18 Sep |
|
Silhouetted against rows of vines stretching up the Constantiaberg, the crescent seems entirely out of place in the genteel wine lands of the southern suburbs. A herd of snow-white Charolais cows lie languorously in a nearby pasture, a mountain stream rushes by at the end of a wet winter and vineyards dotted with colourful Canola line the driveway to the final resting place of Sheikh Abdurahman Matebe Shah.  “Salaam Aleikum,” says the wizened old caretaker, as I wander towards the green-domed kramat – meaning ‘tomb of a saint’ – that sits quietly alongside the vineyards of Klein Constantia. It’s about as unlikely a place as you could imagine for one of Cape Town’s holiest sites of Islam. But then again, Sheikh Abdurahman and the other saints buried in kramats across the Cape Peninsula didn’t exactly ask to end up here. “These kramats are the burial sites, the tombs, for spiritual leaders who were brought to the Cape by the Dutch over two hundred years ago,” says Ameen Dhansay, one of the volunteer committee members of the Cape Mazaar (Kramat) Society tasked with maintaining and conserving the kramats. “They were captured in Malaysia and Indonesia in the late-1600s and 1700s where they were leaders and royalty. They rebelled against the Dutch colonisers and so were jailed and shipped out to the Cape where they were banished to distant corners of the peninsula.” It’s a slice of history that’s been well documented after careful research in the Cape Archives by the Society, says Dhansay: “This was total isolation… it’s one of the earliest instances of forced segregation in our country.” It’s early in the month of Ramadaan when I visit and there’s a small, but steady flow of local Muslims paying their respects. “The people buried here are seen as very pious in the Muslim world and we term them Auliyah, which means ‘Friends of Allah’. Because these men were so close to Allah there is a constant shower of blessings on these sites from the Maker,” says Dhansay. Inside the kramat there are few adornments on the walls other than religious inscriptions, and the grave – covered with lengths of richly embroidered cloth – takes pride of place. “The difference between a grave like this and an ordinary grave is the cloth that’s laid over it, what we call the Chadar or Ghilaf. It’s a mark of respect for these Auliyah,” says Dhansay. “But it’s important to realise that we don’t worship these saints, we only worship God. We just come here to the place of the Auliyah to pray, and hope for those prayers to be answered.” The tale of Sheikh Abdurahman is brought to light a short way from Klein Constantia, at a place historically known as Islam Hill. The site of another domed kramat, it is here Ameen shows me the tomb of Sayed Mahmud; a spiritual leader from the Malaccan Empire. On the walls of the kramat, which was rebuilt in 1927, are four stone tablets in English and Dutch, one of which reads: “On 24 January 1667, the ship the Polsbroek left Batavia and arrived here on 13 May 1668 with three political prisoners in chains. Malays of the West Coast of Sumatra who were banished to the Cape… They were rulers ‘Orang Cayen’, men of wealth and influence. Two were sent to the Company’s Forest, and one to Robben Island.” It was Sayed Abduraghman Motura who was banished to Robben Island, becoming one of the first political prisoners to live out his days on the notorious prison island, but it is Sheikh Yusuf who is perhaps the most famous of the saints buried in kramats across the peninsula. Born into nobility in Macassar (in present-day Indonesia), he was banished to the Cape in 1693 after fomenting uprisings against Dutch colonisation in the East. Together with 49 followers he was dispatched to the mouth of the Eerste Rivier, giving rise to South Africa’s first cohesive Muslim community in the area today known as Macassar. When he died on 23 May 1699, he was buried on a hill at nearby Faure, where his kramat is still found today. Sheikh Yusuf’s tomb is one of 23 documented kramats; concentrated in the peninsula, but spread as far afield as Caledon, Rawsonville and the Bain’s Kloof Pass. “If you look at the layout of where all of these graves are dotted on the peninsula, it actually forms a circle of saints,” says Dhansay. “We as the Muslim community take great comfort from this circle. We feel it’s a ring of protection around our home in the Cape.” Unlike mosques, the kramats are open to both male and female visitors of all faiths. A worthwile guidebook compiled by the Cape Mazaar Society has well-researched background information on each kramat, as well as clear maps on how to find them. “Generally these kramats are not locked,” says Dhansay. “We try and keep them open day and night for people to visit, and for people to be able to come anytime to pray and ask for blessings.” “We only ask people to remove their shoes, dress respectfully and sit in an orderly manner, or to stand. People also must not sit on the grave. We don’t mind people taking photographs or anything, as long as the kramat is treated with respect.” The colonial Dutch may have had little respect for these spiritual leaders from far-flung Batavia when they arrived at the Cape in chains, but today the kramats are an integral part of life for the Muslim community of Cape Town. A place for prayer and contemplation, and certainly a slice of the Cape’s history that deserves to be remembered and celebrated. Useful info
Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites            |