Thoughts of Brown

I left the Internet cafe after i wrote my blog this morning and headed to the Parade to get some breakfast. I got there and bought a “quarter peanut butter” (two thick slices of bread with peanut butter spread in between) and a coke. The sun was already hot, especially on the Parade, so i decided to go to the Company Gardens to eat my breakfast in the peace and coolness of the shade of the gardens. I walked and ate. I wasn’t paying much attention to the people i was passing. Only the hungry squirrels and pigeons that jealously looked up at my peanut butter quarter from the ground below. I felt pity for one particular squirrel and pinched off a piece of bread and threw it on the ground before him. He thankfully and desperately grabbed it and ran away. I turned around to watch him scurry away, in the direction i had just came from. And then my eyes fell upon Ben, a seventy year old paedophile that Wise says has been active since he was a kid in town in the 80′s! And i got confirmation, the other day in a conversation with a kid, that Ben is in fact still active to this day. I felt my chest get warm. I decided to try and make close contact.

As he approached i greeted him in a friendly way, like friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time do, “BEN!!”. I saw him reading my face, his brain quickly searching its data base as to where he knew me from. Search is complete. There are no results to display.

“I don’t know you?” he said with question and confusion in his voice, and a strange fear on his face.

I chuckled and began walking with him, “Oh no! This is the first time we have officially met. We have mutual friends.”

He seemed relieved. “Oh! OK. Nice to meet you.”

Not so sure if you would think that if you knew exactly who those friends are, i thought to myself. I looked him in the eyes as i walked and said, “I work with the children that live on the streets here in Cape Town and they say they know you quite well.” My tone was neither friendly nor aggressive; monotone.

He assumed they had not told me the “dirt”. “Oh yes! I always used to look after them. I am not able to now so much anymore because my pension is not as much as i used to get, but i still do things for them when i can.”

Yes, and they do things for you too you sick…, i thought. But i stayed calm. “What exactly do you do for them?”, i calmly inquired.

Becoming very comfortable with my company he said, “Oh you know! i buy them things, give them food like fruit and bread.”

“And hot dogs!” i sarcastically said. He did not pick up on my sarcasm.

“Sure! Sometimes.”. He really does not have a clue. I decided to give him one.

“I hear your relationship with them i quite interesting.” My voice was serious, with an undertone of anger. My jaws were clinched and my eyes were piecing. He made eye contact and then looked away as my eyes shot lazer beams through his. He picked up the pace a little bit and and his breathing became a bit heavier. He was not sure how to respond.

Awkwardly he just says, “Yes.”.

We passed by one of the kids who greeted me and looked in curiosity as to why i was walking with Ben. Ben picked up on it. I greeted the kid and kept walking with Ben. His anxiety increased. I felt a strange pity for him but i was not going to let him off easy. Yes, he is old, seventy to be exact, but all i could think about is the hundreds, if not thousands, of young lives he has destroyed in those seventy years! “Yeah. I have even seen you on TV if i am not mistaken!” Both of us knowing that i am talking about a Special Assignment episode in which a clip of him is showed; walking outside the court when he was on trial for child sex abuse.

“Yes. A couple of times.” It almost seemed as though he was bragging.

Three of the older guys passed by and greeted me with the same looks on their faces as the last kid. They offered to finish off what was left of my peanut butter quarter and coke. I was not entirely finished but was also happy to share. I walked over to them, leaving Ben to walk alone, “I will catch up with you later Ben. I know where you stay!”.

When your “house” has no walls it is not so easy to keep out the elements!

Yesterday i went to the Obz Fest. It takes place every year in an area called Observatory; a street festival. I had made enough money on Long Street the night before to be able to take the taxi to and from Observatory. That was a huge relief because the sun was trying to make a statement yesterday! So i went to the Obz Fest and joined my friends who had a Mekasi stall set up. I also scurried around amongst the crowd and handed out fliers. Obz Fest had changed faces this year. In the years before it was a casual, laid back event, free for all, with the entire main road blocked, packed with stalls selling all forms of art, clothing, curios, antiques, hippie paraphernalia, and other random things. There were stages set up on each end of the Festival with free concerts on each end, displaying different genre’s and different artists. People from all walks of life passed through; homeless, artists, yuppies, hippies, gangsters, white, black, yellow, light brown, dark brown, fat, skinny…you get the point. This year was different. The stalls were all set up in a particular fenced in area, off the main road; likewise the main stage was on a fenced in field of some sort. This year you had to pay 40 rand to hear the acts on the main stage, and 20 rand to hear the acts on the acoustic stage. This was not possible for a homeless guy like me. I feel like it was against the very heart and spirit of what i have always known the Obz Fest to be. Oh well. Things change i guess.

