Tag Archives: rugby

Remembering ’95

South Africa, ,

I don’t do movie reviews. Apart from anything else, I am horribly under-qualified never having seen 90% of the movies that are considered classics. But I feel the need to write something about a particular movie I have just seen, not from the perspective of critically assessing the quality or performances but just because it’s a movie that tells a story that means a lot to me.

Growing up in South Africa in the 1980s and 1990s was complicated. To begin with, everything kept changing and there was a lot of uncertainty. I was lucky to be in a fairly safe, secure situation, rather than, say, a township, so that most things didn’t reach my fairly protected childhood world. I remember some things. I remember that we couldn’t travel to play sports matches against schools in other towns because school-buses were being targeted so they weren’t supposed to go anywhere without a police escort. I remember doing bomb-drills alongside fire drills in primary school. I remember how, in the weeks leading up to the 1994 elections, several shops, in the town where I lived, that had always had huge glass windows suddenly put up burglar bars across their windows. I remember how the families of friends were stockpiling water and canned goods in anticipation of a civil war. On the day of the elections, I was at school (all of 14). It was a public holiday and we had an extra practice for a musical I was involved in. But my parents went off and voted in the first free and democratic election my country had ever seen.

I remember much more clearly 1995. I didn’t grow up in a rugby family and had never had all that much to do with the game, but you couldn’t live in the Eastern Cape without learning something about it. And in 1995, we were all learning everything we could. On the day of the final, I was the only one in my family who sat glued to the TV screen. I remember that my Mom had gone out for a walk and she said the streets were deserted and all they heard was shouts of joy and agony from the houses they passed as the game was watched by millions of South Africans. After the match, my parents went out to the shops and drove through crowds of people shouting and dancing in the streets and banging on the cars. Just a year earlier, crowds of people dancing and shouting in the streets would have been enough to terrify any South African. But on this day it was okay. On this day, the country celebrated as one because we had done it – we had defied all expectations and won the Rugby World Cup.

I was a little sceptical when I heard they were making a movie about it. I was chatting to a friend a few weeks ago – one of the few foreigners I know here who actually understands rugby – and I mentioned that I was worried about what they would do with it. As much as it was a movie-type moment for all of us, there is so much scope for error and horribly butchering the reality when people try to use that moment to make a Hollywood movie, there is a good chance that they’ll get it wrong.

Tonight I finally got around to watching Invictus. Just hearing Shosholoza at the very beginning and seeing the scenery that is so real and so much home to me, I was already in tears. And knowing what was coming. Since 1995, I’ve become a fairly avid rugby fan and watch my teams as often as I can – which isn’t nearly often enough being in a country that doesn’t play rugby. Since then, of course, I have also become actively interested in politics and finally understood the real horror of apartheid, so in some ways, watching the movie now, and reliving the moments, was even more moving than the first time around. I really enjoyed Freeman’s portrayal of Madiba. I have no idea how true to life some of the events were but he captured the humanity and humility which so endear South Africa’s great hero to so many. I loved Matt Damon’s portrayal of Francois Pienaar, too. I’m always a little uneasy when I hear that a foreigner is going to try and play a South African, but he managed it very well, even getting the accent mostly right, and I felt like he actually understood some of what it’s like and started to understand the rugby. I don’t mean understand the game – which many other countries do – but understand the role it plays in the identity and culture of so many in my country.

Ultimately, the greatest challenge in this movie was always going to be to find a way to capture the emotions – from the very real and still present racial tensions to the moments of reconciliation and overcoming history. I loved the way the movie portrayed the ongoing tension using the body-guards. And I loved how Eastwood didn’t shy away from depicting the tensions and the difficulties, and also the shared joy and growing friendship, using the bodyguards. Not being a huge movie fan, I don’t know directors or most actors very well but I was impressed with Gran Torino and enjoyed how Eastwood used the same kind of realism here. There was an authenticity which is often hard to create in Hollywood-style movies. It felt normal – or at least, normal for South Africa. I could see in the portrayal all the moments of tension, all the (often unfounded) fears and the joys all South Africans know so well. Because no-one is immune to history and the reality of a country trying to come to terms with a miraculous transition to democracy and all the fears and issues that go with it.

I find it difficult to explain to foreigners exactly what I feel about my country. There are many countries were patriotism is an important value. I always struggle to explain why I feel like what I’m feeling is different. It’s not just that I love my country. I do love my country. But not in the sense that I want to go out and fight for it. I love what my country stands for – the fight not for land or for control but for freedom. I love that South Africa is still going strong, that whatever my problems with the current leadership of the ANC, we have made democracy work. And I love how we got there. I don’t understand South Africans who dismiss our past and want nothing to do with making the country better.

