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ZUBEIDA JAFFER
THE dusk was still, with not a leaf stirring in the wind. Yet, the streets of Wale and Rose in the Bo-Kaap were alive with energy. People of all ages, races, and faiths, had gathered for a special occasion. They came to break their fast or simply be part of the vibrant event. Hundreds had assembled for the annual mass iftar, ‘Boeka innie Bo-Kaap’, now in its seventh year.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, a young man stood on the steps of one of the Bo-Kaap’s colourful homes – historical buildings once owned by freed slaves – and made the call to prayer. The crowd rose together, joining in prayer, as the moon emerged above the trees. Far off in the distance, the majestic silhouette of Table Mountain loomed over the city of Cape Town and its people. ‘It was magical,’ said Shafwaan Laubscher, a member of the Bo-Kaap Collective, the group that organises the event in collaboration with local organisations.
The origins of the Boeka are rooted in the community’s desire to confront social injustice. ‘The first Boeka took place in 2018 amid rising protests against developers and the broader impacts of gentrification,’ Laubscher explained. ‘There were also concerns about the lack of basic services, housing shortages and insufficient recreational spaces.’
This year, the focus turned to South Africa’s oldest mosque, the Auwal Mosque, built by the Bo-Kaap community in 1794. The mosque now faces the threat of being overshadowed by a proposed multi-story hotel development. ‘This issue is currently under review by the Mayor of Cape Town,’ Laubscher said.
As I stood there, I couldn’t help but agree with Shafwaan. It was magical. I had come to the gathering feeling conflicted, eager to examine whether Afriforum and Solidarity’s recent actions were in any way comparable to what was unfolding in Bo-Kaap.
What drove the actions of these two Afrikaner organisations? Why were they casting themselves as victims? Were they feeling that their culture was under threat? And was the Bo-Kaap event, with its focus on cultural preservation and resistance, an expression of a similar impulse? These were the questions swirling in my mind.
The magic of the night brought clarity.
Though their struggles are not identical, there are similarities between the Bo-Kaap community’s fight and these Afrikaner groups’ sense of cultural loss. Both communities have a deep connection to their heritage – one tied to the legacy of slavery, the other to the apartheid era and colonial plunder. The Bo-Kaap, with its rich cultural history, is a space where descendants of enslaved people – brought to South Africa from places like the Indian Ocean islands, Indonesia, and India – have preserved their Muslim faith, language, and traditions for centuries, despite systemic neglect. They did this without state support.
The ancestors of today’s Bo-Kaap residents were torn from their homes and forced into slavery, brought to the Cape to serve the colonial order. Often split from their families, they worked under harsh conditions. The ancestors of these two organisations were some of the slave masters.
While the Bo-Kaap community could easily embrace victimhood, given its long history of dispossession and marginalisation, they have instead chosen to focus on solidarity and inclusivity. They have rejected the apartheid-era label of ‘Cape Malay’ and now identify as ‘Cape Muslims,’ proudly asserting their South African identity as defined by our Constitution.
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Rather than isolating themselves, they have reached out in solidarity with others. Protest art on the walls of their homes supports Palestinian resistance, despite municipal efforts to censor this expression.
This inclusive approach stands in stark contrast to the exclusionary stance of organisations like Afriforum and Solidarity, harking back to colonial and apartheid-era ideologies. Rather than fostering cooperation, these groups call for special protections, distancing themselves from other communities they perceive as a threat. In a world already troubled by the divisive politics of figures like Donald Trump, these groups seem intent on turning their backs on collective progress, choosing instead to align with flagrant acts of division characterising the American presidency.
In contrast, the Bo-Kaap community’s message is one of unity. Their fight is not just about preserving a ‘traditional’ way of life, but about safeguarding the very fabric of their community – its history and future – against powerful forces of development and commercialization. They are not calling for the exclusion of others or the prioritization of one group over another. Instead, they advocate for a shared space where people of all backgrounds can come together in common cause, fostering social cohesion.
The ‘Boeka innie Bo-Kaap’ is more than just a celebration of culture. It is a direct challenge to the isolationist tactics of groups like Afriforum and Solidarity. It demonstrates that true power lies not in division, but in inclusivity, empathy, and the shared struggle for justice. Sadly, these groups fail to acknowledge that they were part of a system that oppressed and exploited all of us who were not white in this country.
As the evening wore on, the stillness of the sky and the prayers of the night brought a calmness to my mind. I had found a deeper clarity. The Bo-Kaap community’s message had crystallized in my mind. Their resilience, their embrace of unity over division, and their determination to protect their cultural heritage had become a powerful symbol of what it means to resist, not out of fear, but from a place of shared strength and hope. Just as the moon cast its light over the Bo-Kaap, so too did their message shine brightly, illuminating a path toward justice and inclusivity that contrasts sharply with sowing fear and dark shadows of division.
This article was first published on the website: https://www.zubeidajaffer.co.za/