Anyways. The sun really gave me a pounding yesterday. As i said, it was almost as though the sun had some point to prove; like we had forgotten how powerful it is, and it decided to give us a reminder! By the time i got on the taxi to go back to town i felt like a zombie. It didn’t help matters that I had gotten a total of about 7 hours of sleep if you combine the hours i had slept in the two nights prior. My exhaustion caught up to me and the sun took advantage of my vulnerable state! By the time the taxi reached the taxi rank i felt like a lethargic heavy weight boxer, in the thirteenth round of taking hard and heavy blows from his opponent! I saw some of the kids at the rank and they actually asked me if i had smoked heroin, though they know that i don’t use drugs. I decided it might be best to just turn in early and go straight to the flower stand.

I sluggishly walked and could hear my feet dragging. As i came near the flower stand, i noticed they were setting up a movie set in my “back yard”. It was an American film because they had American flags up, the street was blocked off and filled with American made cars, and other things you might find on the side of a New York street. It was kind of surreal. They didn’t ask our permission to film right outside our house! I walked through the New York street and rounded the corner to the flower stand. Everyone greeting me with a smile because they could see how tired i was. I didn’t not waste time finding a piece of cardboard and a little spot to relax. I think it was about 6:00 or 7:00 when i laid down. People came in and out, influenced by different drugs they had been using, making for interesting and sometimes nonsensical conversation. Xavier came and laid down beside me and talked for a while, but after about 30 minutes or so he had to get up and go make some money to support his drug habit.

A couple of fights almost broke out between a couple of different guys. A couple of people i don’t really even know imposed on my privacy and forced conversation that i was not really in the mood for. And the heat! They heat kept pressing in on me! I could see the sun was starting to go down, but it had made such an impact on the day that it left a residue of heat that just hung in the air through the night; quite an impression! I eventually turned in. People continued to come in and out. I would occasionally hear “Ryan!” as someone would walk past. I could tell by the tone that they were not trying to get my attention but merely greeting. I would reply with closed eyes, in a tired voice, “Yes yeah!” and then fall back into a deep sleep. One thing that stood out to me is that when your house has no walls, it is impossible to keep out the “elements” of all sorts.

I could not go inside my flat and escape the heat, maybe lay on my couch and watch TV. I had to lay in the heat. And though i did not want the rats to chow my ears, i could not bear to put on my cap or put the blanket over my head. As i tried to relax people came in and out, bringing all sorts of different vibes and moods with them. When last were you sitting in your living room on a Saturday afternoon, chilling on the couch, when all of the sudden a guy sniffing glue enters the room, followed by a guy who had just smoked rocks, and in their paranoid state they fight over something only they can understand. You would probably move to a new house or increase your security measure is that happened! I also felt the need to sleep with heightened senses seeing that the guy who had tried to steal my bag the night before was lingering around all night. He had seemed embarrassed about the incident, and didn’t seem like he would try it again, but you never know. But i am an adult and it is my choice to live like this right now. It may not even be a choice for some adults that live on the streets.

But children…children should not have the right to make a choice to live in a house with no walls; a house that leaves them vulnerable to all of the “elements”. Children have the right to shelter, at least according to the Constitution they do. They have the right to four walls to surround and protect them from the elements and even parents, or “appropriate alternative care”, to watch over them and also protect them from these elements, leading them towards good choices and decisions in life. But now, many of our children live in open houses, and the are open to the elements. And these elements have their way way those children!

I remember the first time i met you. I was captivated by your personality, drawn by your energy, and wooed by your sense of danger. You are captivating, breathtaking and beautiful, yet have a dark and ugly side. I guess i like the bad girls because your dark side intrigued me. Whilst many come from afar to gaze at your beauty, others come to engage your wild side. You are like no other lady in the world. A mixture of so many things, diverse in qualities and very cultured. You are considered the Mother of all Africa, and have been the gate keeper for many visitors. You are laid back and not in a rush for anything. So slow yet so graceful.

