The Streets Talk - Part 01

What are they saying? What do the streets say that are in your neighbourhood?

This is going to be a reflective rambling piece of writing. I call it that, because I hope that someone will take note of the perceptions that exist around the world. My country, South Africa, has a very complicated history because of the horrific atrocities of Apartheid. I am sure everyone knows the word - but very few people are left who actually understand what it meant for those of us who lived through it.

I don't think you will ever really know unless you experienced it first hand. As a young white child, I went to one of the only schools around where people were brave enough to have all races of children in the school together - it was against the law back then. I was taught from very young what Apartheid meant - my Mom and Dad were hell bent against it and had always fought for equality. I was taught by them "people are people, colour means nothing". That is how I grew up - except for the fact that because of Apartheid, I had to be told about the bad people who had caused all the suffering. Back then I couldn't understand any of it - all I understood was that my best friend was another little girl. I didn't care about the fact that she was Black. Her colour meant nothing to me, but for some reason it meant a lot to people who didn't even know her.

When we would play on the playground, some of the white children were confused about why her and I were friends - they had not been taught the way I had. They had influences in their life who never gave them the full picture, their parents were nowhere near as wise as mine. My family doesn't come from a place of university degrees or higher education institutions, my family comes from hard, solid workers who just tried to put food on the table every night. When I grew older I understood that the pain could never go away just because Apartheid was over. Horrific crimes against people had been committed by other people - people in power. The sense of disgust for my own race at times has overwhelmed me to the point of losing my temper over the smallest disrespect that a white person shows to a person of colour - any colour. I have never been on the receiving end of the worst parts of Apartheid, but there are parts of my childhood that were stolen from me. Parts of my childhood I will never get back because when I should have been focussing on being a child, I was worrying about whether my best friend would be thrown in jail - at 5 years old.

Why is this important when I'm talking about how the streets talk? Their is a relationship that is built between people of different races or cultures that is so incredibly special. When two opposite worlds collide in my country to produce a friendship out of nowhere - it is magical and it turns people from strangers, to friends, to family. I know that this is true for every country in the world, but in this country there is a pain from the past which hasn't gone away and likely never will.

People always want to say that we need to stop treating people as different races and cultures. I have never understood why that is acceptable, or why people strive to stop using words to describe cultures and people. The culture of my Zulu friends is completely different to my Muslim or Hindu friends, so why should we not embrace the fact that we are different - but that we are the same? Why is it wrong to say, "I love Indian food"? Why is it wrong to say a culture different to our own is beautiful, why can't I show appreciation for someone else's culture? What is wrong with me referring to the Zulu's as Zulu's with the total respect I have for their culture?

I don't think I will ever understand it, because I am so open. I ask questions, I want to learn. Just because I am not Hindu, Muslim or Christian - it doesn't mean I do not respect the beauty of your religion. Some people say it is "rude" to ask questions about other people's beliefs. I've never had anyone tell me that I was being rude when I asked them to explain their beliefs to me. I am searching for my own faith, I've been searching for religion and God for most of my life - I don't see why their is "rudeness" in wanting to learn about different cultures and religious beliefs.

In my street there are walls, gates, fences, alarm systems, razor wire, electric wire, dogs of all sizes that are barking. Some of the dogs are barking because their faithful little child-companion is playing with them. They are barking an excited bark, a playful bark.

There's a bark of joy from a group of dogs whose owner has just arrived home - you hear the two beeps of the alarm system going off and the dogs go wild with joy.

Then I can hear another bark - a sad older dog. A dog who has a repetitive single woof that continues for hours because it is left alone and is pining for its owners. The bark is infuriating - but not for the reason most would think, it enrages me that people do not understand (nor do they care about) the pain their furry companion is going through while they are away.

What about the streets, though? I walk out onto the street and the roads are in good condition, the trees are big, the grass is cut on the verges. Everything looks like the perfect suburban community. Walk another 2oo metres from my gate, there's a little shopping centre. Everyone ignores the back of it which you have to pass in order to turn into the entrance - there's dried blood on the floor. The only remnants that remain of a fight for life - a fight which could have been to the death.

