It's wet, miserable and cold in Cape Town, a prelude to what soccer fans can expect when they arrive for the World Cup next month. I note that in all the marketing hype for the FIFA competition, no-one has actually mentioned the weather. ('Probably best not to...everyone agreed?') June is Cape Town's winter and it gets very cold and rains alot if you didn't know. Forget the golden beaches, shark cage diving and all those alluring brochures full of scantily clad Western Cape babes. That's Summer and another six months away.The weather is doing little to shift my mood which took a swallow dive yesterday. Since I got here, I've felt like a fish out of water. It's that din again. The endless white noise of city life. The noise of commuter traffic building up first thing in the morning, (Give me Caprivi birdsong any day!) and the dense hum which follows all day long and into the night. Then there’s the conversation. People talking about stuff and things, I can fortunately no longer relate to. Yesterday, I overheard three business people discussing the logo branding of a well known mineral fizzy drink for over half an hour which such intensity and conviction, you felt their lives depended on it. They probably believe in the tooth-rotting product as well. How sad is that?
I've spent the last two days helping to build a bar for the World Cup. A friend offered me the job and I accepted feeling the need to do something other than stare at a computer screen, as well as earn some cash. It's on the edge of the 'fan park', a large penned enclosure in the city bowl, which when completed will offer thousands of football supporters without tickets, the opportunity to watch the games televised live on large screens.
The idea of this corral, is one of containment with a dual purpose. It means official sponsors of the World Cup (not going to mention their names because I find the whole thing vile and cynically exploitive) can sell their heavily branded products to a literally ‘captive’ audience without fear of competition while providing a ‘safe’ venue for football tourists, concentrating their revelry and beer vomit in one place.
I took a wander around the fence that surrounds the ‘fan park’ yesterday. It’s stunningly situated against a backdrop of Table Mountain and the formidable Isiko Natural History and Art museum. What struck me was the number of poor, hopelessly unemployed men sitting around it, in various stages of what can be only be described as despair. (Quite a few middle-aged whites too whom you tend to notice). No doubt come the glorious day and they will be shunted out of sight. After all, we wouldn’t want anything to upset the sponsors...
