By Molly Gundlach
I sat on the floor of the District Six museum listening like a child, wide eyed and enthralled in the stories that Noor Ebrahim was telling us. Hearing him speak of his tragic past with such hope and positivity had me captivated. These were stories that I had never heard before, and I could have listened to him talk for hours. The tales were of a community that lived in harmony dispite differences in religion, race, background or economic status. It was incredibly hard for me to believe that, through all of my years of schooling, I had never heard of this beautiful neighborhood. But through his storytelling, I also learned of the the horrifying history of a culture and family that was torn from its roots as families were forced out of their own homes to live in townships or other lesser housing.
My initial reaction to the ideas and values of the original District Six neighborhood was that it sounded to me like an utopia. Why was a community so accepting and diverse not being celebrated around the world both at that time and now in history classes? To me this all seemed like the ultimate goal: people of different backgrounds and ideals coexisting and thriving as one community. They celebrated each others’ holidays, the kids all played together in the neighborhood streets, they helped feed their neighbors, and they looked out for each others’ kids. Noor discribed a place that sounded like a dream, so you can imagine I was heartbroken when he described how it was all just taken away. The apartheid government could not stand a community with that much diversity as apartheid literally translates to “aparthood” meaning the state of being apart. In the 1970s, the government did their best to separate the residents according to the color of their skin. The reality of being uprooted from your own home is sickening and heartbreaking. The recent timeline for these events makes it even harder to swallow. As I was walking through the District Six museum and looking at the pictures from the time, it hit me that my mom was a little girl when this happened. The recent ness of what seemed like events based on archaic ideals hit me hard. People not much older than my grandparents made the decisions to displace thousands of happy families. I am still in disbelief that an event so massively horrific could have happend only 40 years ago.
Up until this visit to Cape Town, apartheid seemed far and away, a looming historical presence that I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. Although I have heard more about the unbelievable opression than I could have ever imagined, the heartache from the tragedies is not what I have noticed most. I will take with me the outstanding positivity and optimism that have been gifted to us by each and every person we have heard from here in Cape Town. Noor ended his stories with pride for his family and grandson, the creation of a world famous museum, and the beacon of hope that was his place on the waiting list to get back into District Six. Similarly, Zenzile, chief and leader of the Khoi-San people, has found hope in restablishing his tribe and working to get back the land that they could once utilize. Both our guide at Robben Island and Lionel Davis have found hope in spreading their history as previous political prisoners. I have been enlightened and enriched by the optimism of the oppressed people of South Africa. A poem from the District Six museum has stuck with me: 
