It was the picture of Princess Diana that got me. Sitting in an old frame, surrounded by peace lilies and a broken mantel clock, my first thought was that monarchism really does get everywhere. But then I realised Diana meant something more to the people of Sir Lowry’s Pass and I felt a sudden tightness in my stomach and a need to bite my lip.
Our group of journalists had rocked up from the big house on the hill to help out at a soup kitchen, wearing our branded aprons, with our sunglasses lowered against the glare, unsure whether it was insensitive to be taking photos in one of South Africa’s notoriously deprived townships.
Joyce Flandorp was working as a cleaner when her daughter contracted HIV. She couldn’t afford to feed her and she died in August 1992, six years after Diana shook hands with an HIV-positive patient at London Middlesex Hospital – without wearing gloves. The picture in the frame is Joyce’s. She set up Joyce’s Soup Kitchen after her daughter’s death to ensure that the many other people suffering from HIV in the township would have access to nutritious food. The initiative survived all the way through to 2020 and Covid, when local employment was wiped out overnight by the government lockdowns.
Rollo Gabb and the Journey’s End Foundation stepped in to help, pumping money into the project to the tune of £5,000 a month. “We nearly had to stop, but thanks to Journey’s End, I can keep providing food,” Joyce says. To date, six million meals have been provided in the township.
After the food service is finished, I ask Joyce about the help she gets from the South African government, and she loses her composure. “Nothing!” she says angrily. “When the government people come here to publicise my work, I tell them to clear out. You don’t support me; you don’t get to come here and take pictures and claim the credit. You gave nothing.” Joyce’s bold initiative has survived, thanks to her determination and, now, the support of generous donors who understand and believe in the value of her work.
On my trips across the Cape, I’ve been impressed and moved by the investments many wineries have made in their communities. Most don’t shout about it, but from Johan Reyneke’s early commitments to housing and educating his employees through Cornerstone to Rosa Kruger’s new academy for vineyard workers (“you must have colour on your skin to join”), the Cape wine industry has plenty to teach the rest of the world, where deep inequalities are often unacknowledged, ignored or exploited.
Back at the Journey’s End tasting room, winemaker Mike Dawson seems as interested in talking about the winery’s social initiatives as about the élevage of his Chardonnay. Of course, we taste his wines. They’re very good. We talk about terroir, decomposed granite and why Cabernet Franc likes a particular kind of barrel. And sure, as a wine nerd, I might buy a bottle of wine because it’s made from decomposed granite. But as a human being, I would break your arm to buy a bottle of wine – from South Africa or anywhere else – that supported education, healthcare, and human dignity.
Perhaps we should talk about that a little more, and terroir a little less.
