Carinus and Michael woke up nursing hangovers from last night, while I felt completely fine. Today was filled with more media attention, which is always a challenge, but nothing I can’t handle. Yet, my day became extraordinary when I met Shumi Ndlebe, the lady I am staying with in Kayamandi township. Her stories were truly enriching!
After a refreshing shower, I joined Carinus and Michael for coffee at Ha!ha! Bar, just downstairs. A journalist from the Eikestad Nuus newspaper was there to interview them about hosting me. Strangely, she only asked me one or two questions, but I didn’t mind—Carinus had set me up for several other interviews.
Once back at the apartment, I tackled a detailed questionnaire via email before Die Burger (The Citizen), the prominent Afrikaans newspaper of the Western Cape, arrived with a reporter and photographer. I depend on the press for exposure, and I can’t expect the media people to read everything on my website. The least I can do is answer their questions graciously.
After the interview, the photographer insisted on snapping me and my hosts on the balcony and later staged a photo of me hitchhiking down the main road—purely for show, as I wasn’t actually planning on hitchhiking to my next destination.
Michael, sensing my fatigue from back-to-back interviews, treated me to some biltong and a Coke, saying, “Ramon, you’re free now.” I used one of their computers to catch up on my writing, then took a quick nap before we left for my next adventure.
Michael had arranged for me to stay in Kayamandi, a township near Stellenbosch, with the local star Shumi Ndlebe. This was my second experience in a township, the first being a brief visit to Mandela Park in Hout Bay. When we arrived, Shumi warmly welcomed me into her home.
To my surprise, the room I was given was nothing like I expected—it felt more like a first-class cabin on the Titanic than a typical township room! Shumi showed me around her spacious home, explaining that her son Charles, who now lives with his wife, had left several rooms vacant, which she plans to turn into a guesthouse.
In the kitchen, Shumi was preparing a huge meal. Charles, a high school teacher, and his wife Dudu joined us for dinner, and the conversation turned to the challenges of teaching children in the townships.
While Shumi filled the plates and I drank litchi juice, he told me about the difficulties with educating the children in the townships.
However the official Apartheid does not exist anymore, some 99% of the population of a township is black and negligently educated. With the support of the new chosen democratic government and the local (black) churches schools have been built to educate the young kids and prepare them for a brighter future.
Charles thinks it is partly because of the fact that those children are the first in the family to get proper education and that they had to live through all the struggles of a new era in the first place, that the kids are difficult to keep under control. They are too distracted to pay attention or either do their homework.
“In my class I sometimes have over 50 or 60 children to educate. I barely have room to walk around in front of my writing board, that full is the class room. But when I ask who has done their homework, mostly some five of them all would have done it.”
There is no possibility to punish kids in school. While in Europe sending a kid out of the class would make him cry and sending him home gives him the fear of an angry parent. Here in South Africa the kids love to be outdoors. And mother wouldn’t care as she will be busy collecting money on some unknown way.
Over a hearty dinner of milliepap (stiff porridge), vegetables, and chicken, Charles invited me to visit his school tomorrow. Shumi led a prayer in a for me strange language before the meal, thanking God for the food and the day we had. Though I’m not religious, I always highly respect these moments, as they reflect the deep gratitude and faith of my hosts.
After Charles and Dudu left, Shumi sat with me and shared her life story. Born in 1943, she was raised in this very house when it was just a one-room structure. Her parents had worked on farms during apartheid, and she witnessed the harsh realities of segregation firsthand.
Shumi told me how, at 19, she married a man against her parents’ wishes and became his second wife.
Life in the township during apartheid was like living in a war zone, with black people constantly harassed for their passbooks. The pass would tell the white police who they are, where they live and where they would be permitted to go. Without the permit you were not allowed to visit your own family in another township.
“The townships were war locations,” she told me. She remembered how all the citizens of the township wanted to go to the magistrate in the town centre to protest against these passes for the blacks. Of course the white police stopped the long march. The men were at the front line and were told they’d get shot if they didn’t return home. The women and children were all the way in the back and didn’t know what was going on and just wanted to keep on going. Eventually the police started firing at the people, killing them without remorse. “It was a big chaos at that moment. Nobody knew what was going on and we all fled back to our houses.”
“But that was life and it would happen over and over again and people would die – just on their path to justice.”
She was imprisoned for protesting against these laws while pregnant with Charles, and he was born in jail. Her case was closed because of the lack of evidence. But some people in the same situation were in jail for over six years.
When her husband left to live with a third wife, Shumi had to fend for herself. She started small, washing and ironing clothes, then became the first person in the township to own a car, using it to transport people between townships. Eventually, she found her niche selling chicken feet, which became incredibly popular. At her peak, she earned 600 rand a week—an extraordinary amount at the time—and used the money to expand her home.
The husband never returned again. The last thing she heard about him was that he had passed away in 1994, leaving six women behind.
With the car she would bring people to other townships, to have them visit friends or family, of course in exchange for a fare or dry meat. “Like a taxi?” I asked. “Yes!” she smiled. “I was a taxi driver. And I was making good money.” She talks with pride.
“But life was also wonderful in Kayamandi. I was young and loved to play tennis.” She played tennis with coloured people outside of the township and people paid a little bit of money to see the games.
Today, she still sells chicken feet, though now only at local schools. The income isn’t what it used to be, but it keeps her busy. Her dream is to turn her home into a guesthouse, and my previous host Michael has volunteered to help with the marketing.
But she is becoming an old lady now. She is on medicines against high blood pressures and diabetes. “I can’t go on with my chicken feet for such a long time. That’s why I want to start a guesthouse. My rooms are empty, I love to cook and it will help me out enough.”
As the night grew late, Shumi shared more about her community work, especially around Christmas when she cooks for large gatherings supported by local churches, who are financed by the grey ladies overseas as she calls the elderly South Africans living in Northern America.Her concern for those less fortunate is evident; she believes everyone should work for their money, just as she has all her life.
“They are sometimes men just waiting on street corners, asking for money or food.” She told the Father at the church that the money should be shared with those people too. And when the system got introduced that the church yard had to be cleaned and there were some more jobs to do, suddenly people stood in line to broom around.
By 10:30 p.m., it was time for bed. The township was quiet, save for the occasional barking dog and clucking chicken. Tomorrow, I’ll visit Charles at his school and join Shumi in her chicken feet business. But for now, I’m content to experience life in Kayamandi, a world so different from the places I’ve been yet filled with the same kindness and resilience I’ve encountered across the globe.
Good night, Stellenbosch.
Ramon.