One of the first thing i noticed about you is that you are a mother to runaways. You open yourself to those that society consider to be “strays” and you welcome them whole heartedly. At first glance it seemed as though you really loved and cared for those children; taking them in when no one else would. They seemed to be so happy under your care; so carefree under your supervision. They are mystified by your ways and never want to leave your presence. They become so attached that they often forget about the families they once knew; even their own mothers. You become their mother! They are highly devoted to you and vulnerable in your care. Their lives are in your hands. I thought you loved them.

I thought you loved them. I thought you cared for them. I thought you were so noble and great, taking in and caring for the “least”. But the more time i have spent with you, the more i have gotten to know you. You are not a suitable guardian; in fact, no mother at all. You are a fraud and a child abuser! You identify the vulnerable, hurting and rebellious children and seduce them to you. You convince them that the many others in your care are now their family, and you try to make them forget their pasts, their communities, and their families. Like a true predator you entice them with money, food, services, and drugs. You captivate them by introducing a new, addictive way of life and you hold them as prisoners. That is when you really begin to work on them.

You rape them, beat them and rob them of their innocence. You pimp them out to paedophiles and allow the rich to walk all over them. You brainwash them to think that you are all they have…all they want…all they need. And they believe it. You are abusive beyond belief and are even known to turn on one of your “children”. You have the blood of many children on your hands. But you continue to laugh and smile for the rest of the world. You put on a face, a front. You try and silence those that speak out against your wrongdoings and you reward those that allow you to continue. You suck every second of life you can out of every child you get your hands on. But they love you. They continue to show their devotion to you. They do not wish to leave you.

But I have seen the truth! You are no mother! You are a fraud!

Man I am finding it hard to concentrate right now because i have two guys behind me in the Internet cafe that are in a heated discussion, yelling and swearing. They have been at it for the full 29 minutes i have been in here. The one guy is a black man from Zimbabwe. The other guy is a white man from England. I didn’t catch the start of the conversation but the Zimbabwean says “all white men are evil and are to blame for the world’s problems”. The English bloke strongly disagrees and tries to not come off as racist as he makes ignorant comments. I do not know why they are still going on with this conversation unless it is some secret conspiracy to distract me from writing a good blog! If so, it is working!! I am distracted!

They are two guys with two pole views on the same issue. The Zimbabwean is stuck in the past. Yes, “white people” have caused harm all over the world, done many terrible things, things that are horrendous beyond words, but we have to move on, taking responsibility for what is “ours”, surrendering what is “out of our hands” and forgiving those that have done us wrong. The English chap on the other hand does not want to take enough responsibility. He does not want to take any responsibility for the evil deeds of his forefathers. Sure, he wasn’t there, it wasn’t his fault, but in many areas of the world, you benefit just by being born white. Anyway, i didn’t want to get into this discussion at the moment but yeah. They will continue on to shout, swear, interrupt each other, and they will both walk away from this conversation having learned nothing from each other, but only pushed further into their strong opinions they so tightly guard. ANYWAY…

I can’t believe it’s the 12 day! Only four days left. Time has flown by!

Yesterday morning on my way to the Internet cafe i met up with Xavier. He is a little guy. I think he is probably 13 or 14 but his growth has been drastically stunted by drugs, malnutrition and whatever else. He uses all sorts of substances; drugs way too big for his size. He is kind of a loner and moves around alone, going from one group to the next. He sometimes comes around at night to the flower stalls. He works on the taxis (the VW Minibus taxis) quite a bit. They, of course, can use him as their “guardtjie” (the guy who shouts out the window, collects the money from the people and opens and closes the door), and pay him way less then they would have to pay an actual adult. Street vendors, informal traders, taxi drivers, and the lot really benefit from the cheap child labour and exploitation the get out of the children living on the streets.

Back to the story…So i was walking to the Internet cafe yesterday morning and bumped into Xavier. He had some food in his hand and looked exhausted. We were going the same direction so we walked and talked together. He said that he had been working all night on a taxi and he was “dead tired”. He was going to eat his food and then sleep all day. It was not more than 30 seconds after those words came out of his mouth when a taxi driver passed by and saw Xavier. The driver stopped the taxi, shouted out of the window “Don’t you want to work?!”. Without thinking twice Xavier said bye to me, ran to the taxi and jumped in. I found him late last night, about 10:00, at the flower stall and he had just finished working. He looked like a zombie. The drugs he smoked just after i saw him did not help the look much!

