Nostalgia at Ratanga Junction: A journey through childhood memories

Doesn't the name Ratanga Junction just bring back a flood of memories?

The second I flipped through some old childhood photo albums, memories returned of those golden summers filled with adventures and the ones filled with sticky fingers, dodgy haircuts and way too much sunburn.

Our childhoods revolved around a rotation of beach days, swimming at the Sea Point or Strands indoor pools that left us smelling of chlorine and sunblock for day and the holy grail of outings: a day at Ratanga Junction.

The very sight of that colourful entrance promised pure chaos in the best way. You knew you were in for a day of screaming lungs out, dodging splashes, and standing in those endless queues that were somehow just part of the fun.

I remember going there with friends, cousins, aunties, uncles, you name it. Ratanga was one of those rare places where everyone could enjoy themselves. When my uncle and his family, who had relocated to the UK, came back to visit, a pitstop at Ratanga was non-negotiable.

The minute you arrived, you were greeted by mascots at the door, waving and hugging kids like they were long-lost friends. At the ticket gates, local students worked their summer holiday jobs with the biggest smiles, and you’d see them later manning rides or handing out wristbands. 

The rides themselves were the stuff of legend. Monkey Falls was the ultimate crowd-pleaser, half thrill, half bath, where everyone stepped off drenched but grinning like champions.

And then there was Crocodile Gorge, a swirling raft ride that always left you soaked from head to toe, no matter how much you tried to dodge the spray.

Then the “boat ride” that wasn’t a boat at all  "The Congo Queen," that pirate-ship swing that made your stomach do the Macarena.

And how could we forget the soundtracks of Ratanga? Walking from one ride to the next, you’d hear the park’s speakers blaring the hottest pop tracks of the time.

But of course, the crown jewel, the one that separated the brave from the faint-hearted  was "The Cobra". Towering above the park, you could hear its roar before you even saw it. The closer you got, the more your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t just rides, though. The Walled City stage always had something cooking. Visitors could catch a live snake and bird show while they grabbed a slushy and those stunt-style shows that made the children squeal and the aunties gasp.

You’d finish up at the amphitheatre sticky with soft-serve, boerie roll in hand, humming along and hoping to win a teddy at the midway.

Sadly, Ratanga closed its gates for good in May 2018. Official reports said the park just wasn’t financially sustainable anymore. Visitor numbers had dropped, and the seasonal nature of the business meant it wasn’t bringing in enough money to keep going.

Instead, the land was redeveloped into a mixed-use precinct with offices, apartments and canals  basically Century City’s attempt at “Venice.” Nice enough, but it doesn’t quite compare to the screams and laughter we grew up with.

Cape Town hasn’t had anything like it since. These days, if you want that theme park rush, you literally have to catch a flight (not feelings) to Joburg for Gold Reef City.

But for most of us Capetonians, Ratanga was where childhood lived, where friendships were made, and where memories still sit like sunshine on our shoulders. 

The closure left a gap in Cape Town’s landscape. Sure, we’ve still got beaches, wine farms and markets, but there’s no longer a place where you can spend an entire day screaming on rollercoasters, soaking wet from water rides, and watching a pirate fall dramatically off a ship.

Get your news on the go, click here to join the Cape Argus News WhatsApp channel.

Cape Argus