Many who travel think exploring a new city is about raving at the nightclubs, clambering aboard buses and meandering along city tours. I guess it is a little about that. But for me, it is about the in-between spaces I find myself suspended in. It’s those unique encounters that remind us we are all merely human.
Company Gardens is a popular tourist location. People come to feed the birds and the squirrels (even the albino one). It is also flanked by the Iziko Museum, the Planetarium and the South African National Gallery. These all house important exhibitions that dig into South Africa’s cultural and political history, as well as our natural history. These are a must see when in Cape Town.
But remember the in-between spaces.
The Company Gardens at twilight in March, Cape Town.
On my daily commute to work, I pass through a section of Company Gardens in Cape Town. These stoic gardens have a colonial nostalgia, with manicured lawns, pruned trees and patriarchal statues. But it is what happens in-between these spaces that interest me.
I have been walking along this route twice a day for two months now, but today was the first day I stopped to look. The early morning light darts through the trees and illuminates the silhouettes of people in a divine light. There is one part of the path where the light is diffused and softens the landscape – transporting you to somewhere Europe in its evergreen state.
But my morning walks have become more endearing because of the people along the way.
Many bodies moving around the Company Gardens.
A friendly face on my afternoon commute through Company Gardens.
In Company Gardens, people either shuffle, stride or run. Others lie dormant, turned away from the sun and sleep softly amongst the madness. A chorus of African girls ascends the stairs. They are uniformly dressed and singing on their way to school.
A guy walks passed, dressed in a tank top and sweats. He holds KFC chicken in his left hand and pumps his right hand up and down as he sings in harmony with Rihanna’s ‘Love on the Brain’. The tune spat out of his phone speaker which was somewhere on his person.
I always pass the same school children who sit on the same bench, waiting for the bell to signal the start of their day. They seemed to be the typical ‘cool kids’, who watched the others play soccer while they smoked and gossiped.
If you exit the Company Gardens and amble down Parliament Street, it is a different story.
The smell of stale piss and sour liquor pulses through the granite walls of the Justice Building. There is always a film crew on this street in summer. They feast frivolously on an English breakfast with muesli and croissants. On just the other side of the road, children are peddling on the street.
It is also a popular road for early morning runs. I see Nike and Adidas push past me, as feet eagerly beat the tar road. We truly are a fitness-obsessed city!
People pacing up and down Company Gardens in active wear. Credit: Rebecca West Scott
As I continue my walk, my eyes slide left to where a homeless man is seated on a bench. At first, he appears to be sleeping. Then he opens a lazy eye and turns his attention back to the newspaper in his hand. I see his pen scratch away.
At first, I thought he was doing the crossword. I was impressed. But as I drew closer I cold see him sketching a rather Picasso-like portrait of a girl. Was it someone he knew? Someone he loved? A daughter, wife or girlfriend?
In those two seconds that I passed this man, I could see a type of eternity. His biltong hands scratched away at the paper with urgency – like he could forget the details of her visage at any second. His concentrated brow knotted in the sharp morning light.
A version of his life story filtered through my mind.
And just like that, I was gone. And he was gone. I turned to my phone in the same urgency to type up my recollection of his visage, and his pressing need to sketch.
