The source claims that twice during the meeting, Little let slip the word "camp" and had to correct herself. According to the source, "winking at her executive director for social development Ivan Bromfield", Little reportedly said that "he'd be angry if she uses the wrong words".InternAfrica aims to educate and ensure Africans the right to dignity and adequate housing through secure ecologically sustainable development and use of natural resources, while promoting justifiable economic and social development. Cape Human Settlement NEWS is carried on this website to aid in this education.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Reports of CPT homeless 'work camps' alarming
The source claims that twice during the meeting, Little let slip the word "camp" and had to correct herself. According to the source, "winking at her executive director for social development Ivan Bromfield", Little reportedly said that "he'd be angry if she uses the wrong words".Sunday, March 23, 2014
Desperation and fear way of life for people in Delft
Thursday, July 4, 2013
District Six family offered Blikkiesdorp home
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
‘Communities need more than houses’
Friday, May 31, 2013
Delft housing interdict bid fails
Friday, November 9, 2012
Nobody gets my vote
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
The psychological strain of living in Blikkiesdorp (Tin Can Town)
The study, The Impact of Living in Transitional Communities; The Experiences of People in Blikkiesdorp and Happy Valley, was conducted by the University of the Western Cape (UWC) and Cape Peninsula University of Technology (CPUT). Because of budget considerations, the study was constrained to two settlements.
“The researchers did not have the resources to do large-scale interviews, so instead we set up four different focus groups of between 10 and 20 people living in Blikkiesdorp and another similar transit camp called Happy Valley. And we found there was a high level of correlation between the findings in each case,” Shaheed Mahomed, a CPUT civil engineer lecturer and Blikkiesdorp community activist told IRIN.
Among the mental health issues identified were depression, anxiety and panic attacks, chronic insomnia, anger and low self-esteem.
No hope
The study's authors said there was a dearth of information about the mental health of shack dwellers; the report was an attempt to address this knowledge gap.
Blikkiesdorp - also known as “Tin Can Town” - was established in 2008 as a temporary transit camp for 600 people. It has since grown to hold more than 4,000 inhabitants in 1,500 one-roomed corrugated iron structures, about 34km from Cape Town. Happy Valley is another relocation camp in the same vicinity, inhabited by 3,000 people. The camps were created ahead of the 2010 World Cup, which South Africa hosted, to house people removed from illegally occupied buildings.
“Future orientation is crucial for a healthy life, both mentally and physically. Many of the people interviewed described ongoing psychosomatic complaints like headaches that were clearly linked to stress and anxiety,” he said.
Challenges massive
Etienne Clarson, a Blikkiesdorp resident and community leader campaigning for low-cost housing, told IRIN the area is a “human dumping ground.”
The study found the living conditions had significantly influenced social and interpersonal relations, with the lack of privacy having a negative effect on people’s relationships, often resulting in marital problems. Children had no recreational facilities and were exposed to drug- and gang-related activities as young as age five.
However, the study revealed that, in a minority cases, the adversity led to high levels of resilience. “A very small proportion of people showed exceptional resilience when faced by these issues. This manifested itself in community activism, primarily. But it should not be seen as a major positive. If someone gets up after being knocked down, we should keep the focus on why they were knocked down in the first place,” Ahmed said.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
‘We were better off under a bridge’
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
High court bid to halt N2 Gateway tenders
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Where are our houses? – evictees
The remaining residents are on the city’s housing waiting list, which stands at 386 590.
Ernest Sonnenberg, mayoral committee member for housing, said it was not known how many people on the list actually qualified for a housing subsidy or already owned property elsewhere in the country – which would disqualify them in terms of the national allocation policy.
In the past year, 7 700 housing “opportunities” had been made available to people, said Sonnenberg.
He was not clear on how many people were actually moved into houses.
Now Blikkiesdorp residents fear they may never leave the TRA and realise their dream of living in “real” houses.
When it was built early in 2008, the city said the TRAs provided “medium term” temporary accommodation for people in emergency situations.
