering a power play. I don’t know why but my heart begins to hurt. Instincts struggling with the tableau. Intentional or not, there is a tangible sense of supremacy. People who have come from far away places to soak in the rich culture of the “African” people. A spectacle to take home.
I step out of the bus in a rush, driven by discomfort. I hurry past the children. Putting distance between myself and the others. When I stop to think about what I am doing a shaky inner voice, lacking in confidence, says: “I don’t want to participate in patronising dialogue, flashing a smile and a camera at ‘them’ with a language barrier between us”.
I feel overwhelmed as I step into the dusty mud homesteads that make up the “cultural village”. All my senses become occupied, very busy. Singing and dancing. Children giggling. Women adorned with bright beads. Colourful artefacts laid out on the ground, flea market style. A show to celebrate the !Xum people’s culture. I should feel a festive excitement. The spectacle has been laid on especially for us. But my heart is not fooled. I make a conscious decision to let my intuition guide me. The language barrier prevents the words that could so easily escape mouths to power fake smiles.
A female elder claps her hands to accompany the singing. I can see the fatigue in their limbs as they dance. Young girls looking distant. Bodies going with the motion but minds seem to be elsewhere. The louder the singing becomes, the deeper the gloom that descends. They mask it with smiles that don’t go all the way. Their cold smiles nudge my tears and just before it flows I break away from the group. I am baffled by my reaction. As I stand near a fence I notice elderly women, behind one of the mud houses, changing into modern clothing. With no privacy they’ve developed a skilful way of quickly getting out of their traditional attire, while ensuring that they stay covered. There is probably another equally nimble means they use to switch from this charade to real life when we are gone.
After pulling myself together and rejoining the group, I stand next to a fellow visitor. She sounds South African. I am carrying a small bag with my essentials – cellphone, wallet, pen and notebook. Slung across my chest, loosely I don’t pay much attention to it.
“Watch out for your bag. Clutch it as close to you as you can. It’s not safe here,” the woman says. I can sense her genuine unease. I look from her to the girl with the blue jacket. Faces from my childhood that make my heart even heavier. I don’t reply to the warning. Defiantly I keep my sling bag exactly where it is… hanging loose. I stay standing next to her just long enough for her to notice my silent rebellion. Then I step away so that I can stand closer to a group of elderly San people.
I think of my nanny who was from the rural areas. She was a no-nonsense, elderly woman who held on to her traditional beliefs fervently. Occasionally, she would lock herself into one of the bedrooms, put Sesotho music on full blast and dance “litolobonya” (a traditional Sesotho dance). The outfit one wears for this dance consists of an undergarment that has bottle metal caps attached to them, to make percussion sounds with every movement. The attire is worn around the waist and barely covers the thighs. Topless and with a whistle between her lips she would go for about an hour, ignoring my pleas to be allowed to watch. She’d tell me that an elderly woman’s body was no spectacle. It deserved to be respected and honoured. Only women whose bodies had borne children had the right to watch. The men in my family made snide remarks when an elderly woman had her upper arms exposed, or showed off too much leg, or wore anything too tight. This was not good grounding for the Platfontein display.
Women, some elderly dancing, breasts and thighs exposed. I want to take my jersey off and cover them. I want to stop what I see as an assault on their dignity. I see younger men looking at them inappropriately. One youth gets aroused by the dance. With my anger rising rapidly, I walk away again. Then I begin to think about how my environment, background and past experiences have shaped how I see the world.
Feeling my reaction is unreasonable, I ask some of the delegates to share their impressions. Sakira Suzia who was born in the United Kingdom but is a third generation Bangladeshi, says:
“My parents come from Asia and I know how it is. Bangladesh, it’s a very poverty stricken country. But I’ve been to countries where this is on show and it’s like a zoo. This is the worst thing. I am very guilty of it as a Westerner. I go and see these cultures and I appreciate their culture and sometimes I think on the flip side it’s important. Go inside their culture and be amongst the culture. Live with them. But I am guilty of taking pictures because I’m here temporarily. I want to take something back to show my family. But morally it is wrong and I would not like it myself.”
Mike Muikia from Kenya says he wants to apologise to the !Xum people for the lack of respect that he feels some of the tourists are showing.
“In our youthful nature we may touch the way we want and hug but there are limits. But in this case I saw some instances where someone just come and hug you. You know these are elderly people we should respect. And then they would take pictures and they’re pushing them and I can see they are not really comfortable. And then I want to say please, please.”
Mike praises the energy of the kids and says he feels inspired by it. He says their happiness comes from within. When I ask if his reaction would still be the same if the setting changed to Kenya with the Maasai people his response is:
“Not really.”
The sun is dropping down to the horizon when we leave the cultural village. We are taken to a church close by. Some of the community members are with us in the church. I try to speak to an elderly couple. After many failed attempts at communicating with hand gestures, we give up. I mutter the word “dankie”. They beam and I return to my seat frustrated.
This outreach excursion of a University conference has not even bothered to bring a translator. It speaks volumes.
With the engine of the bus roaring the crowd of children gather, embracing some of the delegates. The warmth of their gestures melts some of my anger. But only the girls are hugging the delegates and shouting; “I love you”. The boys stand at a distance just watching.
