Day 104: Galeshewe’s hand

After a few days in Keimoes followed by a very brief sojourn in Sun City, where I was flown by a major insurance company to give a talk at their annual conference, I found myself back in the Northern Cape.

It is the kind of heat that can cause one to hallucinate. Either that or I am really standing in front of a giant hand giving a thumb’s up. I am in Galeshewe Township in Kimberley, Northern Cape, trying to find shade. As I circle the hand I notice how its mood changes depending on how the light reflects off it. From one angle it looks as if it is punching the air defiantly, Umkhonto we Sizwe-style, from another it seems almost vulnerable.

I am about to take a few photographs when I notice three youths sitting on a bench, watching me looking at the hand. Though they are slight of build the bench seems to buckle under their combined weight. They are joking and smiling, but they seem burdened and tired.

‘Are you from here?’

They exchange looks. ‘Yes.’

I notice that they are all holding pieces of paper and spot a bold heading: CV.

‘How is the job hunting going?’

They shrug, the air fills with sighs and the bench seems to sink deeper into the ground. ‘Sometimes you hand your CV in and wait for a response, only to hear that the job went to the cousin of the person who posted the position,’ says Ismail.

‘After a few months of not even getting an interview, I am wondering why I bothered to get a matric,’ says the quiet one on the end.

What they tell me fills me with sadness and a sense of powerlessness. Ismail can see that and tries to cheer me up. ‘Don’t worry, we are in the darkroom of the soul. Right now we cannot see the image. But the details will become as we develop.’

‘Ismail, that is beautiful! Are you a writer?’

He writes as often as he can, he says. I ask him never to stop. He has a way with words. A gift.

When it is time for them to go I offer them the traditional Zulu handshake: my left hand cups my right elbow, my body is slightly bent and I don’t make eye contact, followed by a conventional shake and the clasping of thumb around thumb.

I walk back to the hand, but my mind is in the darkroom of Ismail’s soul. Curriculum Vitae means Course of Life. What course will their lives take if it is this challenging for them to find work? They want to make a contribution to society, but are facing such barriers. How does one stay motivated?

According to a survey published by the South African Institute of Race Relations, 51% of South Africans aged 15 to 24 are unemployed. The longer young people are unemployed the more unemployable they become. These thoughts are milling around in my head as I look at the giant hand through my viewfinder. I get the distinct feeling that it is trying to tell me something, but I haven’t even bothered to find out what it symbolises.

Now I bend down to the plaque. The Mayibuye Uprising. In 1952 the young people of Galeshewe rose up against the apartheid system. The police opened fire, killing thirteen and injuring many more. Thirteen names are remembered here – they are some of the earliest blood sacrifices by our youth in their stance against injustice.

The hand has me in its youthful grip. It punches the air defiantly as though it wants to say, ‘We are here to stay’. At the same time it is a big vulnerable question mark, asking for guidance from our leaders. Are we failing to recognise that our youth is not getting the hand up they need? Are we helping Ismail and his friends to develop in their darkrooms?