The first of the 1 680 families moved into the TRA on May 9 2008 after they were evicted from the N2 Gateway projects where they had illegally occupied houses.
The first occupants were given 18m2 wood and iron structures with electricity. One toilet and one standpipe was to be shared between four families.
A group of 136 families refused to move into the TRA, which became known as Blikkiesdorp, and squatted on the Symphony Way pavement in protest for two years. They claimed the TRA was crime ridden and not fit for families with children. After a lengthy court battle, the last of the families moved into Blikkiesdorp in November 2009.
On a recent Cape Argus visit to Blikkiesdorp, residents expressed unhappiness at being kept in the dark about when they would be moved into houses.
Community leader Jane Roberts said that last month residents had tried to invade empty houses in Delft, also part of the N2 Gateway project. Their attempts had been foiled by police and 11 people had been arrested.
They are expected to appear in the Bellville Magistrates’ Court on August 4.
Roberts said people had acted out of frustration.
“For some people, it’s been three years. This was supposed to be temporary. We should have been in a housing project by now,” said Roberts.
She said that while they now had electricity, sanitation, water and a play park for the children, they were much happier living on the pavement.
“This place has changed people. The sense of community has faded away. This place was never meant to be lived in,” said Roberts.
Sonnenberg said several lessons had been learned from the Blikkiesdorp situation and these had helped the city in its establishment of the new Mfuleni TRA near the old Faure Road.
The relocations started in May and ended last week.
Most of the residents moved there by the city were Mfuleni backyarders and flood victims from the area. The Mfuleni TRA has 384 structures
.
Sonnenberg said the size of the structures had been increased from 18m2 to 24m2, and more resilient material had been used in building them. Each structure has its own toilet and wash basin inside.
A Mfuleni community leader, Xolani Mqikela, said his new home was “much better” than the waterlogged shack he had lived in before.
He said many of the residents were happy with their homes and didn’t mind living there for a while.
“We just hope that we get houses, and we’re not left here permanently,” said Mqikela.
- Cape Argus
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Relocating Blikkiesdorp residents may take 5 years
The temporary relocation area near Delft was set up four years ago.
More than 6,000 people live in corrugated iron structures.
Eyewitness News spoke to several residents recently and many expressed dissatisfaction with their living conditions.
The city’s Housing Director Hans Smit said officials are working on relocating the residents.
“Blikkiesdorp is in fact a temporary relocating area. What we’re intending to do is as part of that project sorting out various informal settlements around the airport. We intend de-densifying the Blikkiesdorp TRA,” he said.
- Eyewitness News
Friday, December 24, 2010
On the other side of the mountain
Southeasters are in Cape Town's contradictory DNA. On Long Street and surrounds the wind is usually flirting with the hemlines of short-skirted blonde Euro-travellers or messing up the hair of messed-up hipsters. Another yawned accompaniment to the beautiful setting draped with beautiful ones.
Along Symphony Way, a stretch of road in Delft, to the north of the city, behind the airport and far removed from the shadow of Table Mountain, the wind is more palpable -- everything is already exposed here.
On a slow day the wind makes the ubiquitous white dust move in mini-dervish whirls on the tar. On harsher ones, it connives with the sand and the sun to ensure that the experiences of those dumped here -- the poor, those to be forgotten -- are inextricable from the lines on their faces.
Situated along this unforgiving stretch with a few bushes apparently yielding litter rather than any fruit is the Symphony Way "temporary relocation area", built by the city's Democratic Alliance-run municipality in 2007 at a cost of more than R30-million. It is also known as "Blikkiesdorp" (Tin-Can Town), Silver Town or just plain Blikkies.
It is a dumping ground for humans. Somalis and other foreigners who survived the 2008 xenophobic attacks and then outlived the expiration date on their original refugee camps are here, as are some street kids cleansed from Cape Town before the World Cup -- ironically, others have since been evicted.
