I found a home in JOZA

Ok, so here it goes, I have been meaning to do this for a while, not only have I not blogged but I have also been neglecting my journal. Lately a day can get really exhausting for me. I’m either resting, working, running around campus trying to do admin that will determine my future in 2009 or filling out and send forms everywhere, a lot of running around, and my feet are so sore from all this waitressing. But today I got off work really early and thought, why not write one big fat chunk, all at once, so here I am typing away eagerly, but not too slow as I have to baby sit little Noah at three, that gives me about an hour, then I shall go sit in the sun on the lawns and just be. Ok, so I moved out of res and into the local township here in Grahamstown called Joza. I am glad to be away from a warden who is highly pretentious and racist, a group of girls who if not being so bitchy, are worrying about what’s hot on E, or what they have to do today in order to fit inn, in a nut shell; rich, pretentious, spoilt, very little apparent sense of appreciation for life and very little knowledge of a life other than that which mommy and daddy have created for them, ok, so enough hating, but its true you know, I put up with them for one and a half years, it feels like forever, so finally I can breath. I was thrilled to be moving to Joza, most people would not be. One is surrounded by poverty and depression in most senses. But for me, its one of the few places that I feel at home at when I enter, but ironically I have never grown up in a township. Yes, there is much rubbish lying around, mainly due to the municipality’s lack of concern for the poor, as usual, there are animals everywhere, most of which are underfed and malnourished, this you can tell from the visible bones. There are children who seem neglected, playing unsupervised, looking dirty and playing in toxic and polluted areas with dangerous instruments and objects they have come to know as toys. The children; many of them are skinny, with bloated stomachs and stretched eyes and dry white patches of skin. Their cloths are torn and dirty and their hair uncombed, sandy and dirty. The roads are untarred and houses (government provided) are tiny and just waiting to collapse. The water as compared to the other side of town is brown in colour and who knows what kind of hazards it carries. There are a number of shebeens and bars, as is always the case in shanty towns. People seem to be idling, walking slowly or having conversations with each other all day. This is the life they have come accustomed to, leaving many with no hope but just accepting the situation and making the best, and I mean the best out of what they have. This is the part about Joza that hurts, saddens, depresses and angers me. On the other side, there is the side which you can only know if you risk staying there a bit longer than the 3hour township tour offered. There is the side that will touch your heart and make a part of you always feel at home. The mostly Xhosa people in Joza are very friendly. There is a “togetherness” about them, a strong bond and unity that they share despite their circumstances. When I first arrived with all my luggage, a lady came running to help me with my luggage, I was surprised and shocked, looking at her in way that asked, are you sure you are sane?, but she helped me unload my luggage and I in my broken and very bad attempt of Xhosa started a conversation with her. Ok, so to be fair and to not romanticise the township too much, let me add that she wanted something in return, three rand in order to buy alcohol, mind you she was already reeking of alcohol, but that is often the life of the depressed and hopeless after living like that for so many years. But still that lack of pride to ask is something that many of us on the other side have lost. A neighbour in Joza will not let another neighbour go hungry, ok, if they don’t know then you may starve, but I doubt it since every one knows everyone and everyone’s business too, since they have so much time on their hands. But nevertheless, if you were to ask someone for something, there is a small chance that they will say no unreasonably and you can forget about judging here, “Umuntu Umuntu kabantu” “a person is a person because of other persons” as opposed to “I think therefore I am”. Everyone greets each other with a smile, saying “molo Mama” or “molo Tata”, yes! Even if it’s not your mother or your father, you call them Tata or Mama. There is further evidence of their kind-heartedness when one looks at the back of some houses, where people have let old friends build shacks on their very own backyards or what would have been a beautiful garden. Most people are glad to help each other with anything they need, be it carrying packets, which I have been a victim to for many a grannies coming from town or giving each other a lift to town. Yes… there is much kindness and love in Joza. If you have been robbed, beware, the whole area will come to know about it and you will be stopped and greeted by people who you may not know asking you about what happened; I just laugh and shake my head. Ok, so here is what happened