12 – Only Whites
Its school holidays and I’m at the beach most days just watching the day’s drag out. 9am on Saturday I’m on the Myhna bus, heading down to South Beach. The heat is already overpowering on the bus, crushed as I am in the corner with my board as more and more people invade the bus. On Saturday mornings it pulls all stops even when it all the breathable oxygen seems long used up.
As we pass though Durban central, all the buildings look old, not ancient old, but old like 50’s and 60’s old. There’s nothing new, no construction, nothing contemporary. Like the city’s been holding its breath all the time I’ve lived here. Like I’ve just turned up and missed the exciting part. Stuck in the recent past it seems to hold nothing I want. Concrete blandness, office blocks that could hold nothing more than mail-sorters. The City hall, a mirror to mirror reflection of every city hall in the world that screams, why try.
We head down West St, the long cavernous tunnel from the top of town to the beach, shielded from the day’s heat by the wall of tower and office blocks, bland, brown, white window grids, seemingly absent of any life. Between the city and the beach is run of no-man’s land. Strange one story warehouses, derelict or close to it, government departments, car dealerships, slowly giving way to curry take away’s and surf shops closer to the beach.
The beach is breezier than the centre of town and we all sit on the grass set back from the beach. Only Vaalies, tourists from the Transvaal actually lie on the beach sand. Speedo’s, moustaches, a dozen kids, ice cream and beach sand caked to their little burnt faces. On the beach sand kids kneel on their rented Boogie boards, pile the pink zinc on their faces and the Coppertone factor 4 all over their shoulders under the Only For Whites signs dotted all along the beach.
We sit on top of our towels which cover our body boards, protecting them from the harsh midday sun. We never read, we watch, occasionally talk and even more occasionally enter the water. The rip in North beach is so strong that’s its more effort than it’s worth just stay in one place. I imagine we must look like some pack of stray dogs up there, knees crunched up to our chests, flannel shirts draped over our heads, looking out over our territory, for the next fight or feed.
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