Illegal occupation
There are Delft backyard dwellers who, at the instigation of then DA councillor Frank Martin (he was expelled from the party over the incident), occupied unfinished N2 Gateway project houses across the road, were evicted and then proceeded to occupy, for almost two years, the pavements in protest. They were, in November last year, ordered by the courts to move, pretty much, across the stretch to Blikkies. They're all in there. And then some.
There are more than 1 600 18m2 units -- much smaller than a shipping container -- some with as many as nine or 10 people living in them.
Thirty-two-year-old Shahieda Isaacs's four children are mopping up the remains of their mutton curry and roti when I join her and two other community members for supper in her rectangular box of a home.
The food, cooked in a tiny kitchen semi-partitioned from a larger sleeping area, is delicious. Isaacs sends her 12-year-old off to buy a litre of cool drink from the local spaza.
Spazas line Blikkiesdorp and it is apparent that here, as in informal settlements around the country, a hyper-localised economy exists. Money circulates among the poor, rather than being siphoned off by large supermarket chains -- largely because expensive and unsafe public transport and a lack of penetrative will by these chains makes them inaccessible to the poor.
It is a perversely positive result of ghettoisation in a time of economic recession.
Blikkiesdorp's children
Isaacs says it's difficult trying to raise her children -- two boys and two girls -- in such a claustrophobic space. Her daughters share one bunk bed, her sons the other, while she shares the main bed -- piled high with washed and neatly ironed clothes -- with her husband, Ridwaan.
There is no privacy here and Isaacs is concerned that by the time the government eventually moves the family into a house (in 2016, they say, but she isn't holding her breath) her children will be hitting puberty.
"If you think about it, it's heartbreaking, but you don't give up hope," says Isaacs.
Ridwaan is unemployed and Isaacs earns R850 a week cooking lunch for a company in Epping, of which R70 a week goes on her transport costs, which she says she tries to offset by baking koeksisters to sell every Sunday.
Isaacs says her biggest expense is clothes for her children but how has she been coping with the rising costs of pretty much everything?
"We get by like we always do. I'm lucky because my children never go to bed with an empty stomach, like other children. You just get by, but the main thing is that all my children's school fees are paid. That is the most important thing," says Isaacs.
There is a matter-of-fact determination in Blikkiesdorp -- and some ingenuity too.
At some point I stumbled across an inflatable pool near the hok (shack) of Lamees Solomons (29).
Nothing to do
Solomons and her husband, Shamiel, say the pool is for the "children in the camp. Most of these kids really battle, man, so we try to do what we can." The children in Blikkiesdorp have perennially runny noses from the dust and there is a sense of perpetual boredom about them: aside from the gravel, litter and mangy dogs, there is nothing here. And nothing to do.
Solomons says she has two informal fruit and vegetable stalls and also sells perfume. Her business is doing well, so the couple buys and prepares food for the children here twice a week.
"We're community, mos, we're family, so we must do what we can to help one another. Sometimes there are hundreds of children here for the food," says Solomons.
Earlier in the week Ashraf Cassiem, erstwhile chairperson of the Anti-Eviction Campaign (AEC), stood over a shallow hole in the pavement along Symphony Way: "Man, this is where we used to make a fire, this was where my tent was! I still lay in bed at night picturing those times," says Cassiem, beaming.
The memories of the AEC-organised occupation and barricade of Symphony Way from February 2008 until November last year by the 139 families who protested their evictions from the N2 Gateway and the lack of decent housing options sends an obvious rush through Cassiem.
He mainlines anti-establishment activism and is a hyperactive mixture of Che Guevara's revolutionary tendencies and Bugs Bunny's mischievousness; an ever-present cigarette replacing the cigar and carrot.
Cassiem's is a large grin, toothless on one side of his mouth: a restructuring courtesy, he says, of the police sticking in the boot on October 18 2000, when Cassiem, with community members of Tafelsig in Mitchell's Plain, united to stop a neighbour, Charles Lategaan, from being evicted from the house he rented from the government.
