This day was a day that will stay with me for a long time, a day filled with profound experiences and contrasts.
It began with an unexpected wake-up call from Ludo, who informed me that the local radio station, Cape Talk, wanted to interview me. The excitement of sharing my journey with talk show host Martin Bailie was invigorating. He was genuinely amazed by my way of traveling, and I couldn’t help but hope that his enthusiasm would spark more invitations from people across South Africa, especially in the areas outside of Cape Town.
After the radio show, I strolled back along Long Street towards Ludo’s apartment. The weather in Cape Town has been consistently beautiful, feeling like a rare hot summer back home in the Netherlands, though they call it spring here. I had a quick sandwich, and by 10:30, it was time for the highlight of the day: the ferry to Robben Island.
Yazeed, a reporter from the Cape Times, accompanied me on the ferry. He introduced me to the island more deeply than the onboard video ever could. It was fascinating to learn that he had been following my journey even before I arrived in South Africa. As we neared the island, I was struck by its proximity to Cape Town—just 11 kilometers away—yet its history made it feel like a world apart.
Robben Island’s history is as complex as it is heartbreaking. Once home to indigenous people, it became a site of imprisonment for thousands, including political prisoners like Nelson Mandela. The island has also served as a defense station during World War II and a hospital for leprosy patients, who were tragically isolated from their families. The Gate of Tears, where families bid farewell to loved ones they would never see again, stands as a haunting reminder of that time.
Our tour of the island took us through the desolate landscape to the notorious prison where Mandela and other anti-apartheid activists were held. Hearing the stories from a former prisoner was incredibly moving, and it was impossible not to be deeply affected by the suffering and resilience of those who endured such hardship. Unfortunately, not everyone in our group shared the same reverence — some tourists seemed more interested in seeing the island’s penguins than understanding its history, a stark reminder of how easily people can overlook the significance of a place.
As I walked through the prison, I couldn’t help but think of Mandela’s words: “We have to make this prison into a university.” The resilience of the prisoners, who turned their dire circumstances into an opportunity for learning and solidarity, is something I’ll carry with me.
By the end of the tour, I was emotionally drained. My eyes were watery, and my throat felt tight as I shook hands with the former prisoner who had guided us. All I could manage was a simple “Thank you,” but it felt deeply inadequate for the gratitude I felt.
Back at Ludo’s apartment, I took a brief nap to recover from the emotional intensity of the day. Soon after, my new host, Jon, arrived to pick me up. Jon, a museum designer, and his brother Paul, a well-known photographer, took me to their home in Rondebosch East. The area felt more grounded than the high-class environments I had previously stayed in, and their unpretentious bungalow exuded warmth and hospitality.
Jon’s wife, Di, and their children, Tara and Michael, welcomed me with open arms. The evening was filled with the lively sounds of South African music and the comforting aroma of a home-cooked meal. Di’s stories about the music of the 80s, and the powerful song “Weeping,” which spoke of young men refusing to serve in the apartheid army, added another layer to my understanding of this country’s complex history.
As we sat down for dinner, the call to prayer from a nearby mosque filled the air. It was my first time hearing such a call, and rather than being disruptive, it added to the rich atmosphere of the evening. After dinner, we went out for a drive in search of smoothies or soft ice cream, eventually ending up on the Sea Point Boulevard with bubblegum blue ice creams in hand.
The day ended quietly, with the family heading to bed while I stayed up to write. As I settled into the guestroom, I reflected on everything I had experienced today. It was a day of unforgettable moments — both the heavy weight of history and the lightness of family life.
Good night, Rondebosch East.
Ramon
