The homeless in my hood

So today I spend wallowing in my depression and sadness.  It was intensified by a stupid cold that just made me feel more miserable.  Matter of fact I have been riding this self pity cold induced roller-coaster most of the week.  I did managed to drag myself out of bed to have brunch with my parents but retreated back to my bed the minute I could.  My afternoon was spend watching non life changing movies, downing vitamin C boost drinks and just napping.

Somewhere in the afternoon it started raining.  And for some unexplainable reason it inspired me to get dress and get out of bed.  In a selfish way I knew what would make me feel better.  Something to give my day meaning.  I decided to go say hi to my homeless friend, Maria.  

I grabbed two old towels on the way out(Why does a single girl need ten towels).  On my way there I saw someone waiting for a taxi.  I decided to give her a lift to the main road where she can catch a taxi as it was close to the supermarket that I wanted to pop in to.  She kept telling me God bless you, but I don’t think she knew how she was blessing me.  I know that sounds a bit backward.  But as I mentioned before in a selfish I-need-to-feel-better way, I was helping myself by helping her. 

I dropped her and I drove to where I knew I would find Maria.  She was on the sidewalk next to a closed shop, with all her belongings packed in two big refuse bags.   There were about four other homeless people that were all huddled under the roof, getting away from the rain.

 

This is what I know about Maria.  She is from the Freestate.  She has told me that she has children and is just waiting to make enough money to go back to them.  She also told me she has R15 000 somewhere.  She has been waiting for a RDP house since 1997.  She has mentioned to me a couple of times that she is just waiting for the key to the house.  She always says “anytime now the minister will bring her key”.  She used to sleep around the corner from where I work.  Sharing the space with a couple of homeless people.  But the security chased them away.  So now she walks the streets up and down,the whole day with all her belongings-a crate, two bags full of clothes and blankets, two 5ltr empty bottles and a bucket.  Until the shops close, then she goes back to her spot where she sleeps every night.  As far as I can tell she has two “friends”/”acquaintances” that sleep with her on the same spot.  She sells cigarettes, lose draws for extra cash.  I suppose it an income, to buy food.  She washes her clothes almost every day by hand.  I gave her a pair of Ugg-like slippers that she wears all the time.  Every time I speak to her she shows me that she is wearing the slippers.  This breaks my heart every time.  It seems that she feels she needs to show me she is wearing the shoes I gave her, almost as a sign of appreciation.  Maria also talks to herself.  It is sad to see.  In my own naïve explanation this is a way of coping with life’s knocks, being homeless, living at the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.  She is mostly by herself during the day. 

I gave Maria the two towels.  She only took one and told me to give the other one to her friend.  Her friend is also a lady living there, selling lose draws. This other guy Michael, who I met last week, came over.  He acted very aggressive towards Maria.  He told me in Afrikaans, that someone gave her a pair of men's shoes.  She gave it away.  I think he is the bully of this forgotten society.  He kept telling me don’t talk to her, don’t give her something.  Like he wanted to use me to somehow take revenge on her giving away the shoes he felt was his.  In Maria's attempt to make peace, she offered him the towel.  He didn't want te towel, as he was determined to get a pair of shoes.  Eventually we, Michael and I, walked away.  He asked me for money, but I gave him food that I bought.  Maria later told me Michael is mental.  

Michael also has an interesting story.  He walks around with his guitar.  He told me he used to play for bands like Sprinkbok Nude Girls and Koos Kombuis. He lives a block or two up from where Maria lives.  He can only see through his one eye.  I always feel like he standing a bit too close to me.  He only speaks in Afrikaans to me and told me his wife is Zulu but she doesn't speak Afrikaans.  I have never met his wife. 

As I sit hear typing on my laptop, listening to music through my Iphone, making a Napolitana sauce to freeze for the week and eating homemade Guacamole with my Woolies nacho chips I realize that I am blessed beyond words.  Yes I don't work at my dream job, I don’t live in my dream apartment.  But what I got is so much more compared to others.  It is really easy to get caught up in this rat-race of wanting more.  These first world problems we face.  I also know that most of us are blind to this forgotten society, the homeless people who wander our streets.  We don’t really see them during the day, unless they come up to our window with a sign begging for anything we are willing to offer.  They all have stories, they all have memories of a life before the streets.