All Ebrahim Jabaar wanted in his old age was to return to District Six, the place from where he and his family were forcibly removed more than 40 years ago.
But this did not happen and Boeta Hiema, as he was known to the community or Papa, as he was known to us as close family, died early on Sunday morning – at the age of 84 – without that dream being realised.
The fact that Papa left this earth without being able to return to District Six has left me and other family members angry. I am angry at myself for not being able to help him more, but I am especially angry at the government – at all levels – for failing this man who religiously went to meetings over the past 20-odd years to listen to all kinds of supposed community leaders and government officials telling him why the progress on the District Six restitution process has been so slow.
The national Minister and Department of Agriculture, Rural Development and Land Affairs, their provincial counterparts, the Land Claims Commission and the City of Cape Town all need to hang their heads in shame as another former District Six resident – who desperately wanted to return home – has died before his wish was granted.
District Six, as most people know, was declared a white group area in 1966, leading to the forced removal of thousands of residents over almost a 20-year period. Papa and his family were among those to be removed in the late 1970s.
Papa’s reference number for his District Six restitution claim was J150, a number he memorised because he had to repeat it every time he interacted with officials. I remember how Papa was often the only person on a bus from Westridge to Lentegeur to attend meetings where he would be briefed about what was happening in District Six. He would always come back dejected.
In later years, as Papa became weaker, my wife Ibtisaan and I would go with him and Mama to attend meetings, whether it was in the City Hall or at a school in District Six.
Papa had grown fed up with the excuses and just wanted to know when he was going to get a house.
The last official interaction we had with the people who are supposed to make this happen was in mid-April when Papa was interviewed online by a panel set up by the Land Claims Commission who vetted prospective candidates for houses in the next section of the rebuilt District Six, which they called District Six Development Phase 3.
He gave the panel a hard time. It consisted of young people who probably have no empathy for the original residents of District Six (but I could be wrong). Papa told them that he has been going to meetings for more than 20 years, but he has been waiting for more than 40 years to return.
They told us they would get back to us by the middle of May with an answer as to whether and when he would get a house, but this was another broken promise. We are still waiting to hear from them.
Every time we visited the family home in Westridge, Mitchells Plain, Papa would ask whether I had heard from the Land Claims Commissions. and I could feel the disappointment every time I replied in the negative. We had hoped that he would get a special birthday present when he turned 84 on 2 May this year.
Papa was so much more than number J150, something the District Six officials failed to understand.
It makes me angry that, in writing this tribute to Papa, I had to start with his unfulfilled dream.
Papa worked as an ironer in the clothing industry for many years and Mama (Gadija née Saban) has always been an amazing dressmaker. She made all my daughters’ matric ball dresses based on a sketch or a picture – and they were perfect.
I used to marvel at how meticulous Papa used to iron his and other people’s trousers. He took great pride in his work. If you looked at pictures of Papa from earlier days, you would see that he always went to work wearing a suit and tie.
As long as I have known Papa – and I have been part of the family for more than 35 years – he has always been an active person. He did all the shopping for the house. I don’t think Mama has seen the inside of a shop in decades. They were married for more than 57 years and Mama has just turned 81.
Papa was a true patriarch of the family and – before COVID – his modest house was always full of family who came to visit: from his three children, the grandchildren, and the dozens of great grandchildren and great great grandchildren, to extended family members who he loved almost equally and entertained with stories of yesterday.
Papa loved his tea and coffee (he insisted that we bring him filter coffee so he could enjoy a special brew from time to time) and he made hot drinks every couple of hours for him and Mama. For as long as I can remember, Papa would get up every morning and make Mama a cup of tea and/or porridge while she was still in bed.
And he loved to drive to one of the local shopping centres and then just walk from shop to shop.
Sometimes, when we talked about politics, Papa recalled how he attended political rallies on the Grand Parade in the early 1960s and he spoke about the march from Langa to Cape Town led by Philip Kgosana. He was a strong rugby supporter, and only supported non-racial sport in the apartheid days.
In the past few months, as his health declined, it was sad to see Papa being bedridden and not being able to look after himself. But I also sensed that he felt bad about not being able to look after Mama in the way that he had done for years.
When he accidentally fell and broke his hip bone during a recent visit to hospital, it was the beginning of the end. He had to have an emergency operation and, while he was trying to recover at home, his blood sugar levels shot up so dramatically that he had to be re-admitted to hospital.
For most of his last hospital stay, Papa was unresponsive and we knew, even though none of us would admit it, that his end was near.
But we were still shocked when we received the call at around 2am on Sunday morning: Papa had just passed away.
In accordance with Muslim rites, he was buried around 11am on Sunday morning after short Janaazah prayers outside his house in Prairie Court, Westridge.
Papa would have wanted everyone in the court to participate and witness his final goodbyes, I thought to myself. He was a community person at heart and we used to joke about how, over the past ten years or so, all the widows in the neighbourhood called on him to help with plumbing and other jobs.
We buried Papa at the Mowbray cemetery in accordance with his wishes. It was the closest we could bring him to his beloved District Six to which he will now never return.
May he rest in peace.
(Written especially for this site on Tuesday, 15 June 2021)
Papa on the day after his birthday in May 2021.
Papa and Mama with daughter Ibtisaan, son Sierag and granddaughter Farieda outsdide their house in Mitchells Plain.
Papa and Mama in aclassic Van Kalker photo taken outside the post office in Cape Town.
