Phakamisa Mayaba
If you’re reading this, welcome, pull up a chair, you’ve arrived at eParkeni. Technically, it no longer exists; the swings are long gone, the merry go rounds uprooted, even the small trees patrons once found succour under have been sawn off, reduced to firewood. All that remains is the spirit and the fond memories that linger in the hearts of those who ever knew the place. A parched, unassuming place it was, in a dark, tumultuous era in the great South African story. Put up in the late 80s, eParkeni, which is but a vernacular corruption to the word “playpark” was a sanctuary from the troubles of the day: The armoured vehicles, tear gas and apartheid security force’s unannounced late-night visits – ramming down doors and bundling up suspected activists en masse.
Regardless, it came to pass that eParkeni would serve as a default respite to the town’s Black youth. On this side of town, there stood only a single tennis court, a grassless football field and no library. So, from all across Colesberg’s Kuyasa Township – Zantsi to Khayelitsha – hordes of often disadvantaged youths in tattered cut-offs and unwashed bodies converged here. They swung from the high rings, clambered up the jungle gym, writhed on the seasaw and sucked on ice lollies – 50cents a pop – when they’d had their fill of the day’s adventures.
On the nearby pile of rocks that formed a small koppie, kids played the A-Team and everybody was BA Baracus. That’s if the older boys were not shooing them off so that they (the more mature) could enjoy some surreptitious dalliances with shy, giggling teenage girls. Despite the obvious adversities, these were interesting times to be alive. The times of Lucky Dube and Brenda Fassie, boom boxes and hepcat bell bottom jeans. Tempest hi-fis and sitting cross-legged at a neighbour’s linoleum-covered floor to watch Magnum PI on a car-battery-powered black and white mini TV. Oh, how could I forget the ubiquitous perm? Drenched in styling gel and all the rage with both sexes. If you didn’t sport one you were outdated, dude, not hip enough to hit it off with the ladies and the “in” kids.
More than three decades on, eParkeni is but a large weed-strewn open space often used as a de facto dumping site. Occasionally, bored kids roll up to put up makeshift goalposts for a game of dustblown soccer. Or to just hang around and share smalltalk on the large boulders that remain of that immortal koppie of yesteryear.
It is with the nostalgia that eParkeni arouses in mind that this publication, aimed at being the voice of the Karoo – specifically the Pixley kaSeme region – and based in Colesberg, owes its name. With a population of 16 869 in 2011, according to Wikipedia, Colesberg forms the nucleus of the country. A vibrant, tranquil enclave with a rich history, the town is unsurprisingly a hit with bohemians and nostalgic hippies driven half-mad by faraway cities. As the midway point between Cape Town and Johannesburg, it boasts a booming tourist industry with B&Bs, hotels and restaurants that cater to varying budgets.
eParkeni aspires to be the voice of the layman and something of an honest and reliable middleman between businesses and potential clients. Be it the Kemper Museum, or the best watering hole, if it’s in town, we’ll write about it. Though we’re still in our infancy, learning as we go along, we trust in time to establish eParkeni as the go-to portal for anybody who’s curious about these secluded outposts of the country. So much to be seen here; the Karretjie Mense – the indigenous First People – whose lineage is Stone-Age deep, the game farms with darting antelope that surround the town, the Cape Dutch architecture, the quiet and off-the-grid-like countryside serenity.
We hope to partner with both the public and private sector in getting the Colesberg name out there. In the final analysis it is an indictment that a town so gifted, historically and culturally, does not have a platform on which to tell its own story. Who will boast to the country of the young academic achiever’s dedication to passing his/her Matric? Or the up and coming cricketer who takes seven wickets against a rival school? The self-made entrepreneur. The shebeen queen who first made a go at it with only a handful of bottles of wine, a barrel of homemade ginger beer and a head a-whirling with dreams. The immigrant from Mozambique arriving here with nothing but the clothes on his back but is now the most sought-after bricklayer in town.
These are the stories that motivate us, that will inspire the publication to wade forth into the great vast cybersphere and hopefully facilitate social cohesion. But without your (yes, you!) support, we are likely to wind up like paper fire; a sudden burst of energy but blown out by the slightest hint of challenges. So please do support us, whether through advertising, donations, contributing stories or just by liking our social media pages. Every bit helps and as an upstart, we need as many little bits as we can get. On that note, then,…let’s get cracking!