Age:
High School
Reading Level: 4.0
Chapter 1
The city rubbish dumps were close to the Joe Slovo Township. This gave many jobless people an opportunity to collect material for recycling. The local recycling plant manager paid us fairly. Recyclers, who scoured the dumps each day, were seen as business people in the Township.
Sometimes the wind would blow across the nearby sewage farm and make work conditions bad at the dumps. But soon enough, the wind would change direction. At other times, the wind was so strong that piles of material would be blown down to the mighty Orange River. All of South Africa would grieve the pollution of its longest river.
People in the city tried to avoid the recyclers. They acted as if the recyclers never bathed. City dwellers showed no respect for recyclers.
* * *
“A recycler never begs,” said Mama Tembu. “Recycling is an honorable business. It helps keep cities and towns clean. We remove things that would be blown away or pile up in heaps and be wasted.”
I loved and respected Mama Tembu. I will never look with disgust upon city rubbish dumps. My life as a nobody began in such a place.
Mama Tembu would tell the story again and again. The account became a comforting bedtime story. I fell asleep as she told it, knowing that I belonged.
“It was a day that turned out to be different from any other,” said Mama Tembu one night, as I pulled a blanket up to my neck. “As usual, I went to the dump before sunrise. The competition between recyclers is stiff. We know that the early bird catches the worm. It was cold and dark that morning. I looked around to make sure I hadn’t been followed by one of the gangs that roamed the Township.
“I saw movement in the distance. I focused and listened, preparing to fight or flee. Then I relaxed. It was only a child, a girl... perhaps eleven years old. She was dumping something on the rubbish heap. Then she turned to walk away.
“I shook my head. Why are girls, unattended by adults, allowed to come to the dumps? However, it was none of my business. I continued to rummage through the junk at my feet. An hour later, I had collected a lot of recyclable material. I was preparing two sacks to load onto my back.
“Suddenly a pack of dogs appeared. They were some of the many abandoned animals that had once been pets. Everyone in the Township kept a safe distance from these packs, especially after a man was bitten by a dog and infected with rabies.
“Fortunately, the pack seemed disinterested in me. But I noted that the dogs were pouncing on the spot where the young girl had dumped her rubbish. They were scrambling and biting at something that left their muzzles red with blood.
“Then I heard a thin wail from the midst of the dogs’ circle. I did not hesitate. I picked up a heavy rock and a broken brick before approaching the pack.
“Two dogs paused to glare at me and snarl, baring reddened fangs. Two others ignored me and continued to feed. The wail became the unmistakable cry of a human. I hurled the rock, followed by the brick, then bent down to pick up more stones at my feet.
“The rock had an effect. A sharp yelp of pain was the signal for the dogs to abandon the rubbish heap and run. One dog stopped just long enough to turn and growl menacingly before dashing away.
“Afraid of what I would find, I moved towards the heap—and there you were!” said Mama Tembu, finishing the bedtime story.
“You were still attached to the umbilical cord, but thousands of army ants had eaten most of it. The dogs had eaten the afterbirth. I scooped you up and brought you to my home. You were nobody yet, but you became mine. I called you Simon.”
I listened no further, for as always, I had fallen asleep.
Chapter 2
One day Mama Tembu said that since I was now six years old, I should go to school. The next morning, we walked to the school in the Township. There were hundreds of children making noise outside a large, two-storey building.
“It must be break time,” said Mama Tembu. I wondered what the children were going to break.
For a long time, we sat and started at a closed office door. When it finally opened, a woman glanced at us and asked, “Is this child here to register for grade one?”
“Yes,” replied Mama Tembu.
“Fill in this form for new learners and give me the child’s original birth certificate,” the woman said.
“I have cared for this child for six years, but he does not have a birth certificate,” said Mama Tembu.
The woman shook her head. She told us to go to the Bureau of Home Affairs in the city. “After you have the child’s birth certificate, you may register him at this school.”
When we left the school grounds, Mama Tembu complained about the system at the school. “I have never had a birth certificate or ID document. But I will do my best to get one for you, Simon.”
After walking for two hours, we arrived at the Bureau of Home Affairs. Facing a young man behind a counter, Mama Tembu explained that I needed a birth certificate.
