Ian writes an imaginative story about an actual event – now all too common in the ‘New’
South Africa.
IAN SPITZ
Hullo, Mission Control. This is XT 75 reporting. As you know, I have been researchingnotable processions in various cities on Planet Earth, and have recently reported on the
Gay Pride parade in Toronto, and the Carnival parade in Rio de Janeiro. It did my heart
good to see the gaiety of these events at a time when Planet Earth is not in such good
shape politically.
So, I am now hovering over Johannesburg, where I have had a reliable report that a
procession is to take place today. I’m not sure about the event, but I am going down now
to get a good position to record it. As usual, no-one will be able to see my landing, and
the spacecraft will be well hidden. I will disguise myself as a white male, and be
inconspicuous in the crowd.
It is fortunate that I picked up English on studying available courses on Earth’s World
Wide Web. This must be one of the most difficult languages I’ve tackled, but I’m
confident that now I can get by on the streets of Johannesburg.
I’m through the clouds. The downtown area is visible, with impressive multi-storey
buildings; obviously the head-offices of major corporations. There are two high
communication towers. I’m gliding in closer. It seems that many of the buildings I spoke
about are vacant or have been converted into apartments. They look very shabby, and
have washing hanging from the windows. In the distance, I see the route of the
procession. Think I’ll land and find a place in time to watch the parade.
Mission Control, I’m in position and the procession in the distance coming towards me.
Strangely enough, it seems I am the only white man amongst a small crowd of blacks. I
can hear sounds of singing, and cannot understand how such a joyous event has
attracted so little crowd support. It is almost as if they are nervously anticipating the
approach of the procession. There are quite a few policemen around me as well. Now I
see the front of the parade, and there is a dancing rhythm with the singing. I’ll try and
find out what the great event is that they are celebrating.
The black man I spoke to looked at me as if I was an alien! How did he know? Anyway,
he warned me to keep well back as they came past, and to try to be inconspicuous. I
thought I was inconspicuous! He explained that what I was seeing was a demonstration
by the Municipal Workers Union. What a happy bunch of fellows! They must number
over two thousand, all dancing and singing. The dancing is a mixture of swirling and
lifting of feet. The singing is in a language I do not know. My black friend explained that
they were toyi-toying. I remember the expression because I first saw such celebration
when South Africa won the Rugby World Cup in 1997.
They are pretty close now, and the singing and dancing is very catching. I feel like
joining in, but am heeding the black man’s advice and keeping my distance. Also, I have
a feeling is that the performers are not too happy. Some of them look annoyed – maybe
they had their feet trampled. They are spreading out towards the sidewalks on both
sides of the street. For the first time, I notice that there are lines of full dustbins on the
sidewalks. I guess they were not cleared in time because the municipal workers were
involved in the procession.
If I’ve been silent for a while, it is because I can’t believe what I’ve just seen! Without
interrupting the dancing and singing, the municipal workers suddenly upended the
dustbins and spewed their contents into the street. Some of those on the periphery have
started breaking shop windows and damaging cars parked nearby. My black friend has
just explained to me that they are actually protesting against the increase in wages they
were offered, and this is their way of explaining that they are worth more than the offer.
Suddenly, the group of policemen has approached, and they are warning the
participants to stop the damage they were causing. Some have dispersed, but the more
active ones are being chased by police brandishing batons. In the distance, black smoke
is rising, and the smell is that of burning tyres.
The procession is now breaking up, leaving a trail of dirt and destruction throughout the
city centre. My black friend explained that they are happy that they have demonstrated in
no uncertain way that such valued workmen as themselves should not be under-
estimated, and that their employees should appreciate the efforts they make in keeping
the city clean! After all, look what can happen if they were not there to regularly clear the
refuse!
Mission Control, I am now on my way home, somewhat confused! XT 75 signing out. Over and out.
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