Four hundred and sixty seven years after Bartholomeu Dias sailed into Table Bay and set eyes on Robben Island in 1488, I 'set foot', in the arms of my mother, little knowing that I would spend the most impressionable years of my childhood there. One of Dias's captains, Jao del Infante, in Dias's second ship, landed there sometime after him "to molest the seals and penguins." It seems that ever since then the island has, in some way, been molested. Van Riebeeck and his successor saw the potential of the island as a prison. The name Robben is derived from the Dutch for seals - robbe. Today there are many more seals on Seal Island in False Bay, where the world witnessed the first breaching by a Great White shark, and which remains the only place on Earth where Great Whites do this (we think). See bottom of the article for link. The British kept prisoners on Robben Island and in 1845 Lord Charles Somerset had lepers moved to the island where they were to "live and die unwanted on an island of terror". Many ex-inmates of the prison, including President Mandela, see the island as a special place. So do I, but then from a slightly different perspective. The first four years of my life were filled with happy memories of ‘the island’ as my home. Far from being just a prison, it was first an army and then a naval base where my parents met and were married. While various nations of the world spoilt and abused it, there is no doubt that nature intended it to be special. My father, a naval officer at the time, with the sanction of Doctor Hey, director of Nature Conservation, turned an area into a nature reserve. A 'Noah's Ark' berthed in the harbour sometime in 1958. They stocked the island with tortoise, duck, geese, buck (which included Springbok, Eland, steenbok, bontebok and fallow deer), ostrich and a few wildebeest which did not last long.   All except the fallow deer are indigenous to the Cape.  Many animals are still there including three species of tortoise - the most recently discovered in 1998 - two Parrot Beaked specimens that have remained undetected until now. The Leopard or Mountain tortoises might have suspected the past terror; perhaps they had no intention of being a part of a future infamy, but they often attempted the swim back to the mainland (they are the only species that can swim). Boats would lift them out of the sea in Table Bay and return them to us. None of the original 12 shipped over remain and in 1995, 4 more were introduced - they seem to have more easily accepted their home as they are still residents. One resident brought across a large Leopard tortoise discovered in a friend's garden in Newlands, Cape Town. He lived in our garden and grew big enough to climb over the wall and roam the island much like the sheep in Van Riebeeck's time. As children we were able to ride his great frame comfortably, as did some grown men. The buck and ostriches seemed equally happy and the ducks and Egyptian Geese were assigned a home in the old quarry, which had, some three hundred years before, supplied the dressed stone for the foundations of the Castle; at the time of my residence it bristled with fish. Regrettably, recent reports in Cape Town newspapers show that a lack of upkeep and the proliferation of rabbits on the island has led to the total devastation of the wildlife; there remains today almost none of the animals my father brought over all those years ago; the rabbits themselves have laid the island waste, stripping it of almost all ground vegetation. It looks almost like a desert. A reporter from the broadcasting corporation told me recently that they found the carcass of the last bontebok. Not all animals were wild.  Za-Za was a deaf Dalmatian - she joined my mother just before I was born and lived without the fear of traffic.  My mother only had to stomp on the wooden floors of our house to summon her.  I was reminded of her the other day when I walked into a local pub, and saw a young man with a Dalmatian called Za-Za.  He had read about her in the SA Navy archives, bought a pup and named her after the original. The dog I remember was my spaniel Lindy - soft and gentle enough to put up with my favourite pastime of sticking my fingers in her ears and sitting on her when she carried pups, and faithful enough to sleep under my pram and growl at anyone who came near.  The island, as you can imagine, was her paradise - rabbits or wild hares and birds to chase but never catch. One animal which was an integral part of my happy childhood, was a buck called Bambi (what else?). She came across on the 'Ark', alone and frightened. Her parents had been destroyed in a typical Cape fire. My mother assigned her to the empty chicken-hok at the bottom of the garden and she spent some time with us before being introduced into the 'wild'. I fed her three times a day from my redundant bottles and the special childhood memory of her sucking my finger at the end of each meal lives with me. I can still almost feel her diminutive tail flicking through the air with uncontrollable excitement at the sight of me. Or was it the bottle? All the inhabitants on Robben island knew each other well. There was no crime, and nothing can take the place of growing up in