The formation of the AEC
They were met with police brutality. Six people were arrested that day and -- at a time when government's 1996 economic policy shift towards Gear (growth, employment and redistribution) was increasingly causing the poor to fall behind in their electricity, water and rental payments -- 17 families in the area were evicted.
But it was an act of community resistance that would lead to the formation, a month later, of the AEC, a radical, anarchic, self-confessedly "crazy" umbrella body for 10 community organisations in areas such as Gugulethu, Hanover Park and Mitchell's Plain.
The AEC fights against evictions, water cut-offs, poor health services and for better housing and free electricity for the poor. As Cassiem describes it, the AEC is about contradictions and "living politics" where the interests of affected communities -- rather than those of academics, NGOs and funders, as is sometimes the case with leftie social movements -- are paramount.
"The AEC is an idea. Ever changing. It is an organisation that is not an organisation. Something that listens to nobody, but listens to everybody," says Cassiem.
So, is the AEC the face of a brave new world being determined by the poor? Cassiem laughs. There is nothing new or brave about being poor or struggling for something better, he says: "It is what people do and have been doing for hundreds of years just to stay alive.
"Middle-class people may feel insecure now because of what is happening [economically around the world] but we have always been living with insecurity," he says.
According to Cassiem, the strategies and tactics the AEC uses are not especially of this time, but honed over a longer trajectory that goes back to community activism against apartheid.
With coffin-bearing marches on government officials, land occupations and events such as the Poor People's World Cup that was held in protest during Fifa's tournament, there are also actions more vital to the everyday.
Stealing basic rights
The AEC reconnects water and electricity for those who have been cut off because of arrears. It holds workshops to teach families how to spread the methods to access what is considered a basic right. It is, admittedly, becoming harder with the introduction of pre-paid electricity meters, but Cassiem says there is a way around those too -- it's more dangerous and includes having to scale electricity poles, but there is always a way around these things.
There is also very physical resistance. I am sitting in the four-roomed government home in Mitchell's Plain of Siyaam Cassiem, Ashraf's mother, with whom the 43-year-old activist lives, with his sister, Faranaaz, and her adult son.
Cassiem is shooting the breeze with Izaan Fredericks, a bra (brother) from the community who would prefer I didn't use his real name. Fredericks is trying to kill time and keep his mind off the craving to smoke tik (methamphetamine) -- from which, he says, he's been clean for almost two weeks.
In walks Boeta Whitey, a retired caretaker, coming from a local primary school -- where he used to work -- bitching because he was unable to get a grandchild's report card because the school fees had not been paid. From Boeta Whitey's vivid Afrikaans description of his conversation with the school secretary, it sounds as though Franz Kafka might be sweating in his grave.
The conversation shifts to Boeta Whitey and his unpaid bills. Fredericks remembers warding off the municipal workers who had come to cut off Boeta Whitey's water supply: "Sometimes you choose a knife and your most evil look, get a couple of the bigger guys around and just stand in front of the door and don't let them in," he says. Boeta Whitey laughs.
More seriously, Cassiem talks passionately about how community activism has facilitated social cohesion, roping in gangsters as sentinels to keep a lookout for the police when illegal connections were happening and keeping bored unemployed youths active, away from drugs and giving them some purpose -- and hope.
"There were times when we would just all get together and sleep in and in front of the house to stop them from being evicted," he says.
I join Cassiem on an errand while Fredericks mumbles something about visiting a nearby neighbour and wanders off with a promise to meet later. Later never arrives, Fredericks having never arrived at the neighbour's house.
A state of turmoil
There is a listlessness to both Cassiem and how the movement is defining and articulating itself on the ground during the time I spent with him in Cape Town.
The movement appears to be in a state of turmoil: a press release had just gone out announcing a new executive leadership and accusing Cassiem of corruption.
Cassiem denies the accusations, saying this is part of an attempt by various academics and funders to "hijack the movement".
"People want to control the AEC, but they don't understand that it is uncontrollable … This hijacking feels kak, because I know these people and have struggled with them. It feels like a knife in the back, but you're not dying," says Cassiem.
