Pieces of Me 2.0: The Streets

Last week I was listening to one of the afternoon shows on SAFM, on that day, their guest on the show was a former homeless guy who is now the CEO of some marketing company.

This gentleman told his story of how he was fired from his bartending job in Eastern Cape, then instead of looking for other employment in his home town, he decided to pack his bags and go find better opportunities in “the city of gold” where the grass is greener, “kwa nyam’ ayipheli”.

His journey was tough and long, and definitely not what he expected. First of all, he did not have enough money to get to Joburg. So his first stop was Bloemfontein, he was homeless for a couple of weeks in Bloemfontein. He ate from rubbish bins, collected cans and plastic for recycling. All this time he was sleeping on a bench at the train station.

He eventually raised enough money for a train ticket from Bloem to Jozi. On the way, he was so excited about finally going to “the city of gold”, less did he know of what waited for him ahead. He arrived and stays with his aunt for some time, he could not find work, so the aunt gave him an ultimatum, he takes a train going back to Eastern Cape or get out of her house. Long story short, the guy landed on the streets of Jozi for 7 months, managed to escape with the help of a good Samaritan, he studied and is now the CEO of a company. It’s a very touchy story, I’ll tell you about it one day, what’s important about the story now is the memory it brought to my mind.

One day, when I was young… That day was a Sunday, I was sent to fetch some water to water the garden from the leaking pipe that was next to the water treatment works. As a good little boy who obeyed his parents, I grabbed two 5 litres bottles and matched to fetch some water, less did I know of what was ahead of me that day.

When I was close by, I could see that the place was packed, kids were chanting and cheerful. I knew something was going down so I ran, I got there and discovered that them kids had just invented a game, it was called “intlahlane”. They dug a narrow trench to follow the water that was over flowing from the pipe and they were racing bottle caps. There were small white pieces of plastic that were used as currency to place our bets, I don’t know where they came from, but yes we were gambling.

Now, the intro to the problem of this story is for you to know that I was raised in a Christian household and every Sunday we went to church, ok back to the gambling. That game was so fun that I lost track of time, when I started seeing people walking towards church, I was like “shit, time”. I filled my 5 litre bottles and ran home.

On the way I met my mom on her way to church, she was angry I took that long to fetch water. She picked up a stick next to the road and beat my ass up right there. When she was done, she told me to rush home, bath, dress up and get my behind to church. Then there was a condition to those instructions, she said if I was late, I was going to get beaten up even more after church.

I accepted the challenge and ran home. When I got home the first thing I checked was the time, the time was 09:26a.m on the TV decoder and church started at 09:30a.m, that’s when I saw that I was fucked. I paced around the house in panic, because I knew I wouldn’t make it to church on time and I was going to get another ass whipping.

“I am running away from home”

Those words came once into my head and I decided immediately, I saw it as the only way to avoid the ass whipping. The exact minute my left brain said “I am running away from home” was the minutes my right brain was calculating and scheming how I will survive the street of Mthatha.

I had a piggy bank, so I took out all my savings. I went to my room and got some warn clothes, I knew the street would get could at night. I locked the house and stashed the key in the usual place, then my long walk to poverty and hustling began.

My first plan was to walk to Mthatha as to save money, so I did. I was young and the terrain was pretty steep, I got tired at “Mampondo Supermarket”. I decided to take R2.50 from my budget and continue the rest of my journey with a taxi. I boarded on a Toyota Venture that was light blue in colour. I also decide on the taxi because at Lujecweni I have a lot of relatives, I figured out that I would bump into one of them and they would ask me where I am off too, and I wouldn’t have an answer.

Then finally, I arrived, I was in Mthatha, My life as a street kid was about to begin. I knew the streets were no child’s so I had to have a plan, I sat at transido (now Sasol garage) right next to Circus Triangle and developed a plan. Here was my plan:

I was going to eat buns for every meal every day, then on good day I was going to have them with milk. There was a Spar that used to be at York Road opposite the Town Hall, I remembered a day I was once there with my mother and I saw buns for 50cents each. So the buns were my primary meal and anything that would still look decent after scratching through rubbish bins.

I knew the money I had wouldn’t last me forever so I need to keep my cash flow positive, my plan was to stand by the KFC that was next to the Mthatha library and beg for change from the folks exiting the restaurant. I would do this every day and take only two days off every month, those days were the 20^th and the 21^st. I chose this days because my mom was a teacher, and that’s when teachers get paid, I didn’t want to bump into her or any of her friends nor colleagues. On these days I would hide somewhere and wait for the 20^th craze to pass, then it would be back to the hustling.

I didn’t really think about a place to sleep, my plan was to sleep anywhere, which is why I wore a lot of clothes.

When I was done with my planning, started walking up Sutherland Street, I was going that Spar to get my supper. It was a Sunday afternoon, so the street of Mthatha were pretty quiet, I thought to myself “jah perfect, I won’t bump into anyone”.

As I was walking, not looking anyone in their faces, I had a soft voice say “Heyi kwedini ka Miss Hlazo uyaphi wedwa”, I looked up it was Ntsika, a nigga from my kasi. I choked, I couldn’t spit a brilliant lie that would get this bastard out of my face so I can continue with my journey. I thought of a very lousy answer, I told him I lost my taxi money so I was stranded. Nigga had some extra cash so he told me “masihambe, ndizok’bhatalela”, I was like: “shit, all that planning down the drain”.

Back then I was pissed at the action Ntsika took, but now, I appreciate him and the few coins he coughed out from the bottom of my heart. God knows what would have happened to me, Ntsika put my life back in course. It’s such time you know that God is not dead and his gardian angels are everywhere. I thank you my brother, I just have to tell him these words to his face.

I got home, I wasn’t beaten up [I guess I scared the shit out of them], we sang Kambaya and everything was back to normal. But now this stuck with me for a while, because every time I did something wrong at home, my mom would remind me of that day, she would make comments such as “uzojika ubaleke ke xa ndik’betha”, such comments hurt me to the core, but I don’t talk too much, I would just look at her.

My lesson learnt: I didn’t stand a chance against the streets… and most importantly I was not ready…

After listening to SAFM and that guy’s story, this memory came to mind. Jah neh, the good old days.

Now the guy on SAFM had plea, he asked that we stop judging people on the street as most of them have valid reasons to be there, since he was once there, he connected with them and understands. He said we shouldn’t look at them in a weird way, they are not animals. A smile and a random act of kindness wouldn’t kill us, buy them some food, give them clothing. If the location is safe, even have a short humanly conversation if you have time. I know you will all do that, so thank you [in advance]… That could have been me…

- Mzukhology