a completely safe environment. I call it an island mentality - the feeling of being part of a special community ran through to everyone. My grandfather, then a retired Colonel and near the end of his life, had a frightening experience while pushing me in a pushcart far from our home. He fell badly and could not get up. I lay on my side, still strapped to my seat and, while he struggled to rise, my only attempt at showing sympathy was a bout of uncontrollable laughter. Luckily for both of us a member of the now disbanded Cape Corps drove past in a troop carrier, helped both the old man and myself up, and returned us to our home. I was recorded as being indignant at his ending what I considered a unique adventure. My mother's penchant for organising took expression in a massive carols by candlelight with a nativity tableau in which nearly all the inhabitants of Robben Island took part. The naval tiffies constructed large wings for the Archangel which consisted of real feathers, and the halo surrounding her tall frame was embedded with lights which she controlled by means of a switch. The stable and manger were constructed by volunteer sailors, carpenters and artificers. The floodlighting was provided by my father and the head of the PWD (public works department) who both battled against a raging Southeaster. I, at the age of four, was the stable boy. The feeling of apprehension and excitement as I walked into the floodlit stadium, leading Mary's donkey, is still with me. The choir was given additional volume and depth with the naturally harmonizing voices of the black and coloured inhabitants. Few, if any, inhabitants were in the stands - just about everyone was in the tableau itself - but we did get eager support from friends and family who came over especially for the event. The sound of Silent Night still today evokes the memory of the small children of the island walking up, hesitantly, to peer at the babe in the manger and deposit their gifts which were later dispatched to an orphanage in Cape Town. Some inhabitants, including a few high-school pupils made the trip to the mainland each weekday on one of the two ferries - the Issie (named after Mrs. Smuts) and the Wolraad Woltemade. I sometimes made the journey sans mother but with my Nanny to meet my grandmother under the old station clock at Cape Town station. Today we smile knowingly at Capetonians reveling in the Waterfront. The ferries berthed at the Victoria Wharf and the harbour cafe was a familiar stop. Nothing can match a stormy sea (see picture) on a Sunday afternoon and the prospect of returning to our haven after a weekend in the wild city. There were the sailing trips on Caprice and other yachts; catching crayfish from small dinghies, and the night-time fishing expeditions by torch. Capetonians are famous for the appreciation of their heritage and the Navy, famous for its hospitality, decided on an open day. Navy and civilian inhabitants braced themselves for the influx of a one or two hundred people. I can remember a great throng of many hundreds and the ferries and their exhausted crews were busy well into the night returning them to the mainland. A weary island population spent most of the latter part of the day in search of wayward Capetonians who had wandered all over, some thinking a night on the island preferable to returning to town. I was familiar with the mechanics of the lighthouse - a special privilege for a young child, but just another part of life on the island. Mornings meant gathering in the library where my mother become, magically, a teacher and read to a class of pre-school children. There was a large swimming pool at the Mess. Knowing my love affair with water today, it is strange to vividly remember how frightened I was of it. My mother could no longer take my whimpering one day and hurled me in the deep end (I did have arm bands) - she then couldn't get me out. My Nanny and I walked each day, right across Robben Island. Long, safe walks of discovery. The bird life was and must still be magnificent, and the view of Table Mountain cannot be matched even from the palatial homes of Plattekloof, one of the posh northern suburbs today. The island farm was a favourite and a visit to the milking sheds was not complete without a search for the resident mole snake who was assigned a 'bunk' in the rafters in return for a diminished rat population. I cannot remember whether, like Able Seaman Just Nuisance, it was assigned any rank though. Near the farm were the remains of a beautiful private garden tended by the Matron of the leper hospital and which had flourished in spite of the fire which had destroyed that part of the island when the lepers were removed. The rambling roses and variety of shrubs seemed to grow in colourful support of the courage displayed by all the people incarcerated over so many years. It was a place many visited with quiet reverence, and still do today. Nanny, being a Xhosa, struck up a friendship with the non-political prisoners who, surprisingly enough, walked the island with relative 'freedom' in small work parties. Long conversations and much laughter resulted from these encounters. By this time I could speak elementary Xhosa and the hardened prisoners were, to me, simply friendly men with whom I chatted on most days.  