While this sideshow unfolds, Cassiem says it's "distracting from fighting the struggle; instead we're fighting among ourselves".
The AEC has also been using the law to fight against evictions, and for housing. But Cassiem believes that the "law still exists to protect evictions -- it happens eventually".
He is dismissive of Constitutional Court judgments such as in the Irene Grootboom and Joe Slovo cases -- the latter involving the AEC -- saying the "judgments coming out of the Con Court aim to show that the judges are listening to us, but that's it".
But the AEC does have a guerrilla approach to the law and how it can be manipulated. Its members rock up at local magistrates' courts, check out the court roll for eviction cases and then -- often to the surprise of those facing evictions -- present themselves as legal counsel.
Cassiem says the aim is to "frustrate and prolong evictions and to prevent default judgments because people aren't aware of their rights, not even in courts, or, worse still, [are] bullied by their lawyers into accepting an eviction".
Passing a smoke
Cassiem is reflecting on the role of the law in his mother's sitting room in Mitchell's Plain. He exhales the smoke from his cigarette, leans over and offers her an entjie (a puff).
It is a moment that I have seen shared between mother and son on several occasions, and shared between people in Blikkies, in Mitchell's Plain, in Bel Har and in Hout Bay hundreds of times. Loose cigarettes are cheaper when passed around.
That night the crescent moon hovers over Hout Bay's Hangberg informal settlement. The shacks, perched high on the hill, shudder to some big-beat dub music.
A mere two months previously, in September, the community had been in violent conflict with the municipality after the City of Cape Town tore down shacks built along a fire break and attempted to evict residents. Petrol bombs and rubber bullets were exchanged with abandon. Arrests and injuries mounted and, before calm returned, it appeared as though Gaza had been brought to Hout Bay, say residents.
Yet, on a December Thursday night, through a side door that misleadingly appeared to be the entrance to a shack, more than 300 people were crammed into a large dancehall called the Red Lion.
Rastas were flaying the air with their dreadlocks, marijuana was being cleaned in vast quantities on tabloid newspapers and bottleneck pipes were being stuffed and blazed on the dance floor.
Almost every informal settlement in Cape Town has its own "Dub Session", apparently, but Hangberg's is especially cherished because of the expansive views from the informal settlement's club over Hout Bay harbour. And the hard-as-nails beats.
Was this the brave new world?
I am reminded that there is nothing heroic, or new, about people getting on with their lives by what appears a Sonic the Hedgehog-lookalike rasta in that I-and-I Afrikaans patois laced with English so favoured in Cape Town: "I-man, just do what I-man just do," he says.
Source: Mail & Guardian Online
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Future of Blikkiesdorp unclear
The Symphony Way venue was established in 2007 for people who had been evicted from other premises.
But the area has since mushroomed to more than 1,000 corrugated iron houses.
Residents said they have not had any answers from the city about their future.
But the city council’s Kylie Hatton said that is because everything is still up in the air.
"At the moment there’s a possibility of a report back within the next month and then from there it will require an assessment, because we also need to look at zoning, planning, regulations, noise corridor parts - because of Delft’s proximity to the airport as well.”
Meanwhile, residents said their living conditions continue to deteriorate.
“We must do anything to survive in Blikkiesdorp - There’s some ladies that steal," one woman said. Another resident added, "No one is working around here – there’s no income for the people," while there were also complaints that medical help is very far.
Resident Peter Jacobs told Eyewitness News he feels hopeless.
“The condition we’re living in is very bad – especially in the winter it’s very cold, wet. It rains right through the houses,” he said.
- Eyewitness News
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Cape Town squatters battle plans for Muslim hotel

Nestled in the quarry above Cape Town, the informal settlement known as the Kraal has sweeping views of South Africa's iconic Table Mountain and the city's trendy Waterfront and harbour areas.
The area, first occupied by squatters in the early 1980s, has grown to accommodate 24 shacks housing 150 people, including many children.
