THE HOMELESS TALK GUY
Because I used to be physical and I played soccer, I thought that if I stayed at home and did nothing I was just going to die, but my friend came and told me about Homeless Talk. He said I must sell it; he told me that I can’t just sit at home and wait to
UPON BEING handed a particularly thick document, Winston Churchill said, “This report, by its very length, defends itself against the risk of being read.”
If he had been handed a Homeless Talk, I feel his response would have been, “This publication, through its absence of aesthetic appeal, defends itself … etc.”
In a previous life in London, I worked on what was arguably one of the first free giveaway magazines ever. Called Monocle, it was started by my fellow ex-the-ridge school pupil, Duncan Fraser. Of course, at that time there were free newsletters to be had, but no magazines.
Despite Monocle being free, gratis and for nothing, Duncan insisted it was of the absolute finest quality. Only the most exclusive products were advertised; only the best paper was used for it and he only took contributions from top writers (whom he somehow coerced into writing pro bono). Hence, Monocle magazine was as good as any publication you could buy from the newsstands around the city.
Advertisers supported it because he guaranteed its circulation by delivering to every single home in the top boroughs in London. Circulation is not necessarily readership, but he understood that people who lived in those areas would only read something of substance, so he gave it in volumes.
Well, when I first became aware of Homeless Talk, I thought of Monocle. The reason I did so was that it was the exact opposite. It was badly designed, printed on cheap paper, never seemed to contain anything of substance and you had to buy it.
Now I’ve become better acquainted with the world of Street People, I feel a little guilty about writing off Homeless Talk so quickly, for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, it has been around for a long time, so undoubtedly more people read it than read my scribblings. Secondly, over the years they have provided a means of earning a living to many Street People. Therefore, this week, in a small act of penance for my churlish condemnation of them, I interviewed a Homeless Talk seller.
Thus, I found myself in Bar Ber Blacksheep in Parkwood, chatting to John Peter, who had been selling the publication since 2006.
I noticed he used a crutch to walk, but resolved to ask him about that later. “Before we talk about your life as it is now,” I said, “tell me a bit about where you were born and grew up.”
“I am from Mthatha and am the last-born of three boys – although one has passed away, and we are only two. I went to school there, right through to matric, but I didn’t finish the certificate.”
“What did you do after you left school?” I asked.
“I went to work for South African Breweries in Butterworth,” he says. “I was there for six years. Then I was transferred to Kempton Park.”
He married before he moved up here, so he brought his wife with him. I asked him if they were nervous about coming to the big city.
“Oh yes,” he laughed. “The people from the homelands who had visited Johannesburg said it was a very rough place, so of course we were scared, but it was okay until I had my accident.”
“What happened?”
“It was winter,” he said, “about half-six, and I was going home from work. I saw some guys, but I just thought they were also walking home, when suddenly one attacked me from behind. There were four of them and they all started fighting me. I fought back, but then they shot me in the stomach and in the leg, which was smashed.”
He went quiet for a while. Then he continued: “I was in Tembisa hospital for 18 months … they amputated my leg above the knee.”
“That is a very long time to be in hospital; how were you treated or looked after?”
“Very well,” he said, “because it was before the new government. It was in 1990. Then I got an artificial leg from the hospital in Pretoria. They couldn’t do it straight away as you can’t put one (a prosthesis) on a raw stump. You must wait. Then, I went from two crutches to just one,” he said.
John told me how he tried to get compensation from SA Breweries, but because the “accident”, as he referred to it, didn’t happen on their premises, they wouldn’t give him anything other than what was due for his years of service.
He continued: “Because I used to be physical and I played soccer, I thought if I stayed at home and did nothing I was just going to die. But my friend came and told me about Homeless Talk. He said I must sell it; he told me I can’t just sit at home and wait to die. He brought me here,” and he pointed in the direction of the intersection of Bolton Road and Jan Smuts Avenue, “and I’ve been here ever since,” he said, smiling.
I asked him where he lived.
Feeding the Trashjunkies: There was much euphoria surrounding various people’s success at this year’s Comrades Marathon, run last Sunday.
Well, as someone who ran the race before it was dumbed down to 12 hrs, I am reluctant to praise people who have an extra hour to do it in. However, I am prepared to make an exception in the case of the Trashjunkies’ guardian angel, Stan Medalie. He is turning 70 in August and managed a comfortable 11.44min run. Impressive stuff.
The Cold vs the Street People: It seems the way to remove a lot of Street People from our roads is just turn the temperature down. I have been past a number of my interviewees’ turfs
“I stay in Tembisa with my wife and my daughter, who is 21. My wife had a job in Midrand at a company that made perfume, but she was retrenched. My daughter is looking for a job. I pay R350 rent for the room.”
The room has running water and electricity. On a typical day, he gets up at 5.30am, washes himself, makes tea and heads off to catch a taxi. Transport costs him R34 a day. He doesn’t eat anything before leaving home. During the day, if he has money, he buys chips or bread. In the evenings, his wife makes him samp or pap, which they have with stew or “African vegetables because we are short of income”.
“We are poor, baba. Life is expensive,” he said, shaking his head. “I must give my daughter money – she can’t live without it and everything costs too much.”
“Do you only sell Homeless Talk?” I asked him, as I noticed he had a few copies of The Star under his arm when we met.
“No, I also sell The Star. Eish, but not too many. People all look at the internet these days,” he said.
When John first started selling Homeless Talk, they sold for R3 and he got R1.50. Now he sold them for R7 and he got R4. He laughed and said, “On my first day I sold four. The second day I only sold two, but it got better where I used to sometimes sell 20 or 25.”
He said the same people always bought it. He mentioned that several people gave him the money for a Homeless Talk, but didn’t take it (supporting my opinion of its substance).
He had to buy copies of Homeless Talk upfront, while he was given The Star on consignment. “Do you read Homeless Talk?” He nodded. “I read the paper because I can’t sell something I haven’t read,” he said, smiling. recently, only to find them AWOL. Michelle the Knitting lady; Catherine the Tragic; Khutlang the Juggler; Zorao the Hunchback; Cabline the One-legged Wallet Man; Armless George and Johannes the Roseman have all been conspicuous by their absence this week. Wherever they are, I hope they are warm.