A pastime I cannot necessarily figure out if it’s a favourite but I have become so accustomed to, is listening in on the conversations of strangers in public spaces, especially a stuffed taxi on my brisky daily routine of commuting to and from work. At least then I am afforded the much needed rest; the ample time and a conducive environment for a thorough report of whatever is in discussion. These have usually led me to multiple stark realisations about human beings from multiple facets of life.

I cautiously dozed off on the window this one afternoon; anyone familiar with the relationship some taxi drivers have with keeping their places of work as spick and span as possible must get an idea. So I made it a point to browse through for a possible sticker inside warning against what I was about to do before I leaned my head against the immaculately maintained window.

For the sake of this piece, I will call this young lady “Lerato”, whose conversation with the man seated next to her during my mild nap caught my attention. I could already imagine it: a crystal clear open-air pool on a Saturday afternoon with the scorching sunrays illuminating the turquoise colour of the inside of it; the naughty giggles of young lads running to make synchronised dives, the splashes hitting the faces of onlooking elders with that biting smell of chlorine.

Lerato had a vision: there was dire need for a community swimming pool in our area. Despairingly lamenting about how she has been tirelessly proposing the idea to the powers that be to no success. Lerato is no stranger, as I realised upon opening my eyes when she was getting off. I curiously wanted to gaze my eyes on the face of this brilliant mind I had the pleasure of listening to. I am familiar with Lerato, as one not to have been dealt the best cards in life. Lerato’s background is that of a dysfunctional kind; both parents were known alcoholics, with the father eventually passing away at some point. She’s been exposed to violence that normally breeds from this unhealthy culture of over consumption of these beverages in our townships.

I am also fond of Lerato’s brother. He has made it a habit to plead that I keep praying for him on Sunday mornings on my usual rushes to church. It would delight my heart if he were to join one of our services one day though. He, along with many others, are part of a propagating group of young men who have found themselves at the mercy of this vicious drug that has infiltrated our neighbourhood. Coincidentally, he once shared with me that he is a qualified lifeguard who would love to practise but because he is still harshly oppressed by this grisly substance, his dream remains unattainable for now. When I waved Lerato goodbye, it dawned on me that the pool may just be her cry for help for her brother.

I am of Christian faith, one of the principles we are taught is the purpose of the death and resurrection of Christ as a means that has liberated us from condemnation. I do my best to apply the word of God in the areas of life I am constantly exposed to, hence I made a conscious decision to refrain from referring to people as a “Nyaope” – a term commonly used to describe a person who is a victim of an addiction that has stripped them off their dignity and sullied their reputation. Beyond their filthy clothes, the unhygienic syringes they hold between their darkened fingers and shaking hands, and their slowed down speech, are people whom I believe are not beyond redemption.

I have always found solace in expressing myself through writing; because of this art form I have been introduced to some of the best people who have had an immense impact on my bumpy journey. One such being is someone I now consider a brother – Gugulethu, whom I made contact with on Facebook, and one of the best writers I know of. Here is a man who is a recovering drug addict, who possesses vast knowledge on various topics. He has taken up running as a hobby and leads a very healthy lifestyle. Gugu journals a lot about his recovery journey and his testimony has touched the lives of many. I have not met him personally, but I can’t help but wonder if I had perhaps encountered him assembled in a group at a street corner covered by the dark smoke that hovers over them, possibly hustling for his next fix. I may have passed a “Nyaope” who has been instrumental in recognising my talent, believing in me, and ensuring that I get published.

I believe there is also a Gugu lying within Lerato’s brother, eagerly awaiting their turn to be awakened to the possibility of a butterfly or breast stroke teacher at the pool. There is always room for vindication; for the one with the melodic voice and one who was once a whiz on the soccer field. On the immaculately cut green lawn of Lerato’s public pool lies a solution to the idleness of youth; a solid chance to replenish the family structure that’s at the centre of the decaying surroundings; and the postcard images of the twinkle in the eyes of the children indulging in yummy treats at the poolside.

My younger sister recently forwarded me a profound excerpt from a book called “What Happened To You” by Bruce Perry and Oprah Winfrey, which reads “… teaching a child changes their brain. And with this changed brain, the child can grow up and teach what she has learned to someone in the next generation. There is transgenerational transmission – something is passed on to the next generation.” That deep desire shared by Lerato in the taxi may just be what will change the trajectory of our community. The next generation will not imprison a person by just a passing phase in their life; and her dream holds that baton.