“It's against the scripture of all religions to evict poor people from their homes” - Osman Shabodien Bo Kaap Civic Association chair
In recent months, several newcomers have erected plastic and corrugated iron dwellings in a narrow slit of ground about 100m away from the main camp.
The mosque authorities, led by Imam Moutie Saban, have complained about rising crime in the area. Tourists have been robbed and cars and houses broken into.
The mosque's sound system has been stolen and toilet facilities smeared with faeces.
The city's law enforcement authorities say the Kraal has been used as a hideout by criminals escaping police.
"Yes, we have had a criminal element and drug dealers but they have been arrested and are now in prison," says Kraal community leader Kenny Prins.
Infuriated
Imam Saban wants the area upgraded and has applied to the city council, which owns the land, to build a no-alcohol hotel, along with a business centre and a heritage centre on ground, which adjoins the back part of the historic Jameah mosque.
Community leader Kenny Prins says squatter residents must be given proper housing
The mosque, which was built in 1790 on land provided by the British colonial authorities, was the first to perform Friday congregational prayers in South Africa.
The mosque has already bought the house next door and wants to extend prayer facilities and the toilet block to accommodate the increasing number of worshippers.
Belinda Walker, city councillor for the area, confirmed receiving an unsolicited application to develop the land from Imam Saban and his son Wafeeq.
"Last year Imam Saban and his son came to see me about their proposal to extend the mosque. They proposed a development on the site of the quarry which would cross-subsidise their upgrade because of the high cost of the renovation.
“I have been on the council's waiting list for 17 years but to this day I'm still waiting for my house” - Mareldia Abrahams Kraal resident
"They said funding was available to build a Muslim-friendly hotel which would serve no alcohol and would meet the dietary needs of Muslim visitors. It would also allow for a separate swimming pool for females," says Ms Walker.
But the proposal has infuriated the Kraal community, as well as local residents represented by the Bo Kaap Civic Association.
"It's against the scripture of all religions to evict poor people from their homes, so we need to ensure the residents of the Kraal have access to decent housing before moving them from the site," says Osman Shabodien, chair of the association.
"The area has huge historical and heritage significance, so whatever we eventually decide to do, it will have to be carefully planned and we need to consult with the surrounding community.
"Any development has to benefit the entire community and not just a few individuals," says Mr Shabodien.
Solid rock
Mr Prins says residents of the informal settlement need to be given proper housing before there can be any thought of developing the land.
Many of the Kraal residents grew up in the area and will not accept being moved to the council's Blikkiesdorp resettlement camp, some 28km (18 miles) away.
Mosque authorities have complained about rising crime in the area
"Our children attend school in the area, so you can't just uproot them," says Mr Prins.
Kraal resident Mareldia Abrahams, a 54-year-old mother of four, says she would be prepared to move should the council provide her with a formal house.
"I have been on the council's waiting list for 17 years but to this day I'm still waiting for my house," says Ms Abrahams.
According to Ms Walker, there are no immediate plans for the land as a long consultation process still has to be followed.
"We are currently busy with a heritage study which will inform us what sort of development is suitable for the ground. We then need to advertise the development proposals for public comment so the entire process will take at least a year," she says.
Ms Walker ruled out providing formal housing on the land for Kraal residents.
"The area is situated on solid rock, which means it will be difficult and very expensive to lay underground sewerage and water connection pipes for council-subsidised housing. There are also up to 250 informal settlements in Cape Town that need our attention," she says.
- BBC
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
KTC residents up in arms over delivery
KTC's crowded Section Four is home to more than 5000 families, of whom 4000 must be moved so that the area can be upgraded.
Only 259 families have been moved out of KTC so far - to new government houses in Delft, about 15km away.
The KTC Concerned Residents' Movement says ward councillor Gladstone Ntamo is to blame for the delay.
"It will take another five years to upgrade this place if the councillor moves people to Delft at this pace. He moves them one by one," the movement's spokesperson, Ben Londzi, said.
