I found myself wiping blood off my kneecaps at golden hour. I blame my graceful tumble on my starvation for Ramadan. I was alongside a tight-knit community – a reminder that I wasn’t alone in my suffering. The winding slopes of signal hill were patterned with hundreds year old cobblestone, as well as more modern tar – however dilapidated. In this light, it was clear that humans and nature alike had had its way here. The gold sky turned to a bluish violet vignette, signifying it was nearly time for my hunger pangs to find relief. It was a rather impressive canvas for the already charming candy coloured thread of houses rowed up along the narrow streets of Bo-Kaap, a former slum. Each house was a near perfect square jobs with 4 smaller squares peeking into each home. They were inconsistent sizes with even more inconsistent paint. It is common to break the perfect harmony of each home with a game of dominoes on the porch. Amongst all the colours begging for my attention during my walk– One particular house caught my eye, it had a poster on it that read: “This heritage sight is under threat”. Finally! I made it to the street dinner. A mass of over 100 people gathered in the middle of the main road. This road was the large trunk of Bo-Kaap, spilling into the narrow branches all around the hill. If you googled Bo-Kaap, this very street would colour your screen. Situated just above the city centre and shouting distance over the hill away from Cape Town’s award winning beaches. It’s no wonder this community is being gentrified. I was overwhelmed, seeming to be the only person there without purpose. Across the tar road, neighbours lay long strips of white paper, resembling a ridiculously enormous zebra crossing – makeshift tablecloths. Where usually the street is overcrowded with enamoured tourists or hear the auction-like bargain of a hawker, you instead saw community members and their welcome guests weaving through the crowd before sunset. Parents carried their children on the shoulders and old people sat in their camp chairs, while younger people sat on their prayer mats and pillows or the open road. Children dressed up to knock on their neighbours doors to share their feast. The sight of picnic baskets turned inside out had my energy rejuvenated. Each person brought enough dates and water for their families and at least two neighbouring families. The warm sweetness of Malay milky dessert called boeber wafted mixing with fresh fruit, spicy samosas and huge tupperwares full of dinners made from each home. Home to some meant down the street, but to the girl next to me, it was Iraq. They offered me their native rice dish. “Oh no, we don’t live here we are from Madina institute studying Islam” “You left the middle East to study Islam in South Africa?” I enquired, perhaps a little too surprised. She was amused: “Yes, it’s one of the best schools in the world with tons of rich people donating scholarships. I’m lucky to be here.” There was a sense of fraternity in sharing food with your brothers and sisters. The streetlamps now started to light up above us. With scheduled electricity load shedding going on countrywide, that orange glow was a blessing. I couldn’t spot a single bad mood. However, I could spot a single mild-mannered mood: “Eskom will be the death of me”, one man said in response to load shedding. “Brah, I wouldn’t be surprised if they switched off the lights right now to kill our vibe” “Nah don’t worry, my daughters light up sneakers will lead the way”. If the atmosphere couldn’t turn the sourest moods sweet, it would be the syrupy coconut koeksisters (a dutch dessert with a Cape Malay twist). Opposite Bo-Kaap museum, a woman welcomed us with peace and blessings, to which the crowd responded with peace and blessings. She introduced her first speaker – Nelson Mandela’s grandson. Let’s not allow this modern day “Group Areas Act” to roll us over. Justice is more important than peace and if we can fight for justice peacefully then that is God’s work. This colourful community made resistance against ravenous developers and soaring rates about togetherness rather than aggression in hopes for a better future as equals who are intimately attached to the soil. In Wale Street, history repeats itself. Bo-Kaap resists in the best way they know how. The houses might be colonial Dutch but the reason why they are so famously bright is independence. When this community was given their freedom from oppression, they made the colours on top unique. They were saying “you gave us boring boxes and we turned it into a spectacle”. It’s easy to walk through these streets with rose tinted glasses on but it is also a reminder that the kaleidoscope of these houses is also a symbol of resistance. With a satisfied stomach, the walk uphill was easy. I thought that if the government was going to turn off our electricity, then light up sneakers would lead the way.