EVERYTHING’S IN APPLE PIE ORDER IN NYANGA
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Moving into rooms at the back of the church on its completion in 1988, for the first few months, I coped alone, living mainly on All-Bran and apples, baked beans, and bacon and eggs, and hoovering occasionally. Eventually the Parish Council rebelled, saying this was a totally unacceptable way of life for their parish priest and, anyway, this place was filthy. So thenceforward, a wonderful Zulu lady, Mrs Gama, came twice weekly to clean and cook, until three years ago when she had to give up because of arthritis.
For many years, three Irish Dominican Sisters have been living in St Mary’s Primary School next door (the church is built in the school grounds). The late Cardinal McCann always refused to allow them to live there, because of the danger, but surprisingly amidst all the violence of the state of emergency, his successor, Archbishop Stephen Naidoo, gave way to their insistent pleas, whereupon they promptly carved up part of the school to make a simple convent. They went through many dangerous times and the risks were becoming excessive. Repeated attempts were made to break in, and one night shots were exchanged between our Parish Chairperson and the attackers. Then Sr Aileen was highjacked at gunpoint in the school grounds. A few weeks later she and Sr Margaret were attacked nearby and Margaret was shot in the chest. She only survived by a miracle. During the next few months, whilst the Irish Dominican Sisters were deliberating whether reluctantly to pull out of Nyanga - which eventually they had to - Sr Aileen continued to live in the school, joined by a young parishioner Lindiwe Melane. Lindiwe comes from a family where all the girls have to cook in turn. Aileen, a superb cook, taught her many new recipes including how to bake an excellent apple pie.
So when Aileen suggested that Lindiwe took over from Mrs Gama, I was in clover. However, Lindiwe was keen to become a nurse. Thanks to the wonderful late Jean McLaughlin, along with the generous parishioners of St Aloysius, Glasgow, I have managed to get her on a very good course. Consequently, she only comes to cook once a week. Therefore, over the last six months I have been watching her cooking like a lynx and have made notes of a variety of recipes - including the one for apple pie!
Many readers will know that I was practising medicine until my wife died, after which I joined the Jesuits. We met during the war, when we were up against the last German defence in Italy, the Gothic Time. She had never cooked until we married, as she came from an ancient patrician family in Lucca. Then she had to cope with ration books and four dried eggs per month in post-war England. My daughter has since taught me how to cook some vegetarian dishes to add to Lindiwe’s repertoire.
I now do all my own cooking, including Sunday supper for Des Curran, parish priest of the neighbouring black township. Des, a Cambridge classicist and successful barrister before becoming a priest, and I had some interesting times during the State of Emergency. We led mass funerals and gave evidence against the Riot Police and the Army in the Supreme Court. Once we were water cannoned and arrested. When I remarked to the policeman, who finally discharged us with a warning, that their water cannon was not as powerful as all that (though it just about knocked you flat), he replied, ‘Well it’s like this Reverend. We don’t like to use too much force against a frail old man like you. Have a good day, Reverend.’
Des and I used to go to the Sisters on a Sunday evening for supper and TV. Now that they have gone, and neither of us has a TV, he comes just for a meal and a chat. One thing that is essential for our health, happiness and contentment is apple pie. Not long after the release from prison of Nelson Mandela and the end of the State of Emergency, a series of ferocious township taxi wars broke out in various places in South Africa. It was always over routes and parking facilities. In our area the rivals were WEBTA (Western Cape Black Taxi Association) - said to be owned by whites and strongly supported by the security forces - and LAGUNYA (Langa, Gugulethu and Nyanga) whose owners were all local. Many taxi drivers, owners, and passengers were killed. One day a teenage parishioner was coming home from Cape Town in a taxi on the main N2 highway. Another taxi drew alongside and opened fire, a bullet grazing the back of her neck. An infinitesimal difference in relative speeds and she would have been killed, or left quadriplegic.
On another day, with much violence around, the father of a young man, a LAGUNYA taxi owner, climbed over the wall and asked me to get him away quickly, as a colleague had just phoned him to say that the opposition were on their way to kill him. Simultaneously my phone rang - Nthuseng, our Parish Council Chairperson, from Durban to say her children had phoned to say that two houses were burning nearby. Could I go around and, if necessary, bring them back to the Church? She and her family were under threat from the opposite direction because her husband had been a WEBTA driver. The fugitive’s plight seemed more urgent, so I drove him to friends at the far end of Gugulethu, thence to Nthuseng’s house in New Crossroads. Her own mother was with the children, and there seemed no imminent threat, so they decided to stay and phone me if necessary. By the time I got back to the Church, the opposition had already been and shot down the fugitive’s neighbour, also a taxi driver.
Nowadays things are much more peaceful, apart from the general crime, which one finds anywhere. They recently broke into my house during the night - not even waking me - and only took an electric kettle and my supper (in a rather good pot). They were probably locals looking for the TV and computer, which I don’t possess. I live here comfortably with my dog and cat. Many years ago the then Regional Superior, Mike Lewis, insisted that I have a dog, after the priest in the next parish was abducted and brutally murdered. He gave me a beautiful Doberman-Rotweiler which I promptly named ‘Mike’ who was useless as a guard-dog, as he loved the world and all the world loved Mike. He died two years ago and, after much searching we found an abandoned Old English Sheepdog called Dorcas. She, and our cat Sheeba, get on incredibly well.
Parish life is, I suppose, very similar to that of most parishes. Even during the worst times, parish life continues normally. However, a menace more deadly than the violence has begun to surface - AIDS.
Nonetheless, one really feels the Holy Spirit at work in our area. So we have much to be thankful for.