My reaction to this movie wasn’t all about that history. Watching it so far from home, the scenery alone was enough to make me long to return. The images of home. The ordinariness of the dry grass and the dusty townships and the beauty of table mountain. Even the Elwierda bus made me miss it. And the people. Ordinary South Africans doing what ordinary South African do every day. Ordinary people celebrating an extraordinary country.

And then the final. After the build-up of the movie and the energy and the action, the moment was electric. I felt again the thrill and the anxiety. My heart was in my throat. I knew how it would end – I remember the moment – but I still felt the same heart-thumping anticipation. I watched the play, my nails dug into the palms of my hands, on tenter-hooks all over again. And then the final whistle and that moment, the moment that means so much to so many of, when Pienaar raised the Webb Ellis Trophy, the moment of joy and glory when we showed the world (again) that we could overcome expectations. That moment that is a symbol of so much to so many.

It’s strange to have a movie capture something so personal and so real. Not everything was 100% accurate but it was close enough to evoke all the emotions of 1995. Each song, each moment, each image of the South African landscape and the springbok jersey was a reminder of how amazing my country is and how much I love it and look forward to being home and sharing my days with people who share the history and the culture and the love of a game that brought us all together.

Downtown 2: Nightwalking

Daegu, , ,

After a lovely afternoon at the Lake, I decided to continue the exploring with another attempt at Downtown. The main reason for this is that Downtown is the night-life hub of the city, so it really should be experienced at night. Also, I have been wanting to spend some time trying to figure out how to take pictures at night. Oh, and there was rugby – the first Tri-Nations match not in the middle of the night (even if it was just New Zealand vs Australia).

So, armed with camera and some cash, I headed down to the bus stop for the second time in a day. One of the things I find odd about Daegu is that the city seems to get busier as the day goes on, so that by Saturday evening the streets are bursting with people. This is the reverse of SA, where people go home as dusk approaches, especially on a Saturday when they need to fire up the braai and chill the beers before the Rugby. One advantage of the Korean approach is that there are regular buses late into the evening. I contemplated taking a bus directly to downtown, but the last time I did that it was rather a long trip. Also, the website I’ve been using to find my way around suggested that the best way to find the area I wanted was to aim for one subway station short of Banwoldang (where the buses go). It turns out that Downtown is divided into two parts and last time I visited it, I stayed on the East side. This time I needed to be on the West, so I took my usual work-bus (number 1-1) and hopped off opposite the Fashion-Exchange, which was disco-ing away happily into the night. This is my personal transportation hub. I’m more familiar with the buses here than anywhere else and my nearest subway station is here. Nearest to the office, anyway, but I think possibly also to where I live, because the subway line doesn’t come that far – I live on the South-Eastern edge of the city, so it’s a little out of the way for subways.

So Manchon Subway Station is a station with which I am now familiar. I’ve been here often and know my way around. Unfortunately, knowing my way around the station hasn’t helped me find my way around the travel-card-reloading machine. I keep asking people about it but so far everyone I ask has a car and knows nothing about the bus. Luckily the universal language of holding out a travel card and a W10 000 note is intelligible to the nice people working at subway information offices. The nice man loaded my card and I headed down to the tracks and caught the next train in the direction of Munyang (subway directions are indicated based on the name of the last station on the line in that direction). I got off at Kyungpook University Hospital Station, as per website directions, and started to head up into the night.

There is something a little eerie about subway stations, particularly at night. Something about going down and down into the depths of the earth where everything is run by machine seems rather like the plotline of a weak horror movie. Apart from the information offices, the subway systems here don’t seem to need all that many people. The turnstiles are electronic, people needing to buy single tickets can do so from automatic machines, all the directions are given by brightly lit signs and an electronic voice announces when a train is about to arrive and the next station on the train. Perhaps this is part of the reason that the Kyungpook University Hospital Station was strangely silent when I got off the train and followed the ‘Way Out’ signs up a flight of stairs on Saturday night. As I reached the top of the stairs a man passed me rushing in the opposite direction. And then I was alone. Utterly alone in a world of tiles and artificial lights and yellow and green and white signs pointing in various directions. My South African woman-alone-at-night-in-isolated-place hackles were raised but it didn’t really feel dangerous in the criminal sense. It felt more like a bad horror movie. Thankfully the next set of stairs brought me to a level with other people. There even appeared to be a table-tennis place on this level, where people could go to play table-tennis.

At the top of the final flight of stairs (Exit 1), I stopped and took in the warm summer night. I was next to a busy road with huge buildings all around me except for the ivy-covered older building across the road. The contrast of the older building against the huge, brightly lit skyscrapers behind it was a perfect picture of how Daegu has grown upwards in between the older bits of the city that remain.

