Despite attempts to evict victims of last year's xenophobic violence from a Cape Town safety camp, their future remains uncertain. Their relocation could mean more attacks, writes Yazeed Kamaldien (from the M&G)
Rehema Shindano is 15 and the eldest of five sisters -- refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo -- who haven't been to school for more than a year.
Having fled their home when xenophobic violence erupted countrywide in May 2008, they now live in a plastic tent with their parents at the Blue Waters safety site in Strandfontein, Cape Town.
Shindano's family was among the 20000 African foreigners in Cape Town displaced by the violence.
Now they face the possibility of a second eviction -- and this time it will probably be back to the townships they fear. They have lived at Blue Waters for about 18 months, against the will of officials who have wanted them off the site since last September.
The City of Cape Town's application for an eviction order to get Shindano, her family and about 300 other refugees out of the Blue Waters seaside recreation area continued in the Cape High Court this week. Meanwhile, Shindano lives in limbo.
"I would like to go back to school one day, but not in this country because I don't feel comfortable here anymore. I would like to live in a safe place where the people will welcome us with open arms. Where people are kind to us. I'm not sure where that will be," says Shindano of her ideal future.
Her younger sisters giggle and play in the small tent where they live. Utensils and foodstuffs are packed on the tent's floor. There is not much light inside the tent as there is no electricity here -- they use candles to light their temporary homes and firewood for cooking. If they want cellphone batteries recharged, they send the devices to friends. There is no hot water; mobile toilets have been set up but sanitation is not this site's best feature. Tents are grouped according to the nationalities of the site's inhabitants.
The site is a sort of no-man's-land the inhabitants of which face an uncertain future. It's a bleak existence at Blue Waters, but the refugees stay on. Why not reintegrate?
Shindano says it simply: "We are still scared of what might happen." She says they had lived in the Samora Machel informal settlement in Phillipi, Cape Town, from the time they arrived in South Africa in 2003. But then everything changed.
"I remember refugees taking their belongings and running to the police station. I was coming home from school that day. In trains people were shouting that they would kill foreigners. We were scared of showing them our faces or telling them that we were foreigners," says Shindano. "We got home and our father told us that we should leave. We knew what would happen. They were saying that we should leave this country."
The Shindanos ended up at a police station, then at two different mosques and finally at Blue Waters. It doesn't offer much.
"People give us food and clothes. That's the happiest time. Sometimes it's very boring to live here. It feels like the United Nations has failed us," says Shindano.
Most refugees at Blue Waters have the impression that the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) will secure them a brighter life elsewhere.
Lawrence Mbangson, an UNHCR representative in Cape Town, has been acting as a mediator between refugees and the city's authorities. He seems to be more sympathetic to the city's desire to clear Blue Waters.
The UN body has been pivotal in moving the Blue Waters refugees to the Delft Symphony Way temporary relocation area, which has problems of its own. Mbangson feels strongly that some refugees are exploiting the situation.
"Some refugees are in this country illegally. They want resettlement … very few people get that.
"Even if you meet the criteria, it can take four to eight years. And they don't qualify. They don't realise that a plane will not come from nowhere to take them to America or Europe," he said.
Moving these refugees to Delft -- which locals call Blikkiesdorp, in reference to its 1 300 flimsy zinc structures -- has so far been disastrous. Refugees say they constantly face death threats from locals, while murders and drug abuse are common.
Samsam Ahmad, a Somali mother of two children, said that she does not "feel safe in this place". She was holding her new-born baby as she talked about her fears.
"Every night they knock and say, 'What are you doing here? This is my place'. They say they want to burn us. My children's lives are at risk. Every night I don't sleep. I left Blue Waters because the UNHCR said they want to give us protection. But now my life is in danger. This is not protection."
A fragile-looking 60-year-old Somali woman demonstrates the loud bangs they get at night on their temporary zinc homes in Blikkiesdorp. An Ethiopian refugee appears, willing to share his story, but is scared of being named.
"I came here [to Blikkiesdorp] because I had no choice," he says. "The UNHCR said it would put us somewhere where there is protection. But here, someone can kill me."
Back at Blue Waters, Shindano is scared and uncertain. She says she had lots of South African friends.
"They didn't feel right about what was happening but I knew somewhere inside of them they felt that foreigners should leave this country. I'm not sure how I knew this. I thought that their parents started talking about it to them," says Shindano.
