And the Fires Came Down

Fires are a common occurrence in Cape Town — but not on a scale of the recent one that burnt over 5500ha in the peninsula in over just five days.

Cape Town’s recent battle against the sweeping fires brought people together. (Photo:?Mphutumi Ntabeni)

Our suburb of Hout Bay was affected, making me privy to the horror of helplessness the raging fire brings. We woke around 2:00 in the morning, with the fire slithering down our mountains.

Fifteen minutes later I joined the night street vigil. Two fire trucks, with a dozen firemen, were awaiting the fire on the firebreak. It was obvious even to me that the firefighting personnel would be inadequate for the rate the fire was raging down.

We were told the priority was the fire in Tokai, then ten times more fierce than ours.

Around 3:20 one firefighter confided to me that when the fire reached us their equipment would not be too effective. “What we have is not enough to contain it,” she said with a despairing air. “We must just pray for the wind to change direction.” I decided not share this news with my neighbours.

What the firefighter said in despair, perhaps even in jest, I took seriously. I asked our neighbours to form a circle, hold hands and pray.

Very few of them, if any, are religious, as is the case in most affluent areas. Most are even avowed atheists who like to take me to task for what they call “Catholic hocus-pocus”. But all of us felt helpless then.

If Scripture teaches us anything, it is that the power of God is revealed to human beings during the time of their distress and helplessness. “Be still, and know that I am God…”

Truth be told, we would probably have done an African rain-dance with Queen Modjadji had she turned up to suggest it at that moment. The fire was coming down the mountain fast, and things were getting more desperate by the minute. Our prayer lasted just under seven minutes before we were back to our wait for the inevitable.

Noticeable among all of us was the humility which the pending disaster instilled: treating each other with tremendous courtesy and kindness I did not know existed in our rather individualistic, materialistic, and self-absorbed suburb that I have always lamented on Facebook.

The subsequent experiences of our “Week in Hell” proved to me that people who differ in their moral or religious perspectives can nonetheless work together for the greater good.

We were sharing lists of what to take from the houses when evacuations would begin. High in everyone’s list were family photos, hard drives, certificates, passports, paintings, etc. Nobody was talking about useless material things like their big-screen TVs.

The police were highly efficient in answering questions, and the army personnel good in drilling us on the evacuation process, like how to avoid blocking the roads for emergency vehicles, and so forth. It was a picture of the dreamed of Rainbow Nation.

By 4:00 most of us were past concern about our houses. We were thinking about the tragic devastation it would sow were it to reach Imizamo Yethu, an informal area in the suburb. Its official population, according to Stats SA figures of 2011, is 15 538, but we all know that it is at least twice that. All of that cramped into 18ha land makes for a disaster waiting to happen during moments of crisis.

Around 4:15 my firefighter friend, running and shaking with happiness, came to inform us that, by some miracle, the wind had suddenly changed direction into the sea. The relief of all of us was palpable.

The significance of 40 minutes hiatus between our prayer and this announcement was not lost on my faithful mind, but I kept it to myself. I even started saying my rosary to keep the winds blowing to the sea, reminded of Moses’ raised arms in prayer when the Israelites fought the Amalekites.

Needles to say, the change in wind direction, in direct answer to our prayers, strengthened my faith, not only in God, but in our community. City of Cape Town mayoral committee member for safety and security, JP Smith, was quoted by the newspapers that it was a miracle the fire avoided the greater part of Hout Bay.

Unfortunately for the luxury hotel of Thintswalo, the wind change brought the fire to them. Guests had to be hastily evacuated as the building caught fire. It sustained serious damages but the firefighters eventually managed to put out the fire.

My mother, panic-stricken after watching the news from the Eastern Cape, phoned as early as 7:00 to ask if we were okay. “Let’s be glad prayers are still answered,” I replied. I told her I now understood better the story of Moses.

My friends and neighbours, course, alluded the whole thing was due to natural causes—each to their own. I choose to bask in my own reinforced sense of humility that is endorsing my awe.

Like Blaise Pascal, I feel a sense of dread against the silence of these eternal spaces, the beautiful destructive power of nature for its own renewal.

Of course, the awe, that fateful morning, was accompanied by what the poet called “the eternal footman”; and frankly, I too was afraid.

It is sometimes a blessing to have seen horrible things, for afterwards your heart is full of awe and gratitude; you take nothing for granted.

Nothing, especially the goodness of people.

The rich Peninsula suburbs of Cape Town, with the coming of this fire, saw “the moment of our greatness flicker” and were shook to the quick.

The question is whether we shall continue measuring our lives in Prufrock’s coffee spoons and let things go back to business as normal, or whether we shall learn some humility — starting with a fight for a living wage for our firefighters.