Chelsea surrounded by her new friends at the ANC Rally
We disembarked the bus in a littered lot not far from our destination, joining a throng of jubilant ANC supporters also bound for the stadium. They bounced up and down with their arms beating the air above them, as the hum of a rally chant rose from the centre of the pack. Our presence drew curious glances as we shuffled in a tight group along the crowded street, past hordes of local residents, vendors, and barefoot children.
But the colour of our skin did not deter those we passed from greeting us with toothy grins and ANC greetings, to which we responded in kind. Our South African friends – the day’s guides – ushered us past the police and security guards at the side gate and into the crowded stadium, where thousands of Cape Town residents gathered and milled about in ANC colours (black, yellow, green) waving patriotic flags. As the thumping beat of a pre-rally song pulsed over the shouts of energetic supporters, the sun beat down on the masses packed in front of us for yards and yards to the far end of the stadium.
Beyond the sea of flags and hats and heads there stood a temporary event stage, flanked by ANC slogans touting the benefits of working together. At first, we clustered in our little group, inside a bubble that shielded us from the controlled chaos of the stadium. But as we began to understand our place within the lively atmosphere, we wandered out a bit to immerse ourselves in the activity around us. We’d learned enough from the bus ride to be able to start our own chant praising the event’s honoured speaker, ANC President Jacob Zuma, and this public display of political solidarity provided the necessary invitation for questions and conversations with the locals who surrounded us. Camera’s snapped continuously as we threw our arms around friendly ANC supporters who revelled in the novelty of our visit to the rally. We were told that most locals assumed we were white South Africans, and that even as such, we were very visibly atypical supporters of the ANC in Khayelitsha.
For the majority of the event, we wound up at the front of the stadium, sitting in the parched grass on the empty-side of the crowd-barrier fence. But we weren’t alone for very long, as children squeezed their way under the fences and quickly filled in every inch of spare ground around us.
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Little boys scampered unsupervised on the small dirt hill behind the stage, and VIPs stood in front of the stage, obscuring most of our narrow view of the speakers. Several older women and hundreds of wide-eyed children remained squashed up against the other side of the fence, with their legs poking out on our side in a line of oddly disconnected limbs. Our proximity to the fence-scramblers provided a number of opportunities for conversations as the speakers rallied the crowd for Zuma’s speech. The cheers and chants elevated to a fevered pitch when the ANC president finally emerged, launching into an address in Xhosa, with occasional English segments. The sound system hummed along with the supporters, who collectively shouted in agreement as Zuma cited improvements in access to resources and housing over the ANC’s 15 years in power.
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Because of the language barrier, we experienced most of his speech through the reactions of the crowd. We squinted through the bright afternoon sun towards the stage and watched as Zuma led his supporters in a rally song at the end of the speech. His charisma was exemplified best by his joyful participation in the dancing that followed his address, after which the audience stormed the stage-front to dance along with a selection of other performers.
By then we’d been readily accepted by the groups of small children who’d shared our grassy seats during the event, and many of us were dragged by the hand into the bobbing swarm of supporters near the stage. The energy was infectious, even for those who might not support all of the ANC politicians and positions. We hoisted our new little buddies to our shoulders to get a better view of the stage and joined in the jovial celebration with arms raised and feet tapping.
Making our exit during the waning hours of the afternoon, we were once again swept up in the frenzied rush by the exit gates. The temporary sense of inclusion – of participation and engagement in the rally celebrations – was replaced again by the passive reserve of observation, which reflected our return to the status of “outsiders looking in” on the event. This subtle withdrawal from the energy of the crowd was probably exacerbated by the wave of fatigue that overtook our group, much of which had had little to eat or drink since breakfast and was running low on energy. But even as we made our way back to the bus through the bustling streets of Khayelitsha, we were conscious of the magnitude of the rally we’d just experienced. The nature of the event had exceeded the simple purpose of garnering ANC support; it had engendered a spirit of hope and promise within the struggling township community. Within the cement and barbed-wire confines of Khayelitsha Stadium, it had served to reinforce the bonds that unite a population of long-disenfranchised South Africans. Zuma had connected with the crowd, as a “man of the people”, in a way that most politicians could not. And even those of us who don’t share the vision or condone the leadership of the ANC could not deny that the political rally had had an overwhelmingly positive impact on the morale of one of Cape Town’s most impoverished and politically overlooked communities.