"When the whole country is against you, it's just not right. You are scared and you just want to run."
Rehema Shindano is 15 and the eldest of five sisters -- refugees from the Democratic Republic of Congo -- who haven't been to school for more than a year.
Having fled their home when xenophobic violence erupted countrywide in May 2008, they now live in a plastic tent with their parents at the Blue Waters safety site in Strandfontein, Cape Town.
Shindano's family was among the 20000 African foreigners in Cape Town displaced by the violence.
Now they face the possibility of a second eviction -- and this time it will probably be back to the townships they fear. They have lived at Blue Waters for about 18 months, against the will of officials who have wanted them off the site since last September.
The City of Cape Town's application for an eviction order to get Shindano, her family and about 300 other refugees out of the Blue Waters seaside recreation area continued in the Cape High Court this week. Meanwhile, Shindano lives in limbo.
"I would like to go back to school one day, but not in this country because I don't feel comfortable here anymore. I would like to live in a safe place where the people will welcome us with open arms. Where people are kind to us. I'm not sure where that will be," says Shindano of her ideal future.
Her younger sisters giggle and play in the small tent where they live. Utensils and foodstuffs are packed on the tent's floor. There is not much light inside the tent as there is no electricity here -- they use candles to light their temporary homes and firewood for cooking. If they want cellphone batteries recharged, they send the devices to friends. There is no hot water; mobile toilets have been set up but sanitation is not this site's best feature. Tents are grouped according to the nationalities of the site's inhabitants.
The site is a sort of no-man's-land the inhabitants of which face an uncertain future. It's a bleak existence at Blue Waters, but the refugees stay on. Why not reintegrate?
Shindano says it simply: "We are still scared of what might happen." She says they had lived in the Samora Machel informal settlement in Phillipi, Cape Town, from the time they arrived in South Africa in 2003. But then everything changed.
"I remember refugees taking their belongings and running to the police station. I was coming home from school that day. In trains people were shouting that they would kill foreigners. We were scared of showing them our faces or telling them that we were foreigners," says Shindano. "We got home and our father told us that we should leave. We knew what would happen. They were saying that we should leave this country."
The Shindanos ended up at a police station, then at two different mosques and finally at Blue Waters. It doesn't offer much.
"People give us food and clothes. That's the happiest time. Sometimes it's very boring to live here. It feels like the United Nations has failed us," says Shindano.
Most refugees at Blue Waters have the impression that the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) will secure them a brighter life elsewhere.
Lawrence Mbangson, an UNHCR representative in Cape Town, has been acting as a mediator between refugees and the city's authorities. He seems to be more sympathetic to the city's desire to clear Blue Waters.
The UN body has been pivotal in moving the Blue Waters refugees to the Delft Symphony Way temporary relocation area, which has problems of its own. Mbangson feels strongly that some refugees are exploiting the situation.
"Some refugees are in this country illegally. They want resettlement … very few people get that.
"Even if you meet the criteria, it can take four to eight years. And they don't qualify. They don't realise that a plane will not come from nowhere to take them to America or Europe," he said.
Moving these refugees to Delft -- which locals call Blikkiesdorp, in reference to its 1 300 flimsy zinc structures -- has so far been disastrous. Refugees say they constantly face death threats from locals, while murders and drug abuse are common.
Samsam Ahmad, a Somali mother of two children, said that she does not "feel safe in this place". She was holding her new-born baby as she talked about her fears.
"Every night they knock and say, 'What are you doing here? This is my place'. They say they want to burn us. My children's lives are at risk. Every night I don't sleep. I left Blue Waters because the UNHCR said they want to give us protection. But now my life is in danger. This is not protection."
A fragile-looking 60-year-old Somali woman demonstrates the loud bangs they get at night on their temporary zinc homes in Blikkiesdorp. An Ethiopian refugee appears, willing to share his story, but is scared of being named.
"I came here [to Blikkiesdorp] because I had no choice," he says. "The UNHCR said it would put us somewhere where there is protection. But here, someone can kill me."
Back at Blue Waters, Shindano is scared and uncertain. She says she had lots of South African friends.
"They didn't feel right about what was happening but I knew somewhere inside of them they felt that foreigners should leave this country. I'm not sure how I knew this. I thought that their parents started talking about it to them," says Shindano.
"When the whole country is against you, it's just not right. You are scared and you just want to run."
No comments:
Post a Comment