Palesa Morei
Palesa Morei writes…
Arriving in Platfontein after the 178 km of chitter chatter on the bus, I feel like a tourist in my own country.
We check in at the Horseshoe Inn in anticipation of seeing the Bushmen. I do some research and remember in my mother tongue hearing about ‘Basarwa’. I never really knew what it meant as a child. I knew it had something to do with people that were different from us, the rest of the human species.
Before we leave the University of the Free State documentary photographer Paul Weinberg takes us through his talk and slide show: “In Search of the San”. To my amazement I learn that ‘The San’ are not just one group called KhoiKhoi. There is the Xun from Namibia, the Kwe from the border of Angola, Botswana and Zambia. There are over 100 000 San people living in Africa and more than 35 languages.
We arrive in Platfontein, after looking at rock art on the nearby koppie. It is a yard of festivities. Children run up to the bus as if they are puppets… auto cued to ‘get excited, because the tourists are arriving’. Cameras flashing I almost feel ambushed. But the children’s excitement becomes infectious and I want to see what they are offering.
At the far end of this yard of a “Cultural Village”, women are standing next to their tattered huts humming songs. I can only assume they are singing a welcome. The crowd moves past the women selling crafts. They drift toward the dance. I imagine the vigour and the shaking is for the gods. Then I see a young girl being pinned down on the floor and it makes me cringe. Each time I recall the moment, it makes me uncomfortable.
As the crowds move to the next group of men and woman dancing, Lerato and I hear a whisper in our ears:
“Beware of your valuables. This man just came to tell us that. These children move about, just to confuse you and take your stuff.”
I start doing the famous, uniquely South African, ‘check-i-coast’ and make sure everything is in my pocket where I can feel it. And just about then I have had enough.
I can’t behave like a tourist anymore. Taking pictures like I’m not bothered by looking at someone’s mother trying to keep herself warm. Just because she has to perform for the visitors. Never mind that she isn’t dressed, bare breasted. A continuous beating of the drum and high pitched vocal sounds. Calling the gods? I step out of the crowd, switch off my camera and talk to Lerato.
We start wondering about why people are not as uncomfortable we are. Why is it that I can’t bear to watch a man in sheer skimpy cloth and a woman old enough to be my grandmother shaking her body for us?
I ask the white African standing next to me and she says: “If I was their gods, I would be angry at showing people my sacred rituals.”
The day ends with a visit to a local church. More confusion. The drums and melodies have stopped. We are in church to listen to a performance by another group of San people. Tradition and culture. All the girls have long, artificial tresses. Hair weaves that look all Western. Not a single one of them with natural hair.
And then it’s time for the ‘tourists’ to return to the Horseshoe Inn base camp. We eat a polite dinner and head back in a much quieter bus. The long drive back to Bloemfontein does not bring me or Lerato any answers. Just confusion. Now I don’t want to think about Platfontein anymore. Every recollection brings way too many questions.
I had same impression as the UFS students when I first encountered
the !Xun and Khwe Bushmen last year . I was particularly taken aback by the
Khwe youths who weren’t so different from us (from UKZN). They had the same dreams, aspirations and goals, they were exposed to the same media as us – they listen to Jay Z, Nicki Minaj etc. and many were already on social media networks.
In short; take away their shacks/RDP homes and replace them with regular city houses and they’ll be just like any enthusiastic African youths. As a young boy who grew up in the rural parts of Nigeria, I saw too many bits of me in them and regard them more as friends/brothers than Bushmen.
That is why I am presently undertaking an ethnographic study that documents the daily lifestyles of the Khwe youth subculture. Enough of the romanticized representations and images. Having lived in the community for weeks, I intend on painting a true picture and state of the Khwe Bushman of Platfontein whose popular myth, culture and styles have been redefined by modernity (and other factors). I’ll explain in details the problems blighting the community as a whole
– Itunu is completing his Masters dissertation at the Centre for Communication, Media and Society (CCMS), University of KwaZulu-Natal.
Dissertation Title: The Emergence of Hip-Hop Subculture Among Khwe Bushmen In Platfontein, Northern Cape.
(see Keyan Tomaselli’s Rethinking indigeneity)
This article is poorly researched and naively written.
Due to lack of research, or perhaps you two ladies couldn’t be bothered to be constant in your writing, neither one of you could correctly spell !Xun and Khwe throughout your pieces.
You say you “felt like Sarah Bartman” but then it is YOU that is being observed and not the other way round, so it seems that you are unsure who you are empathising with?
With regards to displaying different parts of the female body i.e. thighs or breasts, you seemed quick to judge, with what appears to be western goggles, as to what is appropriate or disrespectful and what is not. If you had taken the time to read any literature or ask any of the women how they felt about this, you would have painted a very different picture.
There are so many inconsistencies and disrespectful comments made or implied throughout the above piece as well as the video clip towards so many different people. This ranges from the presenters at the conference, the organisers of the conference, those attending the conference and the !Xun and Khwe themselves that I’m shocked at the insensitivity and lack of respect for all concerned.
