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

'•We have to pay for thetrain and bus fares andalso the meals we eatfrom the R34,00 perfortnight that we get ...There's not much we cando with that R34.00."photo, Ralph Ndawoinstance, there's another man whosename is Ngubeni. We attend the samechurch. He stays in Mofolo Village. Hisdaughter works for a bakery. She goesto work late at night and knocks off atnight. This poor man made it a point totake her to Ikwezi Station. Every nightat 8.30 p.m. he fetches her from thestation. One night, two months back,after he had taken her to the station. . . you know it was very dark as it waswinter ... on his way back, he met the'boys'. There were eight. What did theydo to him? If it were not for the factthat God gave him power . . . then Idon't know. With the stick he was carrying,he summoned all his courage andfought like mad. He fought for his life;for 'final'! When these boys realised thatthis old man had beaten them, one ofthem tripped him. That was when theygot the chance to overpower him. Theytripped him and dropped him onto theground. But he fought them even as hewas lying on the ground. One of themproduced a knife and tried to stab him,but he had seen him already and hegrabbed the knife. They then clubbedhis head and he sustained serious headinjuries. It all happened because he triedto save his daughter's life. There aremany more people who have beenstabbed or killed because they have tocome from work too early or too late atnight.Obviously this kind of work hasmany risks. How much money are youpaid for it?BCS only pays us R34.00.Per week ?No, every two weeks. We are holdingon because . . . What shall we do? Wehave children and grand-children. Wehave to send them to school. How arewe to feed them? There's not much wecan do with that R34,00. We complainbut it does not help. How much have webeen 'crying'? It's long but (she shrugsher shoulders) how do we pay rent? Themoney only pays the rent and for a fewbags of coal. We just go on. There'snothing we can do with it.It's good you spoke about this.It's no good keeping quiet. I've realisedit. It's these people who speak lies,telling strangers to Soweto that we livevery happily; we eat and drink, andthere is nothing we lack. They are theones who are sell-outs. They tell thewhites all sorts of untruths about ourlives here. You can see. Here in WhiteCity Jabavu, they paint the outsidewalls of the houses, the houses along themain roads, so that when the very 'big'ones come, they can deceive them andsay: 'Can you see that? We are paintingthe houses for them. You can see thatthere's nothing they want that theydon't get.' They only clean those housesalong the roads instead of letting themcome right inside and see the filth allaround.You know, I never thought of thismatter of office-cleaning. At first, itused to be men who were doing thework, wasn't it? I was aware of nurseshaving to do night duty, but notcleaners. What has happened to the menwho used to do it?You know, the men and women whodo the cleaning of the flats and so on dothe work during the daytime. It is theoffices which have to be cleaned atnight because during the day, they arebeing used./ see. What about your train and busfares; do they pay for those?No. We have to pay it from theR34,00 per fortnight that we get. . . It'sfor the train and bus fares and also themeals we eat.Mind you, even Carlton Centre, bigas it is, the people who clean it also haveto go out of there at that awkward time,in the night, at two o'clock. They haveno shelter for the cleaners.Just reckon how far Ranleigh Houseis from the station. At times we movethere and come across 'ducktails'; whitemen looking for black prostitutes. Theymistake us for street-walkers. They tooare an additional menace. They drivealong the streets next to the pavements,following us and making advances;enticing us to go into their cars. Younever know what the real intention is.As soon as one disappears round thecorner, another one appears. •PoetryPASSION OF A MAN IN LOVEhe is a man of the bushput there between loveand deaththe son to a heart-ached motherhe likes to smile at photographers(to prove he is alive and fit)smiling as i dowhen my gal says we belong to theworldhe is the man of the nighthe walks in the darkin ice-cold alleysof man's freedom roadhe does wish to be presentwhen mother calls us for supperhe is the man of the bushput between dark and lightby passionthe passion of a man in lovein lovewith mankindP.S.how many suppers do i enjoywith my mind on the meal?Senzo Malingafrom THE FORGED NEGATIONtheycame at nightunending marathonof nightmaresthe moon pale substitutefor the blazingtorchthe babiesgrow knowingblind faithwon't bringbackour godsonlybrave untremblingwarriorswill bringbackour godsNkos'omzi NgcukanaII