I went back out into town and came back in late. Xavier was passed out, all by himself, curled up into a ball under a jacket, snuggled up next to the wall. I looked at him and thought about how wrong it is for a kid that small to be exploited in the way that he is on a daily basis. I mean, this not even to mention the paedophiles he probably goes with for money. I looked at him and thought about how wrong it is for a child that small to go around, all hours of the day and night, smoking drugs with adults; drugs too big for his size. I looked at him and thought about how wrong it is that such a small kid sleeps all by himself, curled up with no protection but a jacket thrown over him. Anything could happen really. And it probably does! Wise was busy doing some stuff and i was tired so i got my piece of cardboard and laid it next to Xavier.

I laid my head on my “pillow” (my backpack) and fell asleep pretty soon after. I was awakened later in the evening by a rat crawling on my stomach. I catapulted it with my blanket and sent it flying. My sleep was disturbed again later in the evening by some movement of my bag. Someone was trying to steal it. I uncovered my head from underneath the blanket and said, “JY! Wat maak jy?!” (What are you doing?!). The guy was surprised to see it was me. He didn’t realise. He seemed embarrassed. His shadiness was revealed to me first hand. He apologized and made up some excuse that he was looking for matches. I told him to look somewhere else. He did. I went back to sleep. I was again later awakened by some little hands pulling the blanket off of my head. It was Xavier. He looked pleasantly surprised to see it was me. He said, “Oh!! It’s you!”. Then he scurried back over to his spot, got back under his jacket and stretched his legs over me and went straight back to sleep. It was sad and funny at the same time.

I told Wise about it this morning and he said that Xavier probably felt safer with his legs laying over me as he slept. It is really sad for me to think about a kid, out in the world all by himself, fending for himself in all sorts of ways that are way to mature for his age and size. But this is why i am doing this. To be able to experience these things, feel them, understand them on a deeper level, and share them with you.

Ever since a conversation i had with Damian (the manager at Crippie) this morning i have had this uneasy feeling in my stomach. My experience on the streets has been great so far. I even feel blessed to have experienced the things that seem to be “negative”, because it better allows me to speak out, with a greater knowledge and understanding, about those very things. But that specific conversation this morning really put me in a bad frame of mind. I shouldn’t let it get to me, and am usually pretty good at that, but i don’t seem to have power over this one. I can’t seem to get it out of my head, and i just feel down about it.

Basically, Damian told me that he was told by another lady (i won’t mention names as to not get anyone in trouble in any way) that works for another organization, that “several” of the NGO’s are not in agreement with what i am doing, and they are “boycotting” me. Now that actually sounds kind of funny when i type it and i actually don’t even know what that means, but yeah. Damian told the lady that he would tell me and he did, and then when i inquired about who exactly she was talking about he called her to find out. She said she had gotten the information from a colleague who had been to a meeting where this was talked about. Apparently they were upset because i did this without consulting them or including them. This is strange for me because i sent out a press release for that very reason two weeks before the 16 days, so that if anyone wanted to meet up they could. I got contacted by several people from several different organization who showed support, and a couple that even wanted to meet. And that we did.

So i don’t know who has a problem, and what it is all about, but i want to make it clear that i am not doing this for organizations. I am doing what i am doing for the kids. I do however want everyone involved with them to be involved with this, but the only way to do that is by making contact. Likewise, if people really do have problems with me, i would like to think that we are adult enough for them to come to me and we can talk it out. This whole thing could however just be a big misunderstanding and maybe no one has a problem. I have always tried to work with everyone, and work against the organizational politics, that only make the situation on the streets more complex. So i guess there could be a bigger reason why this even came up at all. For me to highlight this point.

One thing i have experienced is there is a lot of competition and organizational politics within this sector. I think it has gotten better since when i first came here, but it still exists, and it holds the kids right where they are. I hope for a day when we can all work together, agree to disagree about certain things, and work in unity towards finding solutions for these kids. No one person can do it alone! But it requires dedication to teamwork and networking, along with all of us basically being willing to “work ourselves out of a job”. I hope this happens! I hope that others are striving for the same thing!

