The real stuff of life here is the difference between what happens in within the electric fence topped walls of our now comfy home (despite it faults and damage) and what occurs outside them. When the geyser installers let the waterfall cascade through the ceiling, I went to turn off the water main which is located OUTSIDE our walls—couldn’t do it as both the lid and handle had been stolen by the guys who collect scrap metal.
Almost daily, strangers ring the intercom, located outside the front security gate, asking for food, money or clothing. This always throws my bleeding liberal heart into a dilemma. Yesterday, I tried a new approach—when a fellow buzzed asking for money, I asked him “Are you willing to do some work for it?’ He agreed. I asked him to simply sweep the leaves off the driveway—that is, the driveway located OUTSIDE the gates as it is too risky to let strangers into the compound. When I passed him the broom though the fence, he proudly announced that he had an ID document—meaning that he was legal in the country. I am of the “Don’t ask. Don’t tell.” school when it comes to legality in the country as I am barely legal here myself! Also, I am so aware of how people from poorer African countries flood into South Africa with its relative prosperity.
Yet, I wonder was I wrong to ask him to do a bit of work? Should one give simply for the sake of giving? But, I know I gave him more because he was willing to do a simple task for me. It seemed to me to put us on a more equal footing—you do this for me and I’ll do that for you rather than him just begging for money.
Emmarentia, where we live, is a well established middle-class suburb. One could be in almost any middle class suburb anywhere in the world. I love when other cultural elements of this country bump up against us. Nearly daily, there is an older African woman who pushes a very heavy battered shopping cart up our street calling “Meeeeeeeeee”. She’s selling “mielies” which looks like feed corn to me—it’s a staple in the Africam community and one often sees people roasting them in metal drums on the side of the road. It reminds me of when we were shooting an exterior scene for Jozi-H and the director wanted a mielie seller on the side of the road to add authenticity. Well, as the Props Department searched in vain for mielies, all of us whiteys discovered they were out of season! Talk about a culture gap!
South Africa is a country of locks and security—as Glen is quick to point out, security is the number one employer in the private sector. The extent of locks in this place amazes me. We have a BOX of keys that his ex-wife left us, most of which we have no idea what they are! Every room has a lock, closets have locks, many of our windows have individual keys to lock them—but the lock that amazed me the most when I first came to South Africa is the fridge! The fridge and freezer compartments each have locks. We have no idea where they keys are for ours, but just the fact that they are manufactured this way astonishes me. The locks say it all—distrust of one’s domestic workers versus hunger, need and possibly resentment on the part of the domestic workers. Our own fridge reminds me of the inequality in this country.
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