Cindy-Lou Dale

In the deep blue pond of Cape Town’s Table Bay Harbour lies the most abiding symbol of colonial tyranny, the infamous icon of segregation, the Alcatraz-style Maximum Security Prison of Robben Island. Since the early 1600s, Robben Island, some 12 kilometres from the mainland and encompassing some 575 hectare, has served as a site of desolate banishment, exile and isolation to leprosy sufferers and dangerous mental patients. Today the island and prison is preserved as a museum whose guides are all former inmates. They provide valuable insight into the harsh treatment the former government employed to control rebels.

Cold reality sets in whilst thrashing through the choppy swells on the 40-minute ferry journey to the island, watching the mainland shrink away. One can only but imagine the realisations of former prisoners that there would be no escape from the foreboding loneliness that awaited them. No matter which way your political views swing, a visit to Robben Island is a deeply felt and emotional experience.

The island was proclaimed a World Heritage Site in 1999 and guided tours run daily, starting at the Mandela Gateway - the embarkation point at Cape Town’s V&A Waterfront, on the hour between 9am until 3pm. A tour of the island includes a bus journey to visit its oldest sites – the lepers’ graveyard and church, and the lime quarry where those sentenced to hard labor cut blocks for those inside to break once more into stones. There’s the guard’s village, now home to the former prisoners-turned-guides, and nearby is a small cottage where the founder of the Pan African Congress, Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe passed his last days.

Accompanying each group are former inmates who give a first-hand rundown of what it was like to be incarcerated there. One such guide is Lionel Davis who, in April 1964, was sentenced to six years on Robben Island, after being found guilty of conspiring to commit sabotage. Now Lionel lives on the Island with his family and is the chairperson of the Robben Island Village Association.

“During the day,” Lionel said, “prisoners were forced to endure hours of hard labor. This resulted in painful blisters forming on our hands, making the work a double nightmare. No first aid kits were provided, we had to apply urine to our wounds to sterilize them.” He contemplated the horizon for a moment then continued.

“We were made to do pointless jobs, like spending three weeks digging a mountain of sand in one place, moving it to another place, and then transporting it back to its original position.”

When Robben Island ran a General Infirmary, from 1846 to 1931, it was recorded that the 'misfits' were treated with no respect whatsoever. They were cut off from society, banned from luxuries and scarred with insults.

Robben Island was meant to 'cure' the lepers, as sea bathing improved their skin-condition, but instead the only treatment they received was hostility.

“Lepers were left on the island as people who are dead," said Lionel. “Their food was poorly prepared and their clothes inadequate.” Lionel explained that men and women were not allowed to communicate with one another as it was feared they would conceive leper children.

When the island became a prison, the ordeals worsened and racist wardens dominated the cold halls. Lionel shook his head, as if disbelieving his own recollections.

“They were abrupt, sour and cruel, their actions brutal and bloody. The prisoners were isolated from family -- visits were seldom allowed, and when they were, they were strictly monitored.”

An on-foot tour around the prison itself, is deeply disturbing. Our guide explained that he was open to questions but understandably there were some subjects on which he preferred not to comment and questions he choose not to answer. Inevitably, there was some lasting bitterness. The prison was cold, dull and undeniably hostile -- some prisoners would fake stomach ulcers, in order to be sent to the mainland hospital for treatment. Their main reason was to view the ‘colors’ of the city.

“But when we were sent to Cape Town for the day, to do hard labor, we were thrown off the ferry upon arrival.” To prove his point Lionel showed us the scars on his hands and knees, then recalled how the stench of sweat, faeces and urine dominated the air on the ferry crossing. Clearly those painful memories still haunted Lionel. His granite eyes betrayed him on one occasion and he avert his gaze, taking a moment to recompose himself.

Work on the island was hot and exhausting, and men labored all day in the quarries. The pale limestone wall reflected the glaring sunlight into the eyes of the prisoners, in some cases causing blindness. The wardens paced, hurling insults and whipping lazy prisoners.

The last highlight, and the reason everyone came, was to see the famed Mandela cell, which was identical to a hundred others.

I lingered a while and contemplated the broom-closet which had been Mandela's quarters. Grey walls, steel bars on the tiny window some eight feet above the floor, a flimsy steel framed bed, a thin, dirty mattress and a single blanket. I quietly contemplated the difference between freedom fighters and terrorists then asked Lionel why exactly Mandela had been imprisoned. His response was vague and dismissive. How quickly the world forgets, I thought.