South Africa: On Ownership

Let me tell this story in three parts.

Robben Island is a desolate place, a rocky outpost for seals and seagulls with a bunch of spare buildings dotting the center of the island. It is easy to see why it was used as a leper colony; it is easy to see why it was used as a prison.

But from what we were told and what I know of Nelson Mandela’s confinement there, it seems like the prison did not own its prisoners; they owned their circumstances and kept their dignity.

If a prison can feel like a home, I suspect Robben Island did, in a strange, perverse way.

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I don’t claim to know everything about sports. I didn’t know anything about cricket until this trip.

But I can tell you I’m taking it back to the States with me. It’s like baseball, sped up and given soccer announcers; it won’t succeed as a sport in the States except in the fast-paced T20 format, but I like it.

And I now own it, in my little way.

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Table Mountain owns a bit of my soul that I will never get back. I’m okay with this.