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I am facing the window. Outside, the sun is shining and I hear seagulls quarreling over some bread. The wind brings in a feeling of freshness from the sea. Inside, in the cold and darkness of the room, are a plastic wall unit covered with little china statues and half faded pictures, a cheap sofa hidden beneath a dubious plastic cover and the smell of cold smoke makes breathing difficult. The bundles of sun rays that manage to circumnavigate the heavy old plush curtains shine on my face and warm my cheeks. I look at the window; pieces of glass are missing, the bars in front of it have started to rust, so the beautiful sunshine and the view of the sea are a sharp contrast to the poverty and flee-market atmosphere inside. Thelma carefully sits on the plastic covering the couch in front of the window and smiles shyly at me with her toothless, ageless smile.
She is a woman, a girl, a grandmother; it is very difficult to estimate her true age. She has two beautiful young girls of 6 and 2 years old. The small one runs around naked, covered in leftovers of a meal she apparently fought before we came. The older one does not listen at all and tries to sneak into the living room to overhear us social workers.
A woman in her forties, dressed fashionably but cheap, enters and drags the child out by her arms. I learn that she is the granny, the mom of the girl opposite me, so Thelma is probably around 20. She also attends school in standard 1, which is the equivalent of grade 3. The way she talks makes her seems not much older then a teen.
The father of the children who is in prison, she tells us in a conversational tone, has just recently called and threatened to kill her. She states that with a grin on her face as if she was telling us about the beautiful summer day. She adds that she does not worry anymore, because she knows her community will take care of her.
I let my eyes travel around and take in what I know too well from Townships such as Kayelitsha. Artificial faded flowers, yellow brown picture fragments that let you guess what they once displayed in gloss, cut out newspaper articles and posters of South African and international singers. Of course a TV, most likely bought from a dealer who stole it just a few streets further down can’t be missing. The ever so readily available escape into another world, just press a button and the kitsch of the room, the smoke and the children’s cries are forgotten.
In the kitchen the granny sits, smoking and painting her finger nails bright red. Another woman is sitting opposite her, she looks like the great grandmother of the kids, a portly person with countless wrinkles and a colorful scarf tied around her head, leading to a big knot in the back. The children keep on running back and forth and a young dog soon joins in the fun. In midst of all the buzz am I, talking to Thelma. When she learns that I am from Germany she smiles at me and asks: “So how is life in Germany?” Without waiting for a response she continues to express how badly she would like to travel and see other places, because to her Cape Town is oh so boring.
As suddenly as we came, we leave again, but no, no worries, we will return tomorrow. For another chat? To take Thelma to the clinic? To deal with the officials for the child support grant? To talk to the teachers of the problematic kids? I will soon enough know.
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Writer Profile
Marcia C. Schenck
I am a junior studying International Relations, History, and African Studies in the United States, Mount Holyoke College. I was born and raised in Germany and South Africa.
I love learning more about South Africa. I volunteered at a local NGO and interned with the Department of Social Services and Poverty Alleviation last summer. This summer I spent in Geneva at the International Labor Organization. I am passionate about travelling, reading, and writing.
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