"Cape of Storms"/"Cape of Good Hope"...What's in a name?

     While we visited the “Cape of Good Hope” I began contemplating both the previous and present names for the cape.  It was originally known as the “Cape of Storms” due to the violent storms that would occur at sea.  While on our tour of Robbin Island, our tour guide talked about the many ships that were punctured by the rocks and boulders and devoured by the sea due to storms. Also according to him, It was later decided that the name needed to be changed in order to be more inviting to visitors.  My mind drifted back to Magona’s novel “Mother to Mother”, and I thought I would include a passage from the book in order for others to read, think about and make of it what they will.

     For people who may not have read the book, it is a fictional story built around the real incident of the murder of Amy Biehl. In this book the narrator is a black South African mother of one of the boys who was involved in the murder of a white American girl, who tries to explain the cultural violence of South Africa to the mother of the victim. Of course, I hate to use the word “victim” when only speaking of the murdered girl, because wasn’t the boy a victim of cultural violence…a victim of the apartheid government?

  This book is a gripping fictional story based in a bit of non-fiction. In the dialouge I have chosen to share, there is a conversation going on between a young black girl and her grandfather, they were discussing her schooling and what she learned about the history of South Africa, which was the history about and solely from the view point of the white settlers. The grandfather begins to probe the girl about what she has learned. I know the excerpt I have chosen is a bit longer, but it will only take a moment to read. Following the excerpt I have included some dwindling afterthoughts I had about our visit to Cape Point.

  ‘What did they mean, the Cape of Storms?’ he asked.

  ‘Because the sea was often rough and broke their ships.’

  ‘Why then, did they change the name to Cape of Good Hope? 

Did the sea stop killing them?’

     The teacher had not talked of the sea in connection with the renaming of the Cape.  Tatmkhulu saw me hesitate. He said:

  ‘Because the sea was no longer as important to them.  They had decided to stay here.  They were no longer travelling in their ships.’  After that, he went on, his voice soft and far-away, as though he were talking to many people, whose ears were filled with nothing else except the sound of his voice.

  ‘Long, long ago,’ he began, ‘in the times of our ancestors, when abelungu first came to this country, they called this the place of storms. They called it that because the great blue river without end ate up their ships.  That was more than three hundred years ago. And the chief mlungu man who came with his group, one called Vasco da Gama, chose to call it that. The place of storms.

  ‘Did he not know that the biggest storm was the storm they themselves brought?

  ‘They came to find food and water. Then they liked the food so much they stayed. They found people already here.  But that did not stop them from staying. And, having  stayed, from taking the land from the people they had found here.

  ‘Yes, Mzuklwana,’ he sighed, ‘the biggest storm is still here.  It is in our hearts- the hearts of the people of this land.

  ‘For, let me tell you something, deep run the roots of hatred here. Deep. Deep. Deep.’ He was silent, thereafter.  Silent for a long minute and so I ventured:

  ‘Why, Tatomkhulu?  Why is there hatred in the hearts of the people?’ But he wouldn’t say.  Only patted me on the head.  Told me to go and play with my friends before Mama found me something to do or the sun went home to sleep.

  ‘Do you remember what I told you the other day, Mzukulwana?’

another day, he asked.

  ‘Ewe, Tatomkhulu,’ I answered.

  ‘Have your teachers taught you anything about Nongqawuse?’

  ‘Ewe, they have,k Tatomkhulu.’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘She was a false prophet who told people to kill all their cattle and they would get new cattle on the third day.’

  ‘And did the people do that?’

  ‘Ewe, Tatomkhulu.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they were superstitious and ignorant.’

Tatomkhulu shook his head, pulled long and strong on his pipe. ‘These liars, your teachers,’ he said. ‘But, what can one expect? After all, they are paid by the same boer government… the same people who stole our land.’

     He gave me a long look before saying, ‘Mzukulwana, listen to me. Listen and remember what you have heard, this day.’  Then, in the voice of imbondi of the people, he recited:

  ‘Deep run the roots of hatred here

  So deep, a cattle-worshipping nation killed all its precious herds.

  Tillers, burned ferile fields, fully sowed, bearing rich promise too.

  Readers of Nature’s Signs, allowed themselves fallacious belief. 

  In red noon’s eye rolling back to the east for sleep.

  Anything.  Anything, to rid themselves of these unwanted strangers.

  No sacrifice to great, to wash away the curse.

  That deep, deep, deep ran the hatred then.

  In the nearly two centuries since, the hatred has but multiplied.

  The hatred has but multiplied.’

He stopped.  Looked at me, a smile playing around his lips, twinkling his eyes.

  ‘Mzukulwana,’ he said, ‘mark my words.  The storm we talked about the other day? About the Cape of Storms?’

  I nodded my confirmation.

    ‘Well,’ he continued.  ‘The storm in the heart of a person is more dangerous than howling winds and raging waves.  You can run from those and seek shelter elsewhere, perhaps escape them altogether.  How does one run away from the heart, one’s own or that of another?

(Magona 174-176)

     When thinking of the people of South Africa I had met, I did not see hate, I saw hurt and love, a lot of love, and a passion and yearning to right the wrongs of the apartheid government of the past.  Because of the long, violent and complicated history of South Africa, I personally think “Cape of Storms” is an appropriate previous name for the cape.    

     Now, there is no doubt the legacy of apartheid is very prevalent to this day. As many people pointed out to our traveling group, South Africa has not “Arrived” in the sense that most people who do not live there believe it has, there are still vast inequalities!  However, there is now a democratic government and attempts at reconciliation through hearings, conversations, land acts among other things.  While I’m sure it will be a very long and difficult journey towards healing such deep wounds, I find the “Cape of Good Hope” a very fitting current name. 

     Another thing I find both interesting and troubling, is the lack of commemoration or conversation about the two names at the tourist location of Cape Point. I enjoyed the beauty of Cape Point, and I had fun carefully exploring the jagged rocks and boulders with the others. I  also found listening and watching the waves wash over them peaceful.  Yet, I had to wonder, why isn’t there a large story board or a pamphlet or something…anything, next to the sign where all of the tourist gather and wait in line to get their picture taken?? Although the cape names were not given with the political past of South Africa in mind, one could certainly see how the names could represent such a past. What a perfect and wasted opportunity to give people a bit of information and education on the history of the two cape names and South Africa as a whole. 

Magona, Sindiwe. Mother to Mother. Boston: Beacon, 1999. 174+. Print.

Robin Island Tour