So here is the venue. I am opening it up. Please feel free to contact me if you have a problem with what i am doing. Please let me know how we can better work together. Please let me know if you support what i am doing. I need that too! Both negative and positive input are greatly needed for anything and everything we do in life, both privately and professionally. All i know is that i have seen eight years of children dying, drugging themselves stupid, wasting away, and being ignored by society (until they get under society’s skin, that is) and i can’t bear to see this for 8 more years! Desperate times call for desperate measures. This is my desperate act. I pray and hope that i have your support, even if you don’t fully understand or agree with it.

I am sorry if this blog came off a little whiny and PMSy! This is normally not my style. But this has just been bugging me all day! Thanks for letting me vent!

I had the pleasure of going to a photo exhibition/film screening last night. I was invited by Clare, who has been diligently devoted to photographically documenting my journey. The exhibition was in downtown Cape Town last night so i walked up to see what was going on. The photos exhibited were what people call “street photography”, and they were taken by mostly young, up and coming photographers. All of the pictures were taken in the townships; kind of a “day in the life” kind of thing. The images were striking and beautiful, yet dripping with contrast and irony. One picture that really struck me was of a young boy laying on top of a toilet, in a seemingly “informal settlement”. It was one of those toilets you find in the “developing” areas, where the people have to go outside to use it. The boy was laying on top of the toilet and the picture was taken from below. Just under the boy’s face, there was something written on the toilet with paint, “Better life”. Striking.

After a crowd gathered at the venue, they played a film about the Then and Now photo exhibition. The film focused on the journey of photographer Paul Weinberg, travelling around visiting friends from his past. But these weren’t just any friends. Paul and his 7 comrades were visual messengers from South Africa to the rest of the world during the Apartheid Era. They were documentary photographers, of all different races and backgrounds, that were dedicated to documenting the “wrongs” of Apartheid from all different angles. For instance, Guy Tillim’s pictures often displayed the graphic violence of the ground level in the townships, whilst Gisele Wulfsohn’s photos showed images of the “other side” of Apartheid, often capturing images of domestic workers being mistreated and the ugliness of “white superiority”. Each photographer doing their part, playing their role, to get out the story to the rest of the world about what was going on in South Africa. If not for these brave photographers, and others like them, the rest of the world may not have gotten a clear “picture” of what was going on in South Africa during those dark years.

It got me thinking. What if the rest of the world would have become calloused to seeing pictures of young black children crying and running from military police, images of black men being malled by police dogs, photos of the hundreds upon thousands of people murdered by the Apartheid Regime and the many other atrocities captured on film. If people just accepted that “that’s happening” and were not moved by what they saw, Apartheid might still be around to this very day. But people were disgusted by what they saw. They protested. They wrote letters to their governments. They rallied. They fought. And the images they saw were the wind that fanned the fire that burned within them to cry out and fight for change.

2008. There are children living on the streets of our biggest cities. Cape Town is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world. It might possibly be one of the most beautiful ones! But it is a city that stinks with harsh contrasts. Much of the poverty of Cape Town can be “hidden” from tourists, but the children that live on the streets cannot. They are a direct reminder of the past, a thorn in the side of tourism, a nuisance to businesses and an embarrassment to the government. But the saddest part is, they are a part of life in Cape Town. People accept the fact that they are there. Locals pass by them without even thinking twice; calloused by daily images of a young child digging through a rubbish bin for food. Foreign tourists alike are calloused in their own way. It is almost as if they “expect” to see “street children” in a third world country and they patronizingly take photos of and with them, and give them food and money enabling their drug use and life on the streets. Very few people are “struck” by the image of a child living on the streets of Cape Town. If you took the same child and placed him or her in a different context, say Zurich, people would be shocked! They would approach the kid, try and help, be uncomfortable about the child being there, and be moved to do something. But in Cape Town, we have accepted it as the norm.

Many people have asked me what i hope to achieve with my 16 days on the streets. At the very least i hope to stir conversation and dialogue about the situation of these children. Thinking bigger, i would love to create an awareness that reaches the masses. An awareness where the vast majority says, “wait a minute! it is WRONG to allow a child to live on the streets!!”. Where the majority of the people do not accept it and no longer see it as “normal”, but view it as child abuse to allow a child to live on the streets. Not to pass by the child feeling bad, angry, sad, guilty, but dis-empowered to see a solution and merely move on with life. But that the image of a child living on the streets would be so strikingly WRONG to a vast majority of people that change would be inevitable. That mere awareness and acknowledgment of the masses is the foundation we need to begin to tackle this huge social ill. And with that foundation laid we can begin to put in the work and structures to see real change come in the lives of these children.

