life on the street

As our time here approaches the end of the month and the moment of departure, the diary becomes ever more full as ends are tied up and each encounter has that feel of a goodbye about it. We have dived deeper, it seems to me. While Cape Town, in all its weird and wonderful manifestations, retains something of its mystery for us, we have become more intimate with its contrasting and contradictory layers of life.

For example, there is a layer on the street which is peopled by those with nowhere else to live. I went there with Julius from the Institute. He is a street worker and his job is to befriend the homeless youth and invite them to come to the projects where they can learn a trade, be fed and loved. Some of them live under the N2 and the N1, sleeping on grassy embankments or against safety barriers. You can see them – if you look – as you transit along Oswald Pirow Street. I realised that, as I walked around with Julius that I was intruding on their living room, or their bedroom or even their toilet. I saw them undress and carefully wash as they kept an eye on their belongings. I realised that up to this moment they had been invisible to me. I had so often taken the ramp onto the motorway without a glance to the right or to the left. I had simply never noticed them. We spoke to a small group in the corner of a wasteland. They were sharing a joint of cannabis. One of them said “it takes away the fear in my heart”, another that “it dulled the terrors of the night”. When the police move them on they confiscate their blankets. The nights are cold in Cape Town. Some of them are as young as ten.

There are places dotted around the city where they can eat. We drew up to an elegantly named, “The Dining Rooms” on Canterbury where they can get a meal for 5 cents. That’s less than a penny. Men and women of all ages turn up to join the line outside, some waiting idly on the sloping bank opposite. Some of the younger ones danced and flirted with each other. The whole scene is overlooked from the balconies of expensive apartments and the city traffic continues its remorseless ant-like shuffle in a parallel world.

Julius was familiar with all their haunts. I was surprised at how many there were, a corner of a petrol station car-park here, an unlit alley-way there, each with its own “family”. They look out for each other, feel safe with each other. The sad fact is the street is safer than whatever home they once lived in. At the end of a day with Julius, we were made welcome in their “new home” and not one person had asked for money or made us feel unsafe.

And you know what; it really makes me think about myself and my situation.