the other day that threw me and touched my heart so much so that I couldn’t help holding back the tears. I was in the kitchen, washing the dishes. My friend was with me; a +-6 year boy knocked on the kitchen door and spoke in Xhosa. I picked up that he wanted food, not even food, just bread. I checked with my friend just to make sure that I had heard correctly, she confirmed, “yes the boy wants bread, he is hungry”. I was shocked, not only did I not know about my friend’s philanthropic ways but I had never had anyone come by my penthouse asking for food, they would not even get pass the guards, let alone the door. When I enquired more about this situation from my friend, she stated that this boy lived next door, but his family did not care about him, yes, the very same woman who asked me for money to buy alcohol when I arrived was his mother. My friend stated that he was neglected and stayed at a shelter, but when he came home to visit, there was no food, I was shocked. My friend then told the boy to enter the house through the front and come to the kitchen. So he did as he was told. But guess what? There were two other boys hiding at the back of him, too shy to ask for food as well, I was further shocked. My friend sat them all down in the kitchen on the table while she made for them bread with butter and poured some juice for them. Mind you my friend is not very well off herself and she tries to eat very little so that food can last for a month, but here she was; mother Teresa giving six slices of bread away and her juice. I was utterly and totally touched, moved and amazed. Firstly how could such beautiful boys be neglected by their parents? What have they done wrong? Not only to their parents but to offend God, such beautiful, innocent, lovely boys, I felt hurt and angry. After that I felt that I have nothing to complain about in this life and if I do, then will someone please give me a beating. The boys held hands, prayed in Xhosa and ate up, and I… I just stood there and watched like a outsider, feeling proud to have witnessed all of this, I knew that I will not allow myself to leave Joza the same, I had to be changed in some way. When the boys left, I gave them a few sweets deluding myself that it was “desert” and wanted to hug them. I thought, “but they sooo dirty” after that I just said, “forget it, I can clean up if I must later, they on the other hand, probably can’t even remember when was the last time they were hugged and looked in the eye” cute little adorable boys. They left skipping and singing, happy to have received 2 slices each of bread, some juice and desert (2 sweets each), I know this because I peeped after they left to see their satisfaction for so little. Sounds like a South African fairy tale doesn’t it? From what I heard from my friend, it is not. It happens all the time; she is always giving children food, even when she has very little herself… that is one example of the untold stories we have in Joza, a friend used to say to me “The greatest stories in this world are those that are not told” true that, I know that for sure. So two weeks have passed, I have become accustomed to bathing on every second day, not only to save water and electricity, but because I get lazy at thought of bathing in a bucket with no running hot tap to refill. I have become accustomed to saving every bit of electricity in what ever way I can. I have become accustomed to eating only supper and an occasional breakfast to save food and electricity. I have become so accustomed to a family that has let me into theirs as though I am one of their own. I have become accustomed to the traditions and routines of Joza. Or at least I am trying very hard. One can obviously never state boldly that they have become accustomed to the depression and poverty, the sound of that just does not seem right especially if you are used to fighting for what you want. But I am able to see how some of the people may become used to living this way. You cannot cry forever, life must go on, children must be fed and you must try. These are the people who are marginalised and feel hopeless, they get tired of fighting so they create their own little world where for many, little becomes enough, some how they manage. I am managing just fine. I am faced with the reality of the situation everyday, but I take a bit of solace in the fact that despite their circumstances many of them cope and have become comfortable, so instead of being depressed about their situation all the time, I try to share in the little joys that they experience, I guess they have their way of turning a blind eye and I mine. The next time some spoilt, arrogant, self- centred person who has no clue of what a poverty stricken life can be like and the scars and consequences they may carry, I suggest they stop and think really hard. I’m talking about those people who make remarks such as “their so dirty, why don’t their comb their hair, look at those children’s torn shoes”etc etc etc, anyways, I just this hope answers their questions a bit or at least makes them want to go and stay in a “real” township and see what its like before passing such judgment… and not on tour, but for a good month.