I urge you to no longer view these children from experience, whether past, present or future. But see them for what they are: children who have been robbed of so much, but need us to be adults and guide them and direct them towards better choices. I sit here with tears in my eyes and beg you not not be calloused by the images of children…CHILDREN living on the streets. Allow the images of them to burn in your mind and haunt you, as they do me, to the point where we all push for change together!

The other day Wise Guy introduced me to one of his friends named Mogamat. I have probably passed by Mogamat more than a million times before but never noticed him, and neither of us were interested in conversation with the other for whatever reason. I shook his hand and he immediately introduced himself as the “second longest stroller on the Parade”, Wise being the first. Then he went straight into how he never bothered talking to people that worked with the kids, especially not foreigners; i guess he was giving an explanation of why we had never spoken before. I also told him i don’t have all that much contact with the “older guys”. My excuse.

He told me how he came to the streets. He was only 5 years old. He was a part of the Kaap se Klopse and he was left behind one evening. He met up with a group of kids and they introduced him to glue and the rest was history. After that was a exciting, yet painful chain of events. 27 years later Mogamat looks like someone who traveled through the desert for years. His skin is brown and weathered, his eyes are wrinkled on the sides from a permanent squint, he is missing several teeth, his left eye is continuously blood shot, and he has several scars on his face. His hair is curly and unkept, his clothes are baggy, dirty and falling off of him, and he speaks slowly, often slurring his words even when he is sober. He has had a tough life!

I have enjoyed hanging out and talking to my friend over the past week or so. He prefers to be drunk. He has terrible asthma, along with other sicknesses, and has to use a pump. He showed me a refill for his pump that he bought from his “friend”. He needs it to be able to breath; most especially at night. Without the pump he could have an attack and die. His “friend” saw which one he uses and told him he has one laying at home. He brought it and sold it to him. Mogamat says he does not have any family, and few friends. He often says, “There is only one guy out there for me and that is Ralph Morgan (Wise Guy)!”. He also says, “When i do good, no one remembers. But when i do bad, no one forgets.” He says it in a way in which i can see he feels it as the words come out of his mouth. He wants to tattoo it on his forehead. He also loves my “Peace” tattoo on my neck and wants one exactly like it, but he would rather go for the front part of the neck.

Mogamat is honest. Honest about where he has been. Honest about where he is now. And honest about where he is going. It seems he wishes for another life, and time, in which to live…maybe a second chance, but he knows that he will not get one. A lot of the younger guys don’t respect him one bit. They see him as an “old drunk”. They speak disrespectfully and he fears that they will beat him up in his sleep. Mogamat is alone. It breaks my heart! When i sit and speak with him i look deep into his eyes and try and see that kid that first came to Cape Town 27 years ago. I want to grab that kid and hug him! Tell him to go home, leave the glue and stay in school. But i can’t. It is too late for Mogamat. Though he is only 32 he looks no younger than 60. That kid is long gone! I can’t change his past, but i can work my hardest to change the present and future realities for the present and future Mogamats. And in the meantime, i can sit and laugh and talk to Mogamat.

The rats seem to have been a real “theme” in my time here on the streets so far. You see some of them scurrying around in the day. Those are the real hardcore ones! They are the worst because they are the ones that are not scared of the light or scared of people. They just look at you, hiss and continue on with their day. Most of the rats come out in the night. They are all shapes and sizes, but really serve no purpose of “good” on the streets. They bring nothing to the table. They come only to take! They crawl all over you in the night when you sleep and if you don’t show a sign of movement they will bite you; literally eat your flesh until you protest! Some of the older homeless people actually have huge pieces of their ears missing from the rats nibbling away at them over the years. One guy even has a chunk bitten out of his nose. The rats creep and crawl at night… looking for what they can take, what they can eat, what they can steal…infecting everything they touch, plaguing those that dwell on the streets.

Unfortunately, those little ugly rodents are not the only “rats” the kids have to deal with on a daily basis. There are other rats that come to steal, kill and destroy, as they nibble away at the lives of the kids. Who are they? Older gangsters, drug dealers, corrupt cops and security guards, paedophiles, just to name some of the main culprits. Like the rodent rats, most of these rats come out in the night.

