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After prayers they return home with their gifts and in the dimly lit streets their sonorous voices can be heard calling out, their white flowing robes gleaming in the street lights as they trundle across cobble-stone streets. When the husband arrives home he makes a gift of the rose to his wife and he places the little aromatic sachet in his wardrobe.
This will smell of citrus fruit for the next year, perfuming his clothes until the next Feast of the Orange Leaves. I remember being fascinated by this. But there was another emotion too, that of envy. I was jealous of a people able to create a sense of mystery, a ritual of beauty, right here in the city where I lived. It was so far removed from the usual 'Western' pursuits, eight hours at work, an hour on the freeway, supper, television, and to bed. Even the possible pleasures, the movies and the clubs, seemed shallow in comparison. I remembered being invited into the home of a Malay family while taking photographs.
They offered me coffee and little cakes. The daughter entered, carrying the mother's baby. I wanted to photograph her but she was shy. I was also envious of a community that was able to trust strangers, that was able to show hospitality because it is in their nature. But then, this is in the spirit of Kanalla, and it has existed for centuries. It is something I, growing up in the city, was only dimly aware of. The Spirit of Kanalla means that during hard times they stand together and help one another. And if the smells emanating from your dinner reach the house of your more needy neighbour, you will send across a plate of food from your table.
The first Malays arrived here three centuries ago. Most were brought from the Archipelago, comprising Sumatra, Java and Malaysia. But mostly they came from Java. The Dutch, who colonised the East, forbade them to practise Islam so this they had to do in secret. This explains why the graves of their ancestors, Kramatte, are traditionally built high up on the mountain slopes. During the Dutch Colonial period many of them lived and worshipped clandestinely. The most famous Malay to be banished to the Cape was the Sultan Sheik Yousef, said to be a brave warrior and a thorn in the flesh of the Dutch Colonial powers.
Being a person of considerable piety and intelligence he enjoyed a tremendous following in his native country. The Dutch, fearing his execution might precipitate a popular uprising, decided to banish him to the Cape. It is told that here the Dutch Governor at the Cape, Simon van der Stel, befriended him and regarded the prince as his 'guest', rather than his prisoner. |