Life in Tent City

City Hall is in darkness, the double doors are locked and the cleaners are sweeping the steps, only the dozen green portable toilets stand as testament to the people who lived there for two weeks. In  Spilsbury Street a dreadlocked Mozambiquan who has not returned to his homeland paces up and down the wide sidewalk, never venturing too far from his possessions which are a large, red, square zipper bag with a teddy bear silskreened on the front, a heap of dusty grey and brown blankets and a bundle of brand new socks still stuck together. They are heaped on one of the two columns that regally define the small space that he occupies. He wears a gold hoop in his left ear and he chews on a matchstick. His black faux leather trousers and his red fleece hoodie may be too hot in the midday heat but they’ll no doubt be insufficient against the cold, wet weather that is forecast.

At Rand Airport we are pleased to see that the municipal services have pitched up en-masse, not so pleased to see that some of their employees are sitting on their backsides staring malevolently at the new residents. The queue that snakes around the Red Cross table is four people deep and consists mainly of men. The grass that was so worrying yesterday is still dry, but trampled down somewhat from all the activity. The same volunteers smile their welcome, it is humbling that they never seem worn down by their plight. They are putting up tentsand there is no time for idleness or moaning; their positive attitude is an inspiration.

Entrepeneurs have sprung up, on offer are the skinniest fish imaginable; red, pink and orange sweeties and square biscuits are sold singly. There are three hundred tents numbered in black koki pen next to their doorways and there are fifty toilets. This services three thousand people. Less than fifty metres from the camp is the Germiston Lake yet there is not a single tap for fresh water. There are no lights yet. Erasmus ponders the difficulties and dangers of living in darkness, it is agreed that the school children must be given fire-drill first thing in the morning.

Joseph is the Germiston City Hall representative and Shepherd is the Primrose representative. There is a mixed air of bewilderment, relief and dissatisfaction. The Malawian contingent surrounds Mark soon after our arrival. Again Mark makes the calls to their High Commissioner and his Deputy, again the calls are routed to voicemail. The Malawians lips quiver as they tell of their disgust and disappointment in their government. Their leader Said is in hospital; their feeling of abandonment is palpable.

As we leave Armand approaches us, clutching a pink plastic packet with his belongings – identification papers and certificates. He returned to work today and his employer was eager to ask him about his experience.

“Did they give you a house?” He asked.

Armand confirmed he is living in a tent with nine other men.

“Did they give you blankets?

Armand confirmed that blankets were handed out.

“Did they give you food?”

Armand confirmed that he had received meals.

His employer grabbed him around the neck and throttled him while his fellow workers pulled his uniform off.

“If you get all that then you don’t need a job, come fetch your money on Friday.”

Hurt and insulted Armand asked about his UIF card.

“Your UIF money bought you all that food, you’re not getting another cent,” his employer said.

The police station wouldn’t allow Armand to lay a charge of assault and referred him to the Labour Court, they told him he must go to the CCMA.

He sighed and pointed to a tent behind him.

“I live there at number 230, please if you can help me I am a woodwork finisher,” he said.