“Fill in this form,” said the man.
Mama Tembu filled in my name and date of birth. But after that, there were many blank spaces on the form—mother’s full names; mother’s date of birth; mother’s ID number; mother’s street address. These were all left blank.
“What do these blank spaces mean?” asked the man.
“I do not know anything about this child’s mother,” said Mama Tembu.
“Don’t waste my time,” the man grumbled. He pointed to the door.
As we left, I looked up in surprise to see Mama Tembu crying. I had not seen her cry before.
I took her hand and said, “Don’t worry about school, Mama. You will be my teacher.”
Mama Tembu cried even more, but she gripped my hand tightly. I felt like I was being a great comfort to her.
Life in the Township was difficult. If Mama Tembu did not find enough recyclable material to sell, we did not have much to eat. However, we never starved thanks to a small vegetable patch behind our home. Rainy days came with a mixture of trouble and blessing in summer. Rain made it too muddy to work at the dumps, but it helped the vegetables grow.
One summer, it rained for many days. The rain caused the metal structure around our pit-toilet to slide into the garden. We had to push the little room back into place. That pit-toilet, shared by our neighbors, was a dangerous necessity.
More trouble happened later that summer. One day, our neighbors had spent hours looking for three-year-old Johnny. When Mama Tembu pushed open the pit-toilet door that evening, there was Johnny! His belly was resting on the flat wooden seat. His legs were dangling into the pit. His whimpering could barely be heard. All his strength had been spent trying to lift himself out of the pit. If he had fallen further, he would have drowned.
There was no peace of mind about that pit-toilet. One morning, Mama Tembu charged out of the little room, screaming, “Snake! Snake!”
Our neighbor hastily picked up a stick. “Where is the snake?” he asked.
Mama Tembu pointed to the pit-toilet. When the cobra raised its head like a hooded monster, ready to spit, the man fled. A few minutes later, we approached the toilet in fear, but the snake had disappeared. Most likely it is still there.
* * *
Time passed, and I grew older and stronger. I was able to help Mama Tembu at the dumps. I carried metal pieces that fetched a better price at the scrapyard than at the recycling plant. Sometimes we found discarded clothing such as torn jackets and odd socks. Our basic needs were met.
Once Mama Tembu found an unopened tin of pink paint. What luxury! We had to wait many days before we could afford to buy a paint brush.
Our home, constructed of metal and wood, with one window, measured four large steps long and four large steps wide. Mama Tembu painted the whole metal structure pink. It was the only pink home in the Township.
* * *
We had all heard about the free and fair elections for all.
“What does that mean?” I asked Mama Tembu.
“I will be able to vote for our government in South Africa,” she said proudly.
“Will that be helpful?” I persisted.
Mama Tembu shrugged. “We will see,” she said.
The next day, we did not go to the dumps. We stood in a long line of people all day, but Mama Tembu did not put her cross on the ballot paper.
“I need your ID document,” an official insisted.
It had been a waste of the whole day. We had to hurry home before darkness fell.
On the way home, Mama Tembu stopped at the crossroads. “Wait here for me,” she said. “I just need to buy bread and sugar.”
I watched her cross the busy street to the grocery store. Being Election Day, there were crowds of people on the sidewalks. Many cars screeched to a halt and then sped up at the four-way stop.
There must have been more customers than usual in the shop, for Mama Tembu took a long time buying bread and sugar. I grew bored and turned to look through the window of a clothing store.
Without warning, I heard a sickening metallic sound behind me. Two taxis had collided, and Mama Tembu was crushed between them.
I sat down on the sidewalk in shock. Before everything became black, I saw blue lights from a police car. I had known love for seven years, but now, it was over.
Chapter 3
The crowd had melted away and no one noticed me sitting on the sidewalk. I decided to walk back to the only home I had ever known. I shuffled along in the dark, worrying about Mama Tembu’s funeral. Who would bury her without an ID document?
When I turned the corner of our street, I had a bigger worry. The pink house was gone! Gangsters must have taken it apart, making off with the metal and wood. Even the bed, stove, lantern, and cupboard were gone. The pit-toilet was still intact. But without the lantern, I would not use it for fear of snakes.
