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It is an uncharacteristically quiet day in the concrete maze that is Tafelsig, a township in Cape Town. Table Mountain can be seen in the distance behind the once brightly coloured houses – which were seemingly built in a hurry – that line the awkward streets that twist before ending abruptly in some places.
“They say Tafelsig is like a city on its own; we just need an airport,” says community worker Labeekah Peters.
Tafelsig, which, when literally translated, means table sight, forms part of the greater Mitchells Plain township, which has battled gangsterism for years, and Ward 82 is no exception.
Peters, who works for the Catholic Welfare and Development organisation, helped establish a crèche in the community a few years ago. The crèche and local primary school are separated by a road, one side of which is Fancy Boys territory, and the other The Ghettos territory.
Only 22% of the people who stay here have completed Grade 12 or pursued higher qualifications. About 63% of residents in Tafelsig are unemployed. The community is still reeling from a shooting incident that took place just a few weeks ago. A 50-year-old man standing in the street was caught in the crossfire when rival gangs fought for territory, leaving community members traumatised and at a loss as to what to do to combat the problem in their area. They have given up on government’s ability and capacity to control
the situation.
The scourge of gangsterism in the Western Cape is one of the issues expected to dominate the upcoming local government elections. At the polls in 2014, 87% of this community put their trust in the DA and local councillor Sheval Arendse.
An elderly man wearing an Arsenal football club shirt and whose arms are covered in tattoos says he used to vote for the National Party, but now votes DA. He says there is no point in trying to speak to government.
“Hulle maak niks reg nie [They don’t fix anything],” he says. “Waar gaan die votes, waar gaan my stem? Ons weet nie want niks verander nie [We don’t know where our votes go because nothing changes thereafter].”
His friend nods in agreement. The friend makes his living by selling the Daily Voice newspaper to motorists at an intersection.
“I think maybe [DA leader Mmusi] Maimane can make a difference,” he says from his position on the dusty concrete pavement.
An old woman walking by stops briefly to weigh in on the conversation around local elections.
“I vote for the DA as well … They don’t do anything here, but everyone knows that the Western Cape belongs to the DA, so that is how we vote.”
Though the sound of guns is all too familiar in these parts of the city, the incidents affect the children, which greatly concerns the community.
Last year, nine-year-old Said Gysman was having his hair cut with a friend just before the Muslim festival of Eid when both were struck by stray bullets. Gysman was confined to a wheelchair for months after the incident, and he had to learn to walk again.
He does not stop moving. He darts in and out of the house, seemingly dodging imaginary bullets. For the few seconds that he stops to chat, all he says of the shooting – which has left scars in his back – is that “it wasn’t painful; it was just burning a lot”.
He then grabs the photographer’s camera and runs around happily snapping pictures of people in the house. His grandmother objects when Gysman takes her picture and threatens to punish him.
Meanwhile, his grandfather, Said January, sits on the couch having a heated political discussion with his friend.
“I don’t feel like voting, my bru. Things were so much better under apartheid,” says January. “I will seriously discourage anyone from voting. I am an ANC member, but I don’t vote.”
His wife, Zuleigia January (45), has lupus – a chronic autoimmune disease that has affected her joints – and survives thanks to a disability grant.
She jokingly says: “I want to vote for a job, that is all.”
Then she gets serious and explains – in a tone that suggests she has had to defend her position a lot – that she is an ANC member.
“I am a strong Muslim woman and they [the ANC] stood up for us [during apartheid], so it is not that I chose them,” she explains.
As the sun sets, the street comes alive with noise as more children come home from school. But for the most part, the street corners where the gangs normally hang out remain empty.
Jason, a middle-aged man identified by a local as a member of the Fancy Boys, stops for a brief chat. He is 39, but his face is weathered beyond his years. He says he has been a member of the Fancy Boys since he was 14, and dropped out of school in Grade 8.
“We are not like the other gangs; we are an organisation. We want to do the best we can and kick the other gangs out. I hit the laaities [youngsters] who come and say they want to be Fancy Boys. We don’t poach young kids or influence them,” he says.
“I want young people to be better than I was. I once pulled a mother’s skin from her face – these are the things that stick with you forever.”
He sports no visible tattoos, except for a small “26” on his left wrist. He says for R10, he can show us the artworks on his body.
Gangs are not the only battle that Tafelsig is struggling to contain; drugs are a big part of the problem as well. Peters shakes her head before saying she knows that Jason will go off to the merchant (drug dealer) with the money. A number of fresh needle marks dot Jason’s arms.
Asked which political party he is considering voting for at the next elections, he says, noncommittally: “I vote for anyone.”