They prey on the kids…

The drug dealers on Long Street stand and watch the young addicts running around trying to get their next hit. They smile as the child brings them his money to buy his poison. They take from kids and infect them; nibbling away at the child’s innocence through his drug addiction.

The paedophiles creep around looking for a “tasty treat”. They are ruthless in their urges. Since i have been here there has been much talk about a rat called Frank, who is picking up young girls, drugging them up and taking pornographic pictures and videos of him engaging with them in sexual activities. Last night i saw three young boys waiting for one of the rats to approach them. They take from the kids and infect them; nibbling away at the child’s innocence through exposing the child to things that he or she is way to young to see or do.

The older gangsters see the child as an opportunity: easy to overpower, fits in small spaces, easy to get addicted to heavy drugs, longs for a sense of belonging. Much like a sleeping victim of the gangster rat’s rodent cousin, the child is powerless under the gangster rat’s hands. They use the kids for all sorts of evil deeds, abuse them and then discard them when they have had enough. They take from kids and infect them; nibbling away at the child’s innocence through exploitation, abuse and maltreatment.

The corrupt security and police are some of the worst rats. They are like the huge rats that don’t even move when you try and scare them away, put his back and even jump on you and bite you! All police and security guards are not rats, but the ones that are misuse their power and abuse the kids. They beat the kids, steal their money, smoke drugs with them, intimidate, and engage in all sorts of criminal activities that they were hired to prevent; they create chaos in places they were hired to keep peace. They take from kids and infect them; nibbling away at the child’s innocence through using their authority to abuse and intimidate.

So in actual reality, rodents are the least of the kids’ worries! These other rats bring much more devastation to the lives on the children, and a regular and daily basis. The worst ones are the ones that come out in day because they are not scared of the light or scared for their deeds to be exposed. But most of these rats creep and crawl in the night, preying on the kids, nibbling away at their lives, bit by bit, night by night. They bring nothing but infection and disease to the table, and all they do is steal! But until we do something to remove these children from their dwelling place, these rats will continue to creep and crawl all over these kids, nibbling away at their innocence and lives!

* Thanks to Gerald Jacobs for helping me conceptualize this blog through a conversation at the soup kitchen the other day!!

You know, people that i run into, that know what i am doing, keep asking me how i am doing. They seemed shocked when i say great. Then they ask what day is it and how many left. Today i said, “Day nine. Seven more to go!”. And that is usually followed up by them making a comment about me being glad it is almost over. So they are even MORE shocked when i say that time is flying, and i wish it wasn’t moving so fast and i am not looking all that forward to the end! Insert chin drop here. I guess people expect me to feel and be miserable, which is understandable. But i am not. But i also know that it is a choice; a daily, hourly, minutely, secondly choice! I have learned that us humans really can adapt to any situation, and it can become normal. With a good attitude and determination it does not take long to get into a routine. Being happy, laughing and staying positive in the most miserable situation makes that situation bearable; and not just bearable, but even sometimes fun. It is important to find the humor, joy, hope, and strength in the most desperate situation, and those things are what carries you through safely, coming out a better person on the other side.

Anyway, enough preaching!! So ever since those darn rats ate half of Wise and my chicken, we have been talking and joking about it. We haven’t once “complained”, but have enjoyed telling the story to anyone who will listen. We love laughing about it. So this evening, before i went on my nightly skurrel on Long Street, as i was saying bye to Wise he said, “Ryan…see if you can bring some meat back from Long Street! Ever since those rats ate our chicken all i think about is meat!”. I told him i would bring some back. No pressure, right? So i headed to Long Street with the goal of:

a) getting a whole chicken

or

b) getting enough money for a chicken

I put my mind to it. Ran around Long Street like the crazy whitey i am, holding a few coins in my hand asking people to donate to my “chicken fund”. And that they did! I sit here with 50 Rand in my pocket and i am about to go buy that chicken! Every story i tell doesn’t have to be dark and scary! It’s OK to have a little fun sometimes too and it is important to stay positive! Now i am going to go eat that chicken!!!!