KTC resident Makwenkwe Tengwa also complained about the slowness of the upgrade. He said KTC shack dwellers only wanted houses.
"People here will move anywhere in the city if they are going to get a house there because they have been living in shacks for more than 30 years," he said.
Some of the residents were even part of the historic "Asiyi-Khayelitsha" campaign in the 1980s, when they rose up against the apartheid government's bid to demolish Crossroads and move everyone further out of the city to Khayelitsha.
Ntamo said he was not to blame for the slow pace of delivery, because the city of Cape Town and provincial government were calling the shots.
"The pace is too slow and I have even said so to Human Settlements Minister Tokyo Sexwale," Ntamo said.
"I was promised that 757 people would be moved to new houses in Delft, but they are only moving them two at a time."
Provincial Housing Department spokesperson Zalisile Mbali also said Ntamo was not to blame.
"The councillor is only there to monitor and assist during relocation," Mbali said.
The City of Cape Town's Roger Carney said the national government's Housing Development Agency was to blame because it allocated houses in Delft for KTC residents.
"There is a misconception around the upgrading of KTC. We are dependent on the agency who gives us space to move people to. They do not allocate enough space. This is frustrating for all of us including the residents and the councillor," said Carney.
The agency would only say that they are busy with a number of projects to relocate KTC residents.
- Sowetan
Monday, October 4, 2010
Hangberg caught in a crossfire of law enforcement and lack of planning
Another man was badly injured by a rubber bullet that hit him in the groin.
Despite the surgery, Egypt still has the rubber bullet lodged in his skull. As a result he experienced his first fit and fears there will be more. He is not sure what further medical surgery will be required.
Quietly, he tells his version of what happened on the day he lost his left eye.
Waking up on Tuesday September 21, he walked down the hill to buy cigarettes and bread for his family.
He said he saw tyres burning and police Casspirs crawling up the hill from the harbour.
And then all hell broke loose.
“Police just took their guns out and shot at people. People were not throwing stones. It was only after police shot that people stated throwing rocks.
“I turned around and all I heard was a big bang in my head.” With blood gushing from his eye, he started vomiting.
He said soon thereafter he and his father were violently assaulted and forced into a Casspir by police and taken to the Hout Bay police station. They were detained there for three hours and only given a bandage for his wound.
When other detained residents requested that police assist him, “all they said was : ‘F*k, laat hom daar le’.”
“I can’t describe the feeling that I have,” said Egypt.
His, and other residents’ version of events is being disputed by City mayoral committee member for safety and security, JP Smith, who produced photographic evidence that those injured by rubber bullets were attacking law enforcement officials.
Hout Bay police station communications officer Tanya Lesch said there was photographic evidence showing Egypt was taken to a police Casspir by his father to receive medical attention.
Additionally, she said, when she was alerted to his condition when he was detained she called paramedics who told her he had been treated.
Lesch said she also arranged for an ambulance to come.
However, Egypt personal situation reveals why access to land and housing is such a volatile issue for the Hangberg community.
At 22-years-old and unemployed, home is a two-roomed wooden shack shared with his older sister and his parents.
Like hundreds of other young men in the community, he needs independence and a place of his own.
But with no access to formal housing, they have little option but to illegally encroach on vacant land.
Development Action Group Programme Director Ardiel Soeker and Chief Executive Officer Kailash Bhana state that Hangberg was established above the Hout Bay harbour in the 1940’s when state housing was provided to house harbour workers.
It has not been subject to inward migration but the population has grown naturally over the intervening 70 years.
While residents have been allowed to erect their own homes behind the council flats, it wasn’t “an ad-hoc solution applied by the local authority to a growing problem in Hangberg”.
No permanent, long term planning has been applied to the area and the community has had a hard time.
Overlooked by an ANC government who did not see the ‘coloured’ community as part of their voting constituency, the community, many of them reliant on the fishing industry, had to absorb the indignity of a fishing quota system that resulted in job losses and inter-community competition for what was left after big fishing companies were handed the lion’s share.
