Hope

It started with a conversation about a platform shop. As we pulled out of Cape Town Station he said it would be great if we could just quickly buy something from the shop, if only they had an entrance on the platform. Sweets, something to drink or a newspaper. Then they would make a killing. I said "but then the people would get free access to the train, and they'd have to control it". Silence. Me problem solving: "What about a small window. Then people could just say what they wanted, pay for it and it gets passed through the window." Satisfied silence?

As we approach De Doorns, we stop and wait for police to clear striking farm workers off the tracks. The police on board ask us to close the blinds in case people are throwing stones. For a moment, me and my camera phone feel like a member of the Bang Bang Club. Somehow sharing a tense moment gets the conversation going again. He tells me about a farmer he met who sends grapes from that area all over the world. He is angry at others eating grapes when South Africans can't. I am too.

The dry Karoo landscape silences mirror our conversation like the distant mountains. A political mountain approaches. We talk with disgust of Jacob Zuma and Nkandla. He tells me about meeting Ramaphosa "...before NUM. Before he changed his jacket. When he used to run side by side with Biko". I'm fleshing out my academic history with these gems, scattered like the sheep across the landscape. We both agree that education is the key. He tells me how he would put money into teacher training colleges if he were Zille and uplifting schools like Langa High to be more like Rondebosch Boys Prep. Langa High was the only high school for Africans in Cape Town when he was young. My dad went to "Roast Beef and Pork Sausages".

Train and electricity warning signs alert non-existent drivers that they will soon cross our path on the dusty roads. I tell him I want to mentor young people and how I think that that is so important. I don't mention her, but I'm proud of my mums work when he agrees with me that it is important in overcrowded schools. He tells me he worked for the Western Cape Government. I'm proud to explain my work, but tell it from the peoples side, not the environments. He is a proud PAC supporter. Robert Sobukwe said there is only one race, the human race, as we cross a river. The PACs downfall was accepting money from a white Australian woman. It shouldn't have been. He's angry because of that. Mandela didn't have a mandate from the ANC or the people of South Africa to negotiate. Mandela sold us out, and he's not too impressed with the little man, Tutu, either.

He didn't start talking about the grape farmer once we had passed the striking workers. What he told me was that when he went to school in Fort Beaufort (because there was only one high school in Langa for Africans) he used to hate taking the train. He said that with passion, and his bottom lip quivered. There used to be a shop on the platform, and only the white people could go inside. The black people were served through a small window on the side.

As the Karoo succumbs to sunset he says "I'm glad I could speak to you, Glen." I say, "I am too, Sky." I think how glad I am there wasn't a free coupe. He goes to get water to take his pills.