Those of you that have been following my blogs might have noticed yesterday afternoon’s blog was a little short. I was pretty tired! I have been sleeping like a log at night, and the rats seem not not like my smell anymore…at least for the time being! i guess not washing does come in handy for some things! Anyway, as i said, i have been sleeping good, but staying up pretty late and getting up at the crack of dawn caught up to me yesterday. I walked around like a zombie for most of the afternoon. I also got pretty hungry, and had not had a coke for the first time in my time on the streets so my head was spinning. I was thankful for Donna (one of the girls who use to live on the streets but lives home now and visits her boyfriend/father of her child) for buying a coke for us to split; also thankful i saw Vusa and Zoe from Zula Bar. They gave me a whole, freshly cooked pizza! PURE BLISS!! I shared it with a young girl that strolls on Long Street. The other day when she saw me she said she was in the mood for pizza. I also adopted that “mood” after she mentioned it. So from that day i have been joking with her about “organizing” a pizza for us. So it was cool to see that come into being. Then i went to bed early and got an amazing night’s sleep! I feel fresh today. I don’t smell fresh, but its all in the feeling!! Anyways…

Last night when i got to my slaap plek i noticed Kleintjie had assumed the “passed out” position again. (i wrote about him in my blog yesterday for those that didn’t read it) I walked over to him and he was kind of awake, but trying to hide his face from me. He had smoked mandrax (an outlawed prescription sleeping tablet that is crushed up and sprinkled over tobacco and marijuana, or a mixture of both, and then smoked). He seemed embarrassed for me to see him in that state. He laid there, coming in and out of consciousness, trying to talk to me, lifting his head and letting it fall back to the ground. I noticed he had a full mouth of bread; it was stuffed full! It seems like it had been in there for a while and he was struggling to swallow it. I told him to sit up and not fall asleep until he had swallowed first. At that point i strangely felt like my mom at the dinner table! I helped him sit up against the wall and then i went and filled a bottle up with water for him. He drank it quickly and then had relief from his mouth full of dry bread.

I sat there and talked to him for a while. he didn’t respond much; just with a funny little smile, the occasional comment and a lot of head bobbing and eyes rolling back in his head. I knew he might not remember the conversation, or even remember talking to me the next day, but i felt it was important to speak some positivity to him and over his life. i told him what a great kid i think he is, even though i haven’t know him for that long. I told him that i hate seeing him in that state and think he is such an amazing person when he is sober. i told him the potential i see for him and his future…if he chooses to leave this life and pursue something better for himself. I rubbed his head and asked him if he knew what he was talking about. He patted my hand, smiled and tried to look me in the eyes and said, “yeah Ryan!”. That was good enough for that moment.

You see Kleintjie is the reason i am out here for these 16 days. No, I don’t mean only Kleintjie, but he represents the very reason i am out here. You see, if you ask Kleintjie why he is on the streets, he will tell you that there are no real problems at home, he can go there if he wants, but “die Kaap is lekker” (Cape Town is nice)! He likes living in Cape Town. He likes the freedom it brings. The daily excitement he finds. The drugs he uses. The people he meets and interacts with. The money he makes. The life he is able to live. Kleintjie was given a choice, by society, to live on the streets or to stay at home and he chose the streets. He now lives an unsupervised life and is exposed to all the elements out there. Anything could really happen to Kleintjie when he is passed out like that. And it probably does.

So i have been carrying this South African Constitution in my bag. Really for no other reason but for the symbol and the metaphor, because as i have said before, every single right of a child is being broken by ALLOWING him or her to live on the streets! Like Kleintjie, he has the right to many things, but he has forfeited them because WE have allowed him to. So today i was given several things: some fruit, an unopened coke, a chocolate. I didn’t want to eat all of these things right when i got them, from the various people that gave them to me, so i just put them in my backpack as i received them. By the time i got to the coke i was looking for space. I thought about throwing out the Constitution, because it is really no use to me on the streets and it is just extra weight. But then i thought twice. If i did throw away the Constitution to make space for more stuff in my bag, i would symbolically be doing the very thing the kids do; the very thing that i am protesting. I would be literally “throwing away my rights”. I decided for the sake of the symbol i would hold on to the Constitution. Even if it is only paper and i don’t see the words on it being manifested in the lives of those that i am now living with. For their sake, and for the hope that we will one day “get it together”, i am going to hold onto it for now. I only wish that at the very least, the weight that i feel from it on my back was matched, if not doubled or tripled, by the weight in the words. But for now the words are empty and weightless!