Ever had one of those days where the most fun you've had was watching all the red bars on your de fragmenting hard drive turn blue?
I'm having one of those days right now. I've been endlessly working on my theses, correct here, edit there, cut out here, paste there, type here, delete that, find references for this... AAARGH!!! It's so monotonous that I look forward to any break or possible escape from the hellish cycle. I found some relief staring at my defrag for around 5 minutes before realising how desperate I was and watching half an episode of Top Gear to regain some sort of sanity.
Writing up is far from easy, even if you have everything you need in front of you and all you need to do is assemble bits and pieces into one sensible paragraph. If I could just work my way around these mental blockades I could probably finish off the rest of my thesis in two days! Instead I have budgeted two weeks to complete the work.
A place of luxury, joy and happiness? I think not. After all, playgrounds of the rich and famous usually have names like paradise-, or –hills, even names of birds, flowers and falls. No, no, 19 is the name of a place not entirely devoid of smiles, but nevertheless not worthy of a fancy name (like Paradisebird’flowerhillfalls…). 19 it seems, is an adequate name for a squatter camp (informal settlement) on the fringes of a one street town.
19 streches along the edge of the Kranskop industrial area. It is around 400m long and 100m wide
Surprised was I when I first found out that even small towns like Kranskop have room for large scale poverty. Sure, its neighbouring Zulu tribes are probably as close to the original culture as you are likely to find anywhere. “These people should be wearing skins, herding cows and harvesting maize, cane and yam crops out there in the beautiful Tugela river valley…” I thought to myself. It’s a traditional lifestyle that many hippies would be envious of. To be free and independent of the system, no taxes, no crime, no endless bills and no sense of helplessness whenever there is a power failure. Why do these people choose a life of poverty living in a 3m squared shack made of a mixture of other humans discarded bits of metal, tin, cardboard and naturally occurring mud, grass and irregular rocks excavated from the hillsides? Why do they leave the tribes and migrate to the cities? Money, no, the probability of acquiring money, perhaps, the search for a modern “better” lifestyle, overcrowding back home, better education…? I’ve pondered about this for quite some time and still can’t quite figure out what these people look to gain from leaving their tribes and moving to the cities, towns and villages.
I imagine a young man filled with hope, bathed cleaned and donning his best clothes. “I’m leaving now mum, going to the city to make some money. I promise I’ll come back with riches. Goodbye!” Alas he does not realise that the moment he waved and smiled to his mum when he left was the last time he felt levels of hope and confidence that satisfied his soul. He jumps into a taxi which takes him one way, to Kranskop. There he spends 3 or 4 days looking for a job and living off some tiny bit of saved up cash from local trade. By day 5 the money has dried up and the young man, still jobless, too embarrassed to go back home, succumbs to 19.
“19 will take you in for free!”
“19 will hold you in her arms till you get on your feet again.”
“19…”
“…home for those who have none.”
Surely it would be easier to admit defeat and go back home? The idea of returning to the place you were born, the place you had a purpose would stir restlessly around his mind for days, weeks and months… “No, things will get better, I must try harder” ...years. Why then does 19 visibly grow every month? Like some perpetual queuing system for those with broken dreams.
Children contributing to the household by fetching water from a local shop after the one faucet in 19 broke
I’m wrong of course, there is more to 19 than I, a neutral bystander with no concept of true poverty, can deduce from mere observations. While I’m here I want to learn about this place and it’s people. I want to alter my perceptions about squatter camp life in an effort to replace speculation with truth. I realise that helping these people would be nearly impossible in my current situation. Recent stats reveal that 1 in 4 South Africans (25% of our population!!!) earn less than R10 a day (about 1 Euro). Besides, what use have they for a scientist with an honours in zoology? I’d be more useful if I learned how to mend broken toilet seats for heavens sake. One thing I can do is spread awareness. I’m thinking about starting a new blog on this topic as I feel that my current one isn’t going to do any justice here.