As we go on with our lives, I wonder how many people see the things that I see. Does anyone notice?

When a nightmare turns into a blessing

A young man walks down a busy street. There are little stalls everywhere that are spilling out onto the streets from the stores. Street food and street vendors, the joy of a busy hub. People are shouting and laughing. The young man smiles as he walks through the street, he gets a lot of strange looks. He looks out of place. The smell of their delicious food makes him hungry and he decides to buy some food from one of the stalls. They take his money but are still confused about why a clean shaven young white man would be walking down that street. He thanks them for the food and munches on it as he walks towards the bus station.

A few days later he passes through the area a little later on, most of the stalls are packed away ready for the new day, none of the owners remain. Winter is coming, it's 5pm - it's already getting dark. The young man speeds up a little knowing he needs to get to the other side of town. Without the bustle of all the people he wonders if the shortcut was a mistake.

He feels as if he is being followed, so he stands at the only stall that remains open and buys some street food that he doesn't really want. The shop owner and his sons can see he is feeling vulnerable and scared but they recognize him from the previous times he has walked down the road. The young man pays and stands with the food in the plastic packet waiting for the people who he believes are following him to leave. Eventually they walk on.

"Thank you." The relief in his voice is so clearly audible, the street vendors nod their head and smile goodbye for the day.

The meal he had bought from the stall was so good that he kept returning each lunch time, the people at the market had begun to teach him how to speak their language, and over time he became part of the furniture in the street.

One day he finished work much later than usual - it was the middle of winter. By 8pm the streetlights were shining across the road, lighting up the litter that was left behind from the week. He walked down the road and saw 2 minibus taxis going in opposite directions, he heard whistling and they came to a stop. He saw a group of 5 very strong men who were walking towards him - gangsters, he recognized the tattoo on the neck of each of them. These were the men who had been in the area causing chaos at the stalls weeks ago. Their heads were completely shaved. He was paralyzed with fear, yet the first thought in his head? I'm so thankful I don't have my phone on me. He feared that someone would send his family a photo or a video of him dying. The mind is a crazy thing when we are put in situations that are life-or-death.

He took a deep breath and was prepared to hand over every single thing he owned at that point (which was just his house keys, a R10 note and his clothes) just to walk through the road and live another day. He walked on - heading straight towards the gang, avoiding eye contact and trying to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. He didn't want to cross to the other side of the road for fear the gang would take it as disrespect. They were speaking louder and louder, pointing at him, he couldn't understand their language and didn't know if he should run away or keep walking.

He heard the screeching minibus taxi's brakes, and then the slamming open of the sliding door. Before he had a chance to even acknowledge what was going on, the people in the taxi had pulled him into the minibus. His life flashed before his eyes. This is it. I'm dead. Nobody is ever going to find my body. The taxi sped up and out of the street, as he opened his eyes from under his fingers protecting his head - he was waiting for a blow to his body. He was waiting for violence. Instead, he heard the voices of the street vendors.

"What are you doing?! Are you trying to get yourself killed, they would have killed you! You can't be here this time of the night!"

He began to sob.

The taxi driver took him to the bus stop where he waved goodbye to them and was given a hot dinner for his family from the left overs from the street food of the day.

This is a true account of a friend of mine from Johannesburg. He told me about this during the week and it has stuck with me. We get so caught up in our own lives and misconceptions about reality and people we see every day. My country is full of violence, it's full of badness, but my country also possesses the most incredible people with the purest hearts. There is a spirit among us that since the end of Apartheid has crossed race, religion, culture, wealth and poverty lines, languages - we don't have barriers anymore. The only barriers that exist are the ones in our heads, because our hearts are free.

The streets talk - I'm sure that street has so much more to say. I'm sure that it could tell you about a baby that was born on it, and an old man who took his last breath on it. The next time you're walking around, ask yourself one question...

What are the streets saying to you?

Lead image by Pixabay User: JerzyGorecki