What of Nanny and I? - I suppose we were a woman and a child, full of chatter and laughter, and a sad reminder of home. Nanny is gone. Many of the prisoners are now well-known, immaculately dressed men, imprisoned in our television sets and who speak of the island with ambivalent reverence. In Ciskei there were always two claims to fame for political leaders: imprisonment on Robben Island and also by one of Ciskei's regimes. My own personal claim to fame, and a wonderful dinner startler is that I was born on Robben island. The fact that I moved there when I was a few months old and was, in fact, born in the Gardens, Cape Town, has never perturbed me. My mother, however, often reminds me of my indiscretion. I put it down to poetic license; I'll not change my CV for anything! She, in fact, like others, served in the Army there in 1942 and then again in 1946. She met my father there while visiting friends and they were married on the island in the Anglican church (pictured here) in 1952. There can be no doubt that ex-inhabitants and visitors must wish for some safe sanctuary in the future. No development besides a careful reconstruction of the architecture and natural beauty can give any justice to it's rich history and the many conflicting memories. The recent decision to turn it into a tourist attraction under the umbrella of the Department of Arts and Culture is, perhaps, the best choice (see article below that shows this is no longer the case). There cannot be any doubt, either, that those friendly prisoners would have liked to have experienced the island as I did. Far from being just a "dumping ground for (offenders)", as one editorial in a Cape Town newspaper portrayed it recently, the island has played host to a great deal of 'normality' and even celebration. Perhaps then, it is fitting to relate one last memory. One day a work-detail of prisoners arrived at our front door. I clung to my mother's side while the spokesman for the group handed over a gift roughly wrapped in brown paper. They had heard from Nanny that Bambi had been released - I had lost a friend and they wanted to show some solidarity. They had carved, lovingly, and probably with very primitive tools, the gift of a wooden spoon. The spoon took pride of place in the kitchen and always reminded me that along with the memory of a very special place, there are always memories of special people on Robben Island itself. [All quotes and historical info. other than personal recollection taken from Robben Island by Simon De Villiers, Struik, 1971.]       I really enjoy getting feedback. I have had wonderful emails from kids and adults all over the world. Even touching stories of others who grew up there, before or after my time...please don't hesitate. And thank you for sharing this with me. mklerck@absamail.co.za Check out some GREAT links, info and genuine ads to the right - places to stay, things to do in Cape Town. And if you aren't happy with your timeshare, you definitely want to see the link to the right and further down.

weather on Robben Island today:     You are visitor number: free hit counter         I remember so well my father taking me to inspect this special place he had designed for the animals - water was scarce on the island, and he was determined to make sure the animals had enough...       Za-Za - the deaf Dalmatian who lived on the island with my mother before I was born.  I walked into a local pub, the Café Verdi, in the Wynberg Chelsea district recently and met another Za-Za - a young sailor had read about Za-Za in the archives and had bought a pup in her honour. This 45 years on. Talk about coincidence!     Bambi - this forty year old slide was difficult to adapt, save and enhance - but here she is.  Her descendents have roamed the island freely until the recent devastation of the vegetation due to bad management and a proliferation of rabbits; now all animals save the fallow dear are dead. Ironic that indigenous animals have not survived, while those from Europe have.        View of Table Mountain with its famous tablecloth - taken from a war-time crashboat. My mother used to cross the bay from the mainland to Robben Island where she trained in coast-artillery. She went on to "man" the guns at a battery above Simonstown - waiting for German submarines that never arrived.     We took her up to the old battery just the other day; and at 84 she was still able to walk around them, saddened, no doubt , by their state of disrepair.       A view difficult to beat - here an old wartime photograph of the spectacular spread of Arum Lilies on Robben Island; today people are only just discovering the interesting flora and fauna there...surprise, surprise!       Here I am with my faithful spaniel, Lindy, around 1959, age about four on Robben Island.     The Anglican church in the main street  - built from local stone taken from one of the quarries on the island in 1841.  My parents married here in 1952 - the first military wedding in over 100 years on the island. It has recently been restored. It is the only privately owned building on the entire island, with all other building belonging to the state.