Now, expanding organically up the slopes of the hill upon which they live, they have come under fire, literally, from the DA-run city.
“This is our land. Our forefathers stayed here. They already took our land before. Where are we supposed to go?” said 32 year old Joanne Hendricks who shares a shack with her partner and their five children in the firebreak. Should the city get the eviction order requested from the Cape High Court, the Hendricks family will see their home torn down.
And residents say last week’s police brutality was outrageous, and have requested a commission of enquiry into police conduct.
“This police brutality is unacceptable,” said religious leader Father Godfrey Walton who helped to organize a peaceful rally for today (Sunday Oct 3) when residents will march to the Hout Bay police station to hand over a memorandum.
Walton, relayed the story of a 14 year old boy who was allegedly assaulted and detained in a Casspir last week.
“The policeman had his firearm pointed at the boy’s private parts. ‘I can kill you and dump your body in Langa. Thank god your mother is here, otherwise you would have been half way through the tunnel,’ This is what a policeman told the boy,” he said.
As it is, Hangberg is in a decrepit state. Many of the shacks do not have toilets and residents have to resort to either the few City-provided toilets, (many of which have become blocked) or the bucket system.
This government strategy “whether a result of lack of planning or a deliberate strategy to prevent poor people’s access to good land for housing, is the trigger for many informal settlement and backyard dwellers struggles, as in Hangberg,” wrote Soeker and Bhana.
Although the City has plans approved in 2008 to upgrade Hangberg, and has acquired one hectare of land adjacent to Hangberg at a cost of R8million where they intend to build high density low-income housing, residents say it’s happening too slowly.
“All these years we have been promised houses but nothing is happening,” said one resident who asked not to be named.
The City claims that the erection of informal structures has hampered the upgrading process. According to the City an agreement was struck between the community and then mayor Helen Zille that in order for upgrading to take place, no more informal structures would be erected.
But most residents say there was no agreement, and despite their desperate circumstances, few are willing to leave Hangberg.
“I will never leave this place,” affirmed a 61-year-old woman who has three adult children living in Hangberg.
Residents opposition to city law-enforcement efforts is also due to the perception that the local government has its eye on the land. They fear that once upgrading takes place, they will be kicked out and dumped in far-off settlements like Blikkiesdorp and Delft on the Cape Flats.
“They just want our votes and this million dollar view,” said Egypt, referring to the spectacular view which residents have of the harbor and the sea.
– West Cape News
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Squatters refuse to make way for hotel

The controversial camp in upmarket Bo-Kaap, situated at the foot of Signal Hill, offers a magnificent view of the city centre, Green Point Stadium and the harbour.
The camp has been there for more than 12 years, but now the squatters have accused the local imam of colluding with city authorities to kick them out and build a Muslim hotel on the land.
Camp leader Kenny Prins said his people would resist being moved to the temporary relocation area of Blikkiesdorp in Delft, about 28km from the city centre.
"These people won't survive in Blikkiesdorp. They need a decent place in the city centre," Prins said.
"We have a hotel for Arabs on Wales Street just near us, which should be enough. We won't move."
He accused the city of trying to take over the area because "it offers the best view of the city".
He said when the ANC was in charge of the province they got electricity and toilets, "but the current DA government has done nothing to improve our situation".
Prins said there were 24 shacks in the camp, and about 150 people living there.
Keyammondien Dalwai from Manenberg said he was worried about his sister who lived in the camp with her four little children.
"Keep them in Bo-Kaap. I feel hurt by this," he said.
DA ward councillor Belinda Hawker said the Imam at the mosque had proposed enlarging the mosque in order to accommodate more people.
Later, she said, he changed and applied to build a hotel for Muslim visitors from abroad. His proposal has not yet been approved as it has to be advertised widely, she said.
Hawker also said that a heritage study was currently being conducted on the site to determine whether any developments were suited for the site.
If the squatters were to be moved that would be in line with the government's housing policies, she said.
"The Bo-Kraal community is not under threat at all," she said.
- Sowetan

