Bonteheuwel women won’t be taken for fools by politicians

Nigerian musician Davido’s smash hit Fall reverberates around a community hall in Bonteheuwel. About 30 middle-aged women are clapping and laughing as they take turns to lead the others in exercise sequences. Tae Bo air punches are followed by jumping jacks and hip rolls.

“Look here, I’m 50 years old!” one woman protests in mock indignation.

“I’m 62!” counters another breathlessly. The oldest among them is 78.

At the centre of the action is a short, bespectacled woman in a headscarf who wears a whistle around her neck and an unmistakable aura of authority. Soraya Salie is the powerhouse behind the Bonteheuwel Walking Ladies: A group of women from one of the most economically deprived areas of the Cape Flats who have been meeting several times a week since 2007.

Ostensibly, they come together to exercise. Salie is quick to point out the women in the group whose health prospects have dramatically improved since they joined the weekly workout.

“That one, the doctor had given up on after three colon operations,” Salie says. “That one had a mastectomy. We have five women here who had mastectomies, in fact.”

Her own health scare is what prompted Salie to start the Bonteheuwel Walking Ladies. After she was diagnosed with a brain tumour in 2005, Salie says the doctor told her husband it was “a matter of time”.

Yet today Salie appears to possess the energy of a woman several decades her junior, and the group she launched with friends 12 years ago now offers its members far more than a twice-weekly sweat. On the day Daily Maverick visited, community workers were on hand to offer simple manicures. Adult literacy classes are available, and an arrangement with the Women’s Legal Centre means that the women can access legal advice. The latter is, sadly, a necessary service.

“We come from an area with a stigma of domestic violence,” Salie explains. “When we come here, it’s also about uplifting the spirit.”

It seems to be working. The energy inside the hall is irresistibly positive.

“No money can pay for this: to see them laugh like children,” Salie says, surveying the scene with satisfaction.

Salie says that the activity of the gangs is close to home for many of the Bonteheuwel Walking Ladies, with some of their grandchildren succumbing to the lure of gang membership in an area where other economic opportunities are few and far between. But the gangs know better than to mess with these women.

Gesturing to the hall door, Salie says: “When you walk out there, there’s great respect for the Walking Ladies.”

This Wednesday’s exercise session ends with a line-dance to PJ Powers’ Jabulani, after which the women pull plastic chairs into a circle to talk. With the elections now less than a month away, politics is top of mind — and it quickly becomes clear that the Walking Ladies represent a tough sell for any political party.

Their worries are abundant — for their children, their community’s safety, and the economic future of the area — and paired with a general cynicism towards politicians and their promises.

“What concerns me is: What will our matriculants do?” asks a woman who introduces herself as Zulpha.

Maryam, a fitness dynamo who earlier led the group in a punishing sequence of jumping squats, knits while she talks. Drug-dealers are high on her list of concerns.

“When children die in this area, there’s no police,” she says. “But if a gang lord dies — then the Minister [of Police] comes!”

The group murmurs their assent.

Aunty Pat (no relation to the Good party leader) chimes in.

“We sometimes stand at our gates and see 25 police cars just drive straight by,” she says. “That’s our taxpayer money, but there’s no police here.”

The DA’s proposal to send the army into the Cape Flats to help combat gangsterism comes up. One woman shakes her head in frustration.

“What’s that gonna achieve?” she asks.

The women seem to share a general sense of suspicion towards politicians of all stripes. The ward has been comfortably won by the DA in the last few elections, but the sentiment expressed towards the Western Cape’s ruling party is largely negative in the hall.

“We all pay our rates and taxes, but they don’t clean our streets. Really, there’s nothing from our councillors,” declares Salie. “Now it’s election time, they are promising houses. They think the people of Bonteheuwel are stupid! There are no houses.”

The women grow more animated as the discussion heats up.

“Every time it’s elections, we get promised better health, better jobs. Nothing’s been done! We are saying: enough is enough,” says a woman named Carmen.

Asked how many of the group are currently certain which party they will vote for, only six women of about 30 say their minds are made up.

Yet all the women are adamant on one point: However deep their political jadedness, they will vote on 8 May 2019. It’s their right.

“Some of us voted ANC initially. It was only fair because they took us out the struggle,” says Maryam. “But now…”

"Now they put us back in the struggle!” suggests Salie mischievously, to raucous laughter.

“But the DA take us for even bigger fools,” insists Maryam.

The topic of the EFF is raised when Salie reminisces about the time when the Walking Ladies took a trip to Parliament to watch the business of the National Assembly. There they saw the Fighters in full-throated action, chanting “Pay back the money!” at then-President Jacob Zuma.

Salie’s complaint about Julius Malema is largely sartorial. The Walking Ladies were wearing red years before the EFF, she says.

“He stole our colour scheme!”

Time waits for no women, and the Walking Ladies are a busy bunch. There are errands to run, and Salie and Maryam are due to tend a Peace Garden established by the group up the road from the community hall.

Before they scatter, Salie leads the women in the song with which they begin and close every meeting.

“Women are strength,” they sing, fists aloft. “We salute you, women of power!” DM