South Africa - Stories of People (Part 1)

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I met a few individuals in South Africa whose encounters have stuck, leaving an ever lasting impression on me. Here I share some of them.

Lisa

I met Lisa in a co-working space called WorkInProgress. Lisa is the cleaner for the entire space. She also organizes all the furniture in the space, and does the dishes after lunch.

The Woodstock Exchange, where WorkInProgress is located.

We sat down on a coffee table, and she told me about her life's journey. She came from the Eastern part of South Africa, where the lifestyle is completely different. It was said to be less urban and more agrarian. Back there, the family was a closer unit.

Around when she turned 17, she found out that she was pregnant. She was frightened at the prospect of having to take care of a child. In order to sustain her new daughter, she moved to Cape Town in order to find work.

A new city, a new life. Despite all the excitement, her time in Cape Town did not go smoothly initially. She remained unemployed for 2 years. During this time, she worked as a housekeeper to feed her child and learned English through this occupation.

Although her new role at WorkInProgress is an improvement, her life is not without hardships. In order to get to work, she leaves her house at 5 am from a township called Khayelitsha. There is some distance between her house and the bus station, where she needs to get to. What lies between the two locations she does not know—gangs or murderers or nothing.

An aerial view of a small section of Khayelitsha

Every early morning in the darkness, she peeks out her door, checking the surroundings for any signs of evil. Once the check is complete, she sprints to the bus stop. While she's running, she fears for her life. She doesn't know what lies beyond the corner, but she can't stop. After what seems like an eternity, she reaches the bus stop and gasps for air.

This is her daily ritual, it's what she needs to do to survive. The sun rises again. She runs again.

An Uber Driver

June 19th
I was finally done with my day of work. Winter in Cape Town meant early sunsets, and I could see that the day had passed far beyond sunset.

My Uber arrived outside the Woodstock Exchange to send me home. I was greeted by a Muslim woman in her 40s-50s, whose contours on her face were accented and wore a white hijab. I entered the white Honda Accord through the back seat.

As I sat down, she suddenly started insisting that I sit in the front seat. She told me,

Sir—for our safety you should sit in the front.

I was confused by her request but complied. She explained there had been incidents in the region in which Ubers have been targeted. Sitting in the backseat made it obvious that the vehicle was an Uber, so it was safer for us to sit in the front together. Apparently, being an Uber driver is one of the most dangerous occupations for a woman in Cape Town.

The driver was unafraid to talk and share her story. She was a mother of two. Her husband died of cancer 3 years ago. The death of the father meant the loss of everything they had—their house and their possessions, except the car. South Africa's laws did not let her have the ownership of her husband's assets that she desired.

One loss in the family would not be its last. The eldest son, who's 20 years of age, left and completely cut ties with the family. Through a friend, he found refuge in Canada, leaving the family torn in two. The mother, who now lost her son and husband, told me she's "done crying over him."

After weeks of living in the car, the driver's sister offered her and her son a place to stay. This was the start of their new life, the basis upon which they were going to gradually recover what they lost. Months after living together, however, the sisters grew apart. The driver confessed that her sister was "about to kick her out." An option they couldn't afford. They had been through too much to end up in the streets again.

The bigger worry in her mind is her 17-year-old son. At the departure of both his father and older brother, he's lost all hope. The driver suspects that her son deals drugs and has joined a gang. In fact, the remaining son isn't the only one who lost his soul. The mother has too, but she continues to "live for her son." Without him, she would be "somewhere else."

Despite what's happened in the past, the mother insisted "God has been so good to me." Perhaps this is her way of finding refuge, using words that mask the harsh realities of today so that she can live until tomorrow. Or it might be that beneath her optimism lies a resolute woman who remains unwavering in her faith and gratitude.

Whatever those words masked, I saw a woman who was broken and scared. Much of her life had been shaped out of factors she did not control. Will her misery find its separate end from her life?

Oliver

Oliver runs a lawn mower company, as he has the past 15 years. He is a white man who seems to be in his late 40s. His voice has a subtle Afrikaans accent. His hands and nails are worn and colored, presumably from all the lawn work he did.

He shared how he had spent his 20s. His days consisted of drinking and fucking around. Until one day he couldn't. He returned dead broke to his family.

He came clean with his regrets and continued the family business. The business has been profitable ever since because the clients tend to be fairly affluent. It suffered under the 2015 Cape Town water crisis, but it has survived.

Ronaldo

Mid-day Aug 10, 2019
I stopped by the food cart on Hout St. on my way back from ShopRite. It was guaranteed to have the cheapest prices around, with a Hamburger going for R22 (~$1.5). Feeling the need to conserve after shopping a large chunk of groceries, I ordered one for lunch.

As I was waiting for my food near the counter, a kid approached me. In ragged clothes, he was carrying a couple paper bags. The 14-year old kid asked for some food saying he was hungry. Feeling bad for him, I bought him a hamburger as well.

As we waited for our hamburger together, the 6th grader and I struck a conversation. His name was "Ronaldo." He had a different name but refused to adopt it. It was given by his parents and when they left, they became strangers, and he did not want to named by strangers. Instead, he adopted the name of his favorite soccer player for himself.

Cristiano Ronaldo

We continued talking about his parents. Despite that he hadn't known them or their reason for leaving, their abandonment was something that "hurt" him.

I don't know why, but it hurts me.

he told me.

He now lives in the colorful neighborhood of Bo-Kaap, where he stays with his grandmother and two twin sisters who are both 2 years old.

Bo-Kaap

As the eldest of the family, Ronaldo goes to school as a 6th grader. He doesn't enjoy it, but they give him lunch. During the days when there's no school, he comes down to the city center to ask for food. In days when he has school, he asks for food afterschool.

Finally, our burgers were ready, and we had to go our separate ways. Ronaldo hid his burger deep in his ragged clothes and hurried home before it got dark. And like that, he shrouded himself in the darkness and disappeared.