Since a recent post in which I remembered the rickshaws of my childhood, little did I know that I was to come to learn far more about the history of the rickshaw and of Durban itself.
The years from 1910 to 1933. A Durban most of us never knew. A small town with houses and gardens, no high rises or streets inundated with traffic, road rage unheard of, a pace of life we cannot imagine.
In the year 1904 there were approximately 2 000 registered pullers. At first they were the Japanese type holding only one passenger and having a wooden wheel.
In the year 1904 there were approximately 2 000 registered pullers. At first they were the Japanese type holding only one passenger and having a wooden wheel.
All Durban's steep roads had notices at the top stating "DANGEROUS TO RICKSHAWS". The signs were all red with white lettering so the illiterate knew what it meant.
Residents needing transport would lift up an arm and yell "Shaw" and would attract the attention of all within hearing distance who would rush to his assistance. Pretty much the same thing happens today, we raise our arm and yell "Taxi" and are flattened by at least 6 taxis who have this rather aggressive little man who jumps off before the taxi stops, in an attempt to collect as many passengers as he can before anyone else gets to you. He often goes so far as to wrestle you away from other bizarre little men in their own attempts to abduct you. Quite traumatic when one has cornered you and actually drags you by the arm. If you want to reduce your chances of this happening, never, never look for a taxi near the Workshop.
Residents needing transport would lift up an arm and yell "Shaw" and would attract the attention of all within hearing distance who would rush to his assistance. Pretty much the same thing happens today, we raise our arm and yell "Taxi" and are flattened by at least 6 taxis who have this rather aggressive little man who jumps off before the taxi stops, in an attempt to collect as many passengers as he can before anyone else gets to you. He often goes so far as to wrestle you away from other bizarre little men in their own attempts to abduct you. Quite traumatic when one has cornered you and actually drags you by the arm. If you want to reduce your chances of this happening, never, never look for a taxi near the Workshop.
On the up side, I only have to walk out of my door and my taxi awaits to take me to where I want to go, and returns me to my front door.
Take a look at Smith Street. Don't even have to look both ways here, no danger of being knocked down. No more Smith Street of course, or West, Aliwal, Pine and others. Overnight some genius changed all the names and now the only people who know them are tourists who come to Africa armed with their "know how" books on the geography of Africa.
Here we have Addington Hospital. In this picture it looks like a country estate. Today's reality of course is quite different. Queues fill the corridors, and NEVER get in the wrong queue, because after 3 hour in the wrong queue you will have to start again in another queue ... for another 3 hours. The staff still don't recognise patients who have been going monthly for 15 years or more, they change the system every 2 months and lose your file every month, which is probably why they fail to recognise faithful, longstanding patients.
Above is Florida Road and Musgrave Road. Florida Road is host to enormous New Years Eve parties every year. See the old bus which ran on tram lines
Albert Park and Berea Road have the rickshaws with their pullers waiting for passengers.
Unbelievable? Believe it!
Thank you for strolling back through time with me to a Durban forgotten, a Durban remembered by few.
I would love to spend just one day with them.