I headed off down the road and after a block turned right into a busy street (busy with pedestrians as well as cars). The first part of the street was lined on both sides with various businesses including what struck me a lot of wedding dress shops. Shops here seem to cluster together by type an awful lot. About a block or two up, I glimpsed the sign for the bar where they were likely to be showing the rugby, down a road to the left. This is the place I wandered around looking for for ages last time I went downtown. Clearly it is actually very easy to find if you come from the correct direction. Before heading there, I thought I’d wander up the road a bit. The pavements were filled with people and I wanted to get a sense of what else was around the area. There were bakeries and fast food places and restaurants and I saw the Samdeok police station. And then I crossed a road and got distracted by a park.

My last trip downtown was partly inspired by a desire to find two parks, one of which I stumbled upon after wandering for a bit, but I still hadn’t seen National Debt Repayment Movement Park (Gukchae-bosang Memorial Park). On the off-chance that this was the park I’d been looking for, I wandered in. Before I go any further, I have to say: imagine living in a country where it is perfectly safe to wander through a park at night all alone. It blows my mind a little. This park was well-lit and full of people. From where I walked into the park, I could see a group of teenagers and young adults playing basketball. Watching them, under arbours covered with creepers and vines, were couples chatting and sitting together and holding hands. I wandered along a path between trees, looking out over the playground and found myself in another section of the park. The first thing I notices was a large rock with a lily pond in a depression in the top of it. I walked slowly on. Parks are often peaceful places but this one, despite various ponds and walks and beautifully designed places, was more busy than peaceful. An impression possibly partly created by the huge screen splashing its garish music videos and advertisements across the paths and gardens.

In the corner of the park is a huge bell that is apparently an important part of New Year’s celebrations for many Koreans. It rests in a Korean style display building (floor, walls, roof, ornate dragon designs). Beyond that were teenage boys on skateboards and BMXs. Along the paths, a pair of children were playing an informal game of badminton. People walked along in pairs or couples, sometimes trailing children on tricycles. On the benches, people sat in couples, friends shared take-away dinners and one little boy sat with his grandmother. As I walked along, I was thinking a lot about how necessary parks like this are in cramped urban surroundings where gardens are a relatively unknown luxury. I can’t imagine growing up without a garden, but in some ways I suppose parks are the normal alternative for thousands, maybe millions of people. Strange how far apart childhood experiences can be.

As I was leaving the park, I saw something strange. Occasionally I will spot something in Korea that makes me stop and take another look because I’m not sure I trust my eyes. The whole park is laid out with beautiful gardens, exquisitely manicured and populated with local trees and flowers, some (like hibiscus and pines) familiar, others unknown to me. On the way out of the park, I passed some mielies (maize). I’m not sure I’ll ever quite get used to the idea of mixing flowers with vegetables in this way, partly for the simple reason that I can’t imagine a world where the mielies wouldn’t get stolen. These plants were not just in a square patch, however, they were planted in a circle around a tree, like sentries around the tree, so that the tree actually seemed to be growing out of the mielies. Very odd.

By this stage, of course, I’d missed most of the rugby but I headed to the bar anyway, via a gentle strolled through the incredibly crowded night-life streets – packed with bars and restaurants, but also baby-clothes shops, shoe shops and many others that I’d never have associated with night-life but which were all open on a Saturday night. Commune’s (the bar) was open and full of people watching the last few minutes of the match. Commune’s is the kind of slightly dingy place that reminds me of the club we used to go to at varsity and a place with many happy memories, CJ’s. It is situated in a basement and the walls, under various murals and pictures, are a dark colour, possibly black. It is also regularly full of foreigners (some of whom are not American/Canadian), so it’s a good place to go to immerse yourself in cultures-not-Korean for a little. Also, it’s sometimes nice to hear a whole room full of people speaking English. As soon as the rugby was over, some of the customers insisted that the Ashes cricket be put on. I felt almost at home.

After a drink at the bar (their G&Ts are not up to Moz standards), I headed home. It was now too late to take the subway/bus route home, so I took a deep breathe and went to find a taxi. This is the first time I’ve taken a taxi entirely on my own and I still don’t know exactly how to tell the taxi driver where to take me. This is one of the reasons that I find public transport easier to manage – because the stops are fixed, I don’t have the challenge of explaining where I want to be. Thankfully, my taxi driver knew some English. I had written down on a piece of paper what I needed to say, but it turns out the different ways of pronouncing the ‘g’ sound were causing me problems. In spite of this, I got home, happy with a good night’s exploring, even if I did miss the rugby, and glad that I’ve finally found the park.