17 Feb 2009 – Ajax Game & Threats of More Strikes

This weekend was not as packed with activities as our previous weekends in Cape Town. Some small groups took trips to the beach, Long Street, braai’s with new friends and coworkers, and sand-boarding on the dunes just outside of the city. But most of us spent the majority of Saturday and Sunday at 10 Loch Rd. We filled the relaxed weekend hours with movies and homework, or lounged by the pool, which – temporarily, anyway – does not resemble a bog. The weather was pleasant, as always, with the wind picking up a bit more than usual at night.

We’d bought tickets earlier in the week for a soccer match between one of the local club teams, Ajax, and Amazulu of Durban, on Saturday evening. So eight of us took the five-minute trip up the road to the stadium just before 6PM and proceeded to watch the 90-minute game come to a slightly disappointing 0-0 draw.

On the drive in, we saw the careening arches of the stadium from several blocks away, and then noticed the cranes and construction equipment that were heaped around the site as we walked to the front gates. The security surrounding the event was minimal, as were the crowds, so we didn’t have to wait very long to get inside, where we realized about half of the stadium was still under construction for the 2010 FIFA World Cup. Athlone Stadium will be only a practice field, but the Cup organizers have decided to add rows and rows of seating on the end-line sides of the arena, nonetheless. It was hardly a sold-out crowd, so we found good seats in the second tier near the center of the field (our tickets didn’t specify seating) and prepared to watch the game with about 500 or more other fans.

Walking into the stadium, we’d been greeted by the billowing echo of horns, the harmonic chants of dozens of Ajax fans, which continued throughout the game and escalated in proportion to the ball’s proximity to the goal. Most of the stadium wore red for the home-team, and we sat in front of a group of veteran fans that shouted and narrated their way through the entire game. The atmosphere was much as I would have expected in a country where soccer is more than just a niche sport. The crowd, however, might have been larger if there had not been a Super 14 rugby match going on simultaneously about twenty minutes away.

There were two very notable aspects of the event, however, that I would not have anticipated if I had not been forewarned. First, the crowds at South African soccer games are notorious for producing marijuana clouds so thick that even passive fans begin to feel its effects. And second, the half-time entertainment often consists of up-and-coming local singers and musical groups essentially singing karaoke through a meager set of box speakers on the side of the pitch.

Fortunately, the latter proved more accurate than the former, on Saturday evening. Though we were certainly engulfed in the acrid odor of smoke throughout much of the game, the whipping wind did a fair job clearing the air, and the sources of the smoke were too discrete to identify amongst a crowd otherwise filled with everyday cigarette smokers. The half-time “show” began with a young pop-singer who performed abbreviated renditions of “It’s in His Kiss” and other old hits, to which we couldn’t help but goofily sing along. She was followed by a trio of local rappers, who looked every bit the part of an American rap group with their sagging jeans, oversized caps, and aggressive dance moves. For some reason, their performance evoked shrieks of excitement from the clusters of preteen girls in our section. It also generated a considerable amount of amused laughter from our row.

With ten minutes left in the second half, the darkness had brought with it a surprising cold that cut through our sweatshirts and numbed our flip-flopped feet. The lack of scoring had steadily detracted from the otherwise exciting atmosphere (the horns continued to echo around the stadium), until a few close shots brought the level of energy back up in the crowd. The final five minutes were filled with corner kicks, cheering, and near misses that sent cries of disappointment shooting across the stadium. Despite the scoreless draw, the excitement held out until the final whistle.

We shuffled out with the crowd around 7:45 and meandered to the road in the dim light that still lingered over Table Mountain (still visible from Athlone). Bracing against the chilly wind, we walked about five minutes in the direction of the house before a minibus pulled up beside us and took us the rest of the way to Red Cross Hospital. We were the only passengers on the family-owned minibus, and during the brief ride, several people carried on a pleasant conversation with a woman who was presumably the driver’s wife.

Monday we all returned to our internships, which for Cassidy and me meant researching and attending meetings on Plein St. with Black Sash. During the day, however, we overheard several reports that the minibus taxi strike was expected to resume in Cape Town on Tuesday. The reports varied widely depending on the sources, but by the time we left the office for the day, we’d been convinced that a strike at least on par with one last week would take place the following day. On the ride home, our minibus driver turned up the radio when the commentator launched into a news story about the anticipated strike, putting us in the ironic position of sitting in the presence of the very people about whom the radio voice was talking. When the story concluded, we asked the money-handler whether or not the strike would happen, and he suggested (without confirming it outright) that something would occur the next day.

The rumors drove the house to convene in an impromptu meeting in the common room around dinner time, where Ben sorted out the strike-day commuting procedures for each internship group. The routine may soon become second nature, given the ongoing struggle between the NTA (the unofficial National Taxi Association) and the Golden Arrow bus company. Because of the expected violence in the townships, several students would not be visiting their internships on Tuesday, and others would be taking the trains or receiving rides from prescheduled drivers. If we found that there was any merit to the threats of violence against commuters attempting to reach non-minibus forms of transportation, then none of us would attend our internships.

So in a very anticlimactic turn of events, we woke up this morning to discover that the strike had been called off, and everyone had to revert back to their standard commuting routines. The way news filters in – with the absence of television and just one radio in the house – we’ve learned to be very flexible at a moment’s notice, and this morning we got the news through several individual sources and phone calls. The information spread throughout the house as people knocked on bedroom doors or bumped into each other in the kitchens over breakfast. But ultimately, everyone got word and adjusted accordingly, and everyone managed to get in to work as usual. There's been no word on whether the strike will resume later this week.