Nobody in my class, or at school, knew of the other side of my life – the life of a young boy being drawn into the ways of the street gangs in Kensington, when I was thirteen years, and a few months old.
I was drawn to this lifestyle as if I was born for it. I grew up in a small town, with my grandparents, and would spend my school holidays in Cape Town with my mom. I absolutely loved it. Cape Town City! I remember taking a bus into the city, and then saunter casually up Hanover Street, right to the top, where Muslim family of ours lived. My eyes would dart around to take in everything that moved, or screamed: the people in the streets; the old men with fezzes sitting in the doorway in the side streets; the children playing on the narrow pavements; the hawkers calling out their wares, but mostly the street-corners where young men stood around or were just sitting against a wall, or leaning against a street pole, or sitting on some steps, leading to the next street. I was interested in the way they dressed; how they spoke; and the way they rolled their bodies when they walked.
I was intrigued by District Six! I visited the area many times, just melting in with the people – a small boy on an errand, perhaps. Not once was I accosted by anyone! Most enjoyable was the Avalon! To the top of Hanover Street, on a corner was the bioscope. I enjoyed double-feature matinees, all on my own! I simply joined the queue, bought my ticket, and inside, the usher would guide me to my seat. I would not move from that seat, having stuffed my pockets with peanuts and sweets to last me both features. There I learnt about Mario Lanza; the Frank Sinatra / Dean Martin / Sammy Davis Jnr. Gang. There I learnt famous songs of those years; dances; comedians, and most of all, I saw those shady characters in and around the bioscope. My ears would hear everything: the honking of the horns; the shouts at girls passing on the other side of the street; the jazz music coming from the doorways. These imprints never left my mind.
I felt in a way that I belonged there – in that part of Cape Town. Why, would you ask? My father was from District Six – a discovery I made much later in life. The spirit of District Six was embedded in me, without me knowing it! I was told by my mom that we lived for a number of years in Chester Road, Walmer Estate and that my father, drove taxis to supplement income until he could get a teaching post somewhere.
His routes included the D6, Woodstock, Salt River, Central City, and the docks. In this work, I was told, my dad came to know places most people would be too scared to venture in. His day trips were mainly the usual fares in and around the city, while his night customers were ladies of the twilight, whom he came to know by their names. Them, he ferried between ‘suiker-huise’ in the District and wherever they were called to work – virtually all night long. In this twilight world, my dad became well-known. He was reliable, no matter the hour; and as tight as a doornail when it came to information about his clients. I knew he had walked the same streets, somewhere in the 1940s. I felt, in a strange way, that I belonged there.
So when my mom first moved to Kensington, the environment was hostile and dangerous, and they feared the gangsters of the area. I befriended the neighbours opposite, where there was a horse and cart. They were hawkers, who had stables at the back of the house. I was reading a lot about horses at the time, and could, for the first time, come close up to such a beautiful animal. It was much appreciated by the owner, who was, unknown to me at first, the kingpin of the Casbah Kids. I spent a lot of time in their yard and gradually got to know a lot of young men, all older than me. Soon I was trickling along with them, just sauntering around the streets; sitting in the parks, them smoking ‘boom’, the only small boy, among a group of hardened gangsters! I listened in awe to their stories! They were so daring! They had so many tattoos! They smoked dagga openly in the streets, and in the bioscopes! I admired the way they dressed – all had on tailor-made straight-cut pants, expensive shirts and shoes; expensive leather sandals: one strap over the foot, open toes, and a strap over the heel; and they had money! Maybe that was also the reason they had girls around them, most times – some of the girls were teenage school girls. Sometimes they would ask me about myself and were surprised to hear I came from a far place. Of course, none of them ever ventured much further than the few streets and avenues they controlled as their turf, and they were quite interested to hear how we lived, what kind of work people do, and that we plant our own vegetables, and have lots and lots of fruit trees in our gardens. Sometimes I would happily embroider a bit on my stories seeing they were so intrigued by how people outside Cape Town lived.
It was with them that I became aware of the power of the many. People were scared of us. Nobody would stare, or even make eye contact in passing. We used to walk in numbers of about twenty or thirty, and that made me feel safe. I was no longer a loner: I belonged, and I felt protected. There were times when gang members of other parts of Kensington would be caught in Casbah territory. There would running battles, with knives, pangas, pitch forks, and any other sharp objects being drawn, heavy belts would be tightly wound around hands in these battles. Bottles were thrown in these running battles that stretched over parks and people’s yards until the enemy was completely driven off. I witnessed the battles, but never took part in any. Back in the yard, and in the stable, wounds would be dressed, after which everybody would eat and drink, and disperse to their homes after being sure the coast was clear. Some members slept there, in a back room, next to the stables. I was in and out there and became another child in the house. Our house, after all, was just opposite theirs, and they had children a little older than me. I copied most of my ways of dress, walking, and speaking from Salie, the eldest son of the house, and the one around whom most things in the house, in their yard, and in the street revolved. He was quiet-spoken; well-dressed; and when he walked, his shoulders rolled slightly, in rhythm with his leg movement, almost as if his body was driven by his shoulders.
I was intrigued by this man. He could be found any time of day, in a quiet place, reading one of those James Hadley Chase books, I, too, was so fond of reading! When I first saw him reading one of those books, I excitedly told him that I had also read that book! He was so surprised! He looked at me, and said,
‘Djy kan’ie ee’s liesie!’ Wat ptaat djy!
I laughed and told him a bit about the storyline. Was he surprised? We struck up a conversation about books he had read and ones I had read. I had, by that time, as a youngster in my hometown, read scores of those books, and many more Afrikaans books on detectives, spies, murder, and, of course, gangsters, and could dig deep into my reservoir of knowledge about just anything: books, events, movies, actors and places, animals of the world. Salie would sometimes, out of appreciation, just brush his hand so once over my head, and give me an approving smile. My favourite pass time had always been reading books and magazines, on a variety of subjects, and in an amazing way, it came to my assistance to get me into the good books of the leader of the Casbah Kids in Kensington.
Also, in my hometown, I had learned to defend myself and was used to fighting in the streets. The time to settle scores with whoever’s shadow fell on me, or my friends, or whoever crossed our path, was after school. Any flimsy excuse was used, mostly by my friend, himself a fearless fighter, to rip my schoolbag from my back, and push me into a fight. There was not a single boy, my age, in town, of whom I was afraid, at age 12 and 13, and halfway into 14 – the time I left for high school to another town. But, there were certain streets and areas that I knew I should not think of walking in, all by myself. So, I grew up, already battle-hardened. By the time I was exposed to the real deal in the back streets of Kensington, it took very little to swing me completely towards street life.
That is the background of the boy who started his school year in 1962, and whose appearance caused a slight stir among the children, and some teachers.
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Alex Marshall hails from Heidelberg in the Western Cape. He was a teacher at Trafalgar High School in District Six, whereafter he taught English at Masibambane High School in Kraaifontein. He was an activist for South African sports; has a great interest in history, and holds a master’s degree in Philosophy from UCT. Alex is passionate about reflecting on his community in his writing.