I walked further down the street. Eventually I grew too tired to continue and sat down, resting against a tree. Only then did the tears fall. I cried for Mama Tembu and because I was nobody again. I dared not rest there for too long, though. I remembered Mama Tembu’s bedtime story about the pack of dogs that come out at night. I had to move on.
Although I was exhausted, I walked back towards the city. At the entrance to the post office, I found a heap of flattened boxes and stretched out to sleep.
I did not rest for long. A man, dressed in filthy rags and smelling of alcohol, pulled at my shoulder. “Get away from here!” he shouted. “This is my place!”
I stumbled to my feet and walked away. At the next street corner, I saw a scrapyard. There was a high fence topped with barbed wire. Beyond the fence was an area filled with broken, rusted police cars, police vans, and ambulances.
The gate was locked. At a back corner of the fence I found a concrete tunnel for water drainage. I slid up the wide pipe, which led right into the scrapyard. An old ambulance, without wheels, had toppled sideways. I crept inside it. I felt it would be safe to sleep there for a few nights.
Finding food was my next problem. No one needed me to push trollies from the big grocery store. No one wanted me to carry bags. No one gave bread away. I learned to beg in parking lots at malls. But it wasn’t enough. For the first time, I became a thief.
I found it easy to steal a cooked mealie, a single banana, or two apples from a street vendor as long as I could make a fast getaway. The entire day was spent looking for food. After dark, I would return to the ambulance.
One windy afternoon I noticed a piece of paper money fluttering in a hedge. I could see by the color that it was enough money for weeks of food. I pounced on the note, but someone else did likewise.
I was no match for the strength of the other young man. Although I had been smashed down onto the hard concrete, I was alert and ready to defend myself. I grabbed the man’s ankles, causing him to trip. The paper note blew away in the wind.
To my surprise, the young man laughed. “You are a clever one,” he said. “You will be a useful member of our gang. You can help us. In return, we will take care of you.”
I looked at my attacker, not trusting his sudden friendliness.
“Our gang members always have a home and plenty to eat. Shall we shake on it?” he asked.
I thought about it. A home and plenty to eat! I agreed. “My name is Simon,” I said.
“Welcome to the Killit Gang! I am the leader, Duma,” said the young man.
We shook hands. As easily and suddenly as that, my life as a gangster began.
Duma pulled me along to a building that had been partially demolished. We stepped into a dark basement.
“This is home for now,” said Duma.
A group of eleven teenagers stared at me. “Meet our new member!” announced Duma. “His name is Simon.”
I noticed that one girl seemed younger than the rest. As if reading my thoughts, Duma pointed to her and said, “Her name is Sixpence. She is mine.”
“This member is known as Dogta,” Duma continued, indicating a tall boy as thin as a rake. “You will help him with his business.”
That night, I learned the nature of Dogta’s business and how I would help. I was the youngest and smallest member of the gang. As such, I could fit into little spaces.
Dogta kept his words to a bare minimum. “Wait!” he said as we crouched in a park. We were watching a house with a bright porch light. “Come,” whispered Dogta, taking my arm.
We walked casually past the house and touched the gate, testing for reaction. There was none. “Put these on,” said Dogta, handing me a pair of rubber gloves.
He lifted me over the high fence. Then he pointed to a small window with frosted glass. It was open. “Get in,” ordered Dogta. “Grab whatever you can. I will wait.”
Eager to please Dogta, I stood on a garden table and climbed through the open window. I landed in a basin and entered what seemed to be a bedroom.
I opened a cupboard, groping in the dark. My fingers closed on hard, round objects that I could not identify. I turned to the bed, snatching the top cover and a pillow. I pocketed the small objects and shoved the bedding through the open window.
“That was quick!” Dogta said after pulling me back over the fence.
“We will be warm tonight,” I said, clutching the pillow. Dogta grabbed the blanket and we fled.
When we were safely back in the basement, Duma inspected the spoils. “Next time,” he said, “choose something that is worth more money.” But he claimed the pillow and the blanket for himself and Sixpence.
I was tired, but I could not sleep. I fingered the little items in my pocket. I decided to examine them in private at first light.