One of the Saddest realities in the post 1994 South Africa is that poverty still has the face of a black child and a black woman. In seeing this image on my Facebook feed, not only was I reminded of the aforementioned reality, but I was taken back to A time where I was the child in the image. Forced to build and develop personal resilience not only for survival, but to wipe off the pain in my father’s eyes.
Kaloku uNcuthu ebezidla ngokuthi “Akuzangekwalalwa kungatyiwanga kwam!”, and he wasn’t lying. But there comes a time where dry bread and sometimes sweet water just won’t do. Where your body becomes numb just at the sight of any dry pap because you know that there’s no hope of even chicken feet to accompany it, I mean even that was out of our financial reach. So to be hungry, was to unintentionally hurt my father, and myself.
This, unfortunately, remains a reality for many black children in South Africa. For many children even going to school is violent because they are then reminded of their realities. The child is reminded that Izihlangu zakhe zigqobhokile. That her uniform is old, torn and wornout, unlike some in her class. He gets to school and doesn’t have the R1.00 required for school fundraising on casual day, because for R1.00 umama will buy two tea bags so there can at least be tea.
In my case, the old man would just blow that off on a cigarette; and of cause we hated him for it. We called him selfishif, careless and all sorts of negative words; and that’s exactly what poverty does. It destroys families. It destroys children and continues to drive black men into alcoholism and substance abuse. It leaves black women disenfranchised, and with the burden of raising children alone.