Having been apart of this conference and visit I too had mixed emotions on this visit, being African America I am always interested in tapping into cultural experience’s from Africa and those experiences vary from Country to Country and culture to culture. The choice to share that culture lies in the hands of that community and I am sure it was received differently by a number of people so we should respect the views of these young journalist. We are so quick to point out the perceived flaws of these writers and often those are tactics that the dominate culture use to discredit and discard minority impute and we should not allow that to happen to these journalist.
Agree or disagree with their take on this visit lets respect their right to be objective. This does not have to be viewed as negative it is their perspective of what they saw and how it impacted them.
Also lets remember these are young aspiring journalist and we should be encouraging them and not trying to discredit them. I am sure if they had written what was pleasing to our ears we would be praising them for such good work.
Good job ladies.
I reacted to the visit to Platfontein in a similar way to Palesa and Lerato. I hate seeing people who, for the sake of earning a little money, present a tourist-friendly view of their culture. I find it demeaning.
But I am glad we went there. The alternative is to stay away, and then nothing changes because nobody from outside knows the situation. Now many of us do know the conditions in which that San community lives. We can speak about it, as I have done, and as I am sure many others have done. We can help to bring change.
Among those at the conference are people who are devoting themselves to improving the situation for the San people. From them we heard detailed plans, worked out with the people of Platfontein, for improved housing, for training of the young people in computers, English language and other skills. And we saw in the church the appreciation of those people for this training.
I greatly respect those who are undertaking this work.
I was at the FOR conference but didn’t go to Platfontein, so I’m rather blind-sided as to what took place, although I have a fair idea. It’s clear that Palesa’s and Lerato’s feelings about the situation run deep enough for them for them to put pen to paper (to use a rather outdated image!). And they struck a sensitive chord and opened an important debate by doing so.
There are three issues as I see it.
1. What do the people themselves really think and feel about putting on a cultural “face” and performance for tourists cameras? Patricia Glynn, author of What David Knew, an intimate story about the Kruiper family, pointed out that academics have sometimes been scathing about those First Nation people who have appeared in films like The Gods Must be Crazy or the Vodacom advert based on it. But, says Glynn, they themselves have no such reservations. They can laugh at the humour and they were paid for what they did. Surely their choice.
2. The fact that the audience feels uncomfortable in the situation like that in Platfontein – and not only Palesa and Lerato felt that way – means there is some underlying sensitivity that we need to take account of. If we feel that discomfort, are we picking up their own discomfort? That’s important to know. People who are proud of their culture – dances, music, acting – should take pride in showcasing it. And we who may view it should do so with understanding that it is something precious and unique that we are privileged to share. But how will the audience/tourists ever know what the people really feel unless both parties get to know each other enough to be truly honest. That’s a journey in itself!
3. For many people like those at Platfontein, “performing” for tourists is one way of making money in an environment that doesn’t offer much in the way of resources. We have to be careful of simply ripping this opportunity away from them out of political correctness. The Law of Unintended Consequences. What do you put in place of their one earning opportunity?
I don’t think we must be harsh on Palesa and Lerato who raised an issue by expressing their feelings. We must listen to what is underlying – a feeling of some helplessness in the face of dire poverty and the ends to which people go to alleviate it.
I respect their objectivity and reflexive response to the performance, however, I think what everyone is saying here is that they could have interacted more with the community to understand their situation instead of backing away in a Western Gaze of guilt and they could have done more research on the community before writing this article. They are aspiring journalists but one important rule of journalism is research, research, research. There is plenty of research online about this community going back 20 years, what these two aspiring journalists could have done is deconstruct their reflexive thoughts with points and views from research done in the community over the last 20 years.
The one thing in my view that led me to being critical of this article was the quote that in Xhoza or Tswana one does not parade themselves like the women at Platfontein. This quote to me had deep representations of the Western Gaze that suggested that the community was primitive compared to the ethnic group of the writer because of the way they dressed and performed. As I envisioned this stereotyping of the !Xun women, the thought of the 300 million rand, 30 000 seat Reed Dance stadium being built in Zululand for Western spectators and reed dancers came to mind as well as the hundreds of community tourist villages that dot the highways through the Eastern Cape and Orange Free State. Are not all South African ethic groups cultural performers for Western and European tourists?
One could also decode from this quote that the writer was also gazing upon the dancers from a classist point of view suggesting her urbanization and modernism compared to rural and primitive settings of the !Xun community. This quote is what collided the representation of poverty with primitivism. The representation of poverty amongst young South Africans is also questionable. Is Platfontein with its RDP house and garden for it family, running clean water, electricity, community radio station, state of the art clinic and soccer ground; actually as dire as Dadaad refugee camp or Kibera slum in Nairobi? Sometimes I think there should be an exchange programme for young South Africans to go swap there life for a young adult in Dadaad refugee camp or Kibera.
in any case, to the two young aspiring journalists, good reflexive thinking, but bad choice to publish your thoughts without any constructive research and further interactions with the community. I hope this article and the criticism it has received establishes a desire for you two to further your studies in the subject matters of cultural tourism, journalism, development and anthropology. Look forward to reading your thesis’s if you guys do pursue further.
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