The painting job lasts for four more days. The following week he is back on the street looking for work. The week passes and he has not been picked when construction bakkies stop to choose workers. It’s the same on this Friday afternoon – he has not been chosen. He buys bread and heads back to Themba’s room.
He has barely been in the room for five minutes when Themba enters. He seems restless, pacing up and down in the room.
“I’ve got bad news, cousin,” says Themba.
“What’s the matter, cousin?”
“I have found a better job in Cape Town. I have to leave tomorrow. That means I won’t have to pay rent for the month starting in a few days,” says Themba.
“What am I going to do? Where will I stay?” says Zamani.
“I’m sorry, cousin. I want to help you but I can’t afford to pay for this place. I need money to rent a room in Cape Town.”
“Eish, Themba.”
“But don’t worry. There’s no need for you to go back home. I have a shack I used to live in when I first arrived here. It’s in Snake Park, not far. It’s not anything fancy but you’ll have shelter until you get on your feet.”
Zamani smiles. “Thank you, cousin,” he says.
“Don’t be too happy because the shack is not in the good shape and it doesn’t have electricity.”
“As long as it is shelter, it’s fine. Congratulations on your new job. Please put in a good word for me with your boss. I am a good worker.”
“They only employ people who have matric certificates, cousin.”
“Eish,” Zamani scratches his head. “I’ll have to go back to school eventually.”
“Yes, cousin. You have to get your matric.”
True to Themba’s word, he leaves for Cape Town.
* * * * *
Zamani is standing in front of a shack in Snake Park with all his belongings in big plastic bags, his blankets over his shoulder. The number 35 is crudely painted on the door. Shacks are built close together in this area. He opens the padlock and enters.
There are numerous tiny holes in the corrugated iron that makes up the roof and walls. They let in slants of sunlight from outside. There’s a small, old, single bed in the centre. The floor is cracked concrete. There are dirty clothes piled on the bed. There’s a broom with a broken handle on the floor. Zamani takes it and sweeps the floor.
“What am I going to do?” he says. He dips into his pocket and comes out with R150. “What will I buy with these peanuts?” he laments.
He steps out of the shack and looks for a spaza shop. He scans around until he sees a sign that says, ‘Gladys Tuckshop.’ He buys a bath soap, a candle and a box of matches. He adds a loaf of bread and pan fried livers.
***
Tell us: How does it make you feel that so many South Africans live in shacks just like this, many of them arrivals from rural areas?