Staffrider Vol.3 No.4 Dec-Jan 1980 - DISA

Voices from the GhettoMrs T H, anoffice cleaner inJohannesburg,went to talk toMiriam Tlaliabout survival inthe dark hoursbefore THEFIRST TRAINFROM FARADAYMrs T.H. has had two previous jobs as acleaner. Now she's started a new one atRanleigh House, working for BCS, oneof the cleaning companies. She toldMiriam Tlali that it was . . .. . . the same old story. When we knockoff at 2.30 a.m., we have to go. There'sno mercy. Many* people in many placeshave been assaulted, people who workat night, meeting with ducktails andtsotsis — many, many people. I don'tknow about Ranleigh House becausewe've only just started there. But in allthe other places, we have been hearingof many of God's people who have beeninjured. Others we see passing nearwhere we work on their way out, goingto ... we don't know where. Now, oneasks oneself, just what happens to thesepeople? We can't go to Park Station; wemay not sleep on the benches. We maynot sit in the waiting-rooms. We muststand outside. Even when there's a trainon the platform, we may not board it.Now we wonder where we must go becausein the locations at that time it isrough. Even then, where will you go atthat time? Most of the time you are theonly one in that neighbourhood whereyou stay. It is like that too in RanleighHouse.At 2 a.m. what happens; do theycome and sign you off?Yes. Someone gives us the order toleave. We have a white woman supervisor.When we go, she comes and lets usoff.Now the cleaners; is it only womenthat they employ?Yes. It's only women who are cleaners.Some come from Diepkloof;others from Naledi, from everywhere.The supervisor is also a woman. But shehas a car, you see.There are companies of cleaners.Many firms. These have different names.One is called National, another is BCSand so on. You work until a certaintime. It matters not whether it's rainingor icy cold, there's no shelter for us.photo, Lesley LawsonIt is they who must provide shelter,isn't it?Yes. How we get home, they are notbothered about. That is none of theirconcern. You must see what to do.Whether you are assaulted or not, isnone of their business. At one time, I'veforgotten what year it was, a cousin ofmine was working at this Braamfontein'thing'(She raised her arms and pointedupwards with her palms clasped together).Which thing? The Hertzog Tower?Yes. The tower. She was just leavingthat place, early, when she was molested.It was only after they learnt that shewas seriously ill and in hospital with badwounds that the whites there said: 'Allright, you cleaners can wait on thepremises until it is safe to go home.'Those are the difficulties under whichwe work during the night.Now this cleaning you do. When doyou do it — during their absence?Yes. We clean after the officeworkershave left. Only the 'securities'are present./ thought it was the black male workerswho do the cleaning.No. It's we, the women, who do it.When do you start?Six.How do you do it; do you usemachines?Yes. We use Hoovers.Now, what happened to you oncewhen you alighted from the bus?When I got off the bus I met tsotsis.It was my usual practice to run veryfast, as fast as I could, in the directionof where I live. On this occasion, by thetime they caught up with me, I wasalready near my house. The bus driverdidn't stop at the official bus stop butinstead, he used to drop me at the cornerof the street where I live. They musthave noticed that. They hid and waitedat the house near the corner. One ofthem tried to reach for me and pull metowards them. Fortunately at that timeI had armed myself with . . . you know,these spiked iron flower holders . . . (Inodded) . . . Yes, the steel ones. I hadone of those, and I implanted it into hisforearm (She indicated the spot on herown arm.) . . . and when he withdrewand yelled, 'Ichu-u-u!' I got the chanceto run for safety. Then I realised that inspite of being clever, I'll get hurt seriously.It was after that incident that Idecided to stay at Park Station . . . Outside.Then I used to take the first trainfrom Faraday to Naledi and stay insideit. It would travel up and down, to andfro like that with me, until it was safe toget off at Nancefield and go home.(We both laughed softly and shookour heads.)We are laughing, but this matter isnot amusing at all. It's very sad indeed.Yes, but what can we do? Thenyou'd hear passengers say to me: 'You'llget hurt in the trains here; going up anddown alone, and a woman for thatmatter.' They were male passengers asusual at that time. Then I wouldanswer: 'What can I do? I've got to tryand save my life as I work. I have towork; I have no husband.'What about children? Haven't yougot a son to fetch you from the busstop? But then he, too, could easily oversleep and not fetch you . . .No; not that. He, too, can beassaulted while coming to fetch me. For