A Very Sad Addition to my story: I am forced to write this as a codicil to the somewhat benign story above. Administration on 'the island' has been so bad that many people felt all was lost. Top management have spent so much time feathering their own nests, in particular financially, that the island, today, looks like a wasteland. Nearly all the animals, besides thousands of rabbits, are dead. In fact the most disturbing scene was flighted on a local programme called Fokus in June of 2008, and in which a European Fallow Deer was shown trying to eat the carcass of a dead rabbit. The vegetation has been stipped by thousands of rabbits that should have long since been controlled and eradicated. There is now absolutely no food left. A local employee smssed to our Cape Town newspaper, The Argus, the day after my article appeared, saying that the budget for the animals feed was 10% of the CEO's entertainment budget itself. This self-serving mentality has often been commonplace in Africa; many did think we in South Africa would escape it. But alas with the worst possible example just to the north of us, Zimbabwe, it seems we have not. There sometimes seems little in the African psyche that allows people in power to realise the old adage: Leadership is action, NOT position. The African way seems often to be the reverse. All position and all power, with as much filtering of material weath to the top levels as possible. The island is today a wasteland, with buildings crumbling, houses empty, the animals dead, yet guards and personnel adhere anally to some archaic regulation: no one may walk around freely. You are either a member of a group, or you are not allowed anywhere. Apart from the irony that prisoners, in my time, walked more freely than visitors today, it is perhaps a blessing, otherwise our faithful and gracious tourists from around the world would be subjected to the sheer stomach-turning blight that this once pristine and beautiful place now, like a sore, reveals. Below is the letter that was published in our local Cape Town newspaper in June 2008, and which resulted in my being interviewed on the television programme, Fokus with Freek Robinson and Danie Hefers. Pray for Robben Island, and if there is any pressure you might bear, please find a way to do it. This wonderful place needs our help. People automatically think that Nelson Mandela will come to its rescue, but he is now old and completely retired.   The Editor,  The Argus  I am deeply saddened by reports of the struggling fauna on Robben Island.   After my father, together with the department of Nature Conservation, shipped the animals over in 1958, I myself reared some of the original orphaned babies, together with the help of some of the prisoners who walked the island freely in work-details in those days. How ironic that today visitors are barred from walking around, enjoying less privilege than some prisoners themselves, then.  The truth is these starving animals are symbolic of the island itself. Many reports testify to the lack of good management and the sad state of the island itself. Even at grassroots level this is true: unless one is lucky enough to get a sociable guide (there are a few), one is often subjected to a condescending ex-prisoner who psychologically harasses those on tour; the bombastic and embittered manner in which international & local visitors have been treated over the years, as evidenced in many letters to the press, is indicative of a lack of appreciation for the island’s true meaning and value. Any museum or historical site I have visited overseas is a revelation. They proudly feature touch-screens and interactive display boards everywhere, affording one a deep appreciation of the heritage, and encouraging an educational journey of discovery – I speak in particular of the Port Arthur prison/museum site in Tasmania that was a moving experience for both myself and my children – a place where prisoners suffered as much, if not more than those on Robben Island.   In stark contrast Robben Island’s famous quarry which has huge historical importance to Cape Town, and also housed our most famous and beloved citizen, was littered with cans and plastic bags on my last visit, and what is more, it actually refuses entry to visitors, many of whom would give anything to be able to walk around in deference. Most of the island is closed. Why? This smacks of fear and exclusion, reminiscent of our last regime. In truth, there should be children running down its main road singing songs, families camping overnight on the beaches; teams of singing locals celebrating the view of Table Mountain across the bay, and the release of the island itself from its own historical restraints. Instead, on a visit a few years ago I was forced to guiltily sneak away from the tour in order to visit the Anglican church with my aging mother, and to kneel with her at the altar where she married my father 57 years ago. In some ways it is more of a prison now than ever, and far from being a place where families and children can explore (what else is a museum about?) it is instead a sad reminder of so much of Africa: considered unsafe, and overflowing with wretched neglect. Shame on you who suffered so much on that small piece of land: all that many of you have done since taking control of it is to fight over money and politics. Shame on you, I am able to say, having spent more time as a child on the island than some prisoners, that it was better maintained under the reviled Apartheid regime than under your management.  I do not think you understand that while parts of the island are indeed a reminder of gross inhumanity, the island itself can also be a place of revelation, education and celebration. Viva, Robben island, Viva!  Michael Klerck  [Wynberg]    Tuesday, April 29, 2008   It is the sadest thing I have ever seen, simply because it is so indicative of the utter waste and degradation that is so much part of Africa itself. And it is why so many people are leaving this beautiful country. With people such as these, bereft of vision, and focussed only on their own selves, what chance do we have? It is a slap in the face of the rest of the world - the international authorities should declassify this as a World Heritage Site. We simply do not deserve it.

The Robben Island Home Page My favourite city in the world - said to be one, amongst three, of the most beautiful  - Cape Town. Südafrikas historische Insel vor Kapstadt, die jetzt zum wichtigsten Museum des Landes im 21.Jahrhundert wird. If you want to go on safari, here is a site giving details about  most SA Game Reserves. I liked this site for ideas, places to rent and see - there are a few game reserves to visit within easy reach of Cape Town. But these above are mostly only game parks. If you want the only MALARIA FREE game reserves in Africa, click on the link. See video clips of Great Whites breaching in False Bay - the only place in the world where this happens! Or you can go diving and see them! Cape Sensations gives a wide range of touring options - including boat rides to hopefully see this phenomenon! Good site for B & B establishments.   I support the Nelson Mandela Children's Fund...please  make a contribution, no matter how small. Thanks.                                                                                                                                  Have you seen my Earth website?  It'll take your  breath away...