Vibrant

I wanted to visit a township. Townships were built during the Apartheid era, to separate the blacks from whites. They’re usually described in guidebooks as “vibrant”. I was hooked. I love “vibrant”. Karen was not as convinced. “I just feel weird going on a tour of…poverty,” She had said. She had a point. It would be like going to Watts in an air-conditioned minibus, with an occasional stop for pictures.

Out of the townships surrounding Cape Town, we chose Langa. It's one of the oldest townships in the city. It was also the closest to our hotel. Our guidebook recommended a tour group to contact. I went to the group’s website. There were pictures of happy African children with happy Western tourists. They looked so vibrant. We set up a tour.

Our taxi driver dropped us at the community center in Langa, where our tour guide, Nathi, met us. Nathi showed us around the neighborhood. We walked for two hours. It was early in the morning and the Langans were beginning their day. Parents took their children to school. Old men stood in groups, hanging out. Nathi hugged them all. If he didn’t hug, he gave them a high-five. If he didn't high-five, he trash-talked with them about their soccer teams. I wondered if introverts exist in the townships. Could someone like me, who gets drained after being around groups of two, survive here? Would I just be tired all the time? 

We stepped inside a shabeen. That’s where the local beer is brewed. We sat around a bucket of the homebrew. An old man told us about the beer’s importance to the township. We were invited to partake. Just like this? No beer mugs? No pint glasses? We just drink from the bucket? 

I took a sip. It was sweet going down. Karen took a sip. I waited for her to giggle, but she held strong. I was disappointed. The old man invited us to drink more. I wanted to enjoy the rest of my walking tour without stumbling in a ditch, so I said no.  Several of the locals that joined us in the grabbed the bucket in our place. We left them to continue our tour.

We passed by the houses. Some had bright colors. You could say they were vibrant. Others were just metal shacks. The shacks were on the outskirts of Langa, neighboring a highway. Most of them had satellite dishes on their roofs. “Yeah, they do that so they can watch sports.” I elbowed Karen. “See, even people in shacks have satellite. Why can’t we get it?” She ignored me and we moved on.

We passed by children. They posed for pictures, as if this wasn’t the first time they’ve seen strange people with cameras come by their house. Several of them approached us. Karen noticed shiny pins of the Canadian flag on their shirts. We had seen a tour bus drive past us. The kids must have found them before us. 

We passed by more houses, more children. We stepped inside barber shops and electronics stores. We  arrived at the community center two hours later, seeing as much as the Langans were willing to show us. They showed us, two Americans used to big cities and far away friendships, how they run things. Langa is definitely vibrant. Sometimes I’m envious of their vibrancy. I think how nice it would be to know everyone you meet. I think how nice it would be to have everything you need within walking distance. 

And then I think how tiring that would be. I think about how insular my life has been, and how I’m used to that. I may be attracted to these places when i travel, but right now, I can’t imagine being in such a place and calling it home. In the end, I'm thankful for the Langans. For their warmth, their happiness, their lives. And for their vibrancy.