Park Station opens at 3:00 am and as the clock edges forward past 2:59 a flood of humanity pushes through the station’s doors. Only some are heading for the first train out of Jozi – to jobs on the East Rand, in De Aar or further afield, or heading home to the hills of KwaZulu-Natal.

The rest are simply coming in from the cold. They’re in search of a cup of tea, shelter from the wind. For the hungry the sellers are waiting. There are vendors selling magwinya (vetkoek) and bananas, single cigarettes and sweets – all neatly arranged on a makeshift box, a pick-up and carry box, an anywhere, anytime box. It’s a mobile shop that, at 10:30 pm when the doors to the station close, can be packed up easily and carried away. You were never there, but you’ll be back in the morning.

Madoda made his way through these doors countless times. When he was particularly hungry and had money he bought a ½ brown loaf bunny chow and a pint of milk for R8. He got pap, skop (head of a cow, sheep or goat) and gravy on special days. It cost R20 but it kept him filled and satisfied for the rest of the day. And the next, if need be.

For Madoda, Park Station was home. It cost him R10 to keep his clothes in a locker and R10 to have a shower. The showers have in recent years been closed.

‘Wash and go,’ he calls it. ‘It’s essential if you don’t want anyone to know you live on the street. It’s a giveaway when you smell like a billygoat.’

Madoda has many lives. He is the CEO of Nsizwana Media Group, and the director and owner of 90mins, a soccer website covering local and international football. For this, he is an accredited journalist and he attends press conferences and pre- match sponsorship events. But he lives on the street. And it’s a secret he kept from his family and friends for many years.

Madoda remembers his first night on the street. He had been living in a flat in Jeppe. ‘Me and six of my home boys from Empangeni and Emnambithi shared a one-room flat. We stayed there for seven months.’

He hadn’t had proper work for some time, but the boys in the flat supported him; they liked him. He had been an extra on Generations, playing the guy drinking at the bar. He also told them he was a writer, ‘a media guy’. He’s a charming man and his home boys felt like they had a celebrity in their midst. Tami, who stayed in the flat, had a regular job as a cashier at Woolworths, so he bought food that was shared around.

It all happened one Friday in June. ‘I remember that Friday. It was cold and wet,’ Madoda says. He had left the flat early in the morning for the Business Place, a government-subsidised help centre where he spent his day using the computers and hustling for work.

After work Madoda headed home to Jeppe. He arrived to find everyone’s belongings on the street, and there were people everywhere, running and helping themselves to the spoils. The Red Ants had come early that morning and thrown everyone out. They locked the building and denied anyone access – his flat was padlocked shut.

Madoda just stood and watched. ‘I had a small camera I was sorry to lose. My only other belongings were clothes, and I didn’t want to scrabble through the pile to try see what was mine. My friends were nowhere to be seen.’ So he just walked away. With only the shirt on his back, he kept walking until he arrived at Park Station.

Madoda had been there when he first arrived in Joburg eight years before. He remembered seeing people sleeping inside and he thought he would be safe for the night. Tomorrow, he would figure out what to do.

He found a place inside and sat on the floor. He was just nodding off when suddenly, at 10:30 pm, the security guards started shouting and pushing people. ‘Out! Out!’

Madoda was scared. He didn’t want to go beyond the doors of the station, so he walked very slowly. But the security weren’t waiting. They kept pushing and shoving, and forced him out into the night.

It was cold outside. He stood, confused and frightened.

***

Tell us: How would you feel if you were Madoda?