The only question that remains is whether any human would be interested in reading and following a blog’cumentary of this nature (some feedback if you will faithful followers…)
When our minds are young we fail to see the big picture. Our focus is blinded by immediate gains, a complete lack of direction and ignorance of the ultimate outcome. How often did you/do you reflect back on a situation and think "Geez, if I had known about consequence X, I may have acted differently in situation Y".
(nodding in agreement you are, yes?)
In my opinion growing up is not about having progressively less fun and making progressively more babies. It is all about how much you take notice of and appreciate details. It’s about honing your perception of reality. There are plenty of people out there with fully functional reproductive organs that I don’t consider adult yet.
For example, Julius Malema on rape charges: “When a woman didn’t enjoy it, she leaves early in the morning. Those who had a nice time will wait until the sun comes out, request breakfast and ask for taxi money. In the morning, that lady requested breakfast and taxi money. You can’t ask for money from somebody who raped you.”
Sigh...
You get the picture...
“Please Sir, tell us about this ‘attention to detail’ and how it has anything to do with growing up?”
“Well little Peggy Parkinson, since you asked so politely I am more than happy to answer your question. Before I do though, have you done your homework? I know you have been skipping homework consistently over the last few weeks... and don’t give me any of those ‘my parents beat me ‘ stories, we all know that both your parents died in that hostage situation last week and your granddad is much too old and weak to beat you...”
“Ummm...(sobs) yes Sir, I have done all my homework”
“Good!”
We cannot write off the coming of age and puberty as determinants of adulthood. They are often related. The main sign of maturity in my opinion is a well developed mind. Growing attention to details is a sure sign of a maturing mind. We no longer eat to satisfy hunger, we start appreciating flavour combinations and savouring good tastes. We stop seeing buildings and start appreciating architecture. We don’t listen and appreciate music as a whole, we delve deeper and recognise talent not only in the way individual instruments are played but also in way they work together with the lyrics of the song and other instruments being played at the same instant...
As wonderful as it is to acknowledge the beauty of a mature mind I also remind myself of the negative impact of age on one’s mind. Senility, the harsh reality that awaits those of us that live to an age where our intellect dries up and we revert to old ways and prepubescent mind sets; we become,
like Madonna...
I always think about Madonna when it comes to this topic. She is living proof of the process I have outlined above. You can tell by observing the progression of lyrics to her songs.
Pubescent Madonna (1984) “Like a Virgin” exerpt: (I pray night and day that I never meet someone as horny as this)
Like a virgin, ooh, ooh Like a virgin Feels so good inside When you hold me, and your heart beats, and you love me
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Ooh, baby
Adult Madonna (1998) “Frozen” exerpt: (I actually like this song)
You only see what your eyes want to see
How can life be what you want it to be
You're frozen
When your heart's not open
You're so consumed with how much you get
You waste your time with hate and regret
You're broken
When your heart's not open
Senile Madonna (2008) “Give it 2 me” exerpt: (I’M SERIOUS!!! These are the official lyrics)
If it's against the law, arrest me
If you can handle it, undress me...
Give it to me, yeah
No one's gonna show me how
Give it to me, yeah
No one's gonna stop me now...
Get stupid, get stupid
Get stupid, don't stop it [What]
Get stupid, get stupid
Get stupid, don't stop it [What]
Get stupid, get stupid
Get stupid, don't stop it [What]
Get stupid, get stupid
Get stupid, don't stop it
Get stupid [To the left], get stupid [To the right]
Get stupid [To the left], don't stop it [To the right]
Get stupid [To the left], get stupid [To the right]
Get stupid [To the left], don't stop it [To the right]
Get stupid [To left left], get stupid [Right right]
Get stupid [Left left], don't stop it [Right right]
Get stupid, stupid [Left left], stupid, stupid [Right right]
Stupid, stupid [Left left], stupid, stupid [Right right]
To end off:
I’m not one to wish for death... but I would honestly prefer to die before I live to an age where I become like Madonna and my mind has basically been reduced to a wobbling mound of excrement...
