Home is not a RDP house

Home – no matter its size, structure or location – is where the heart lies. Your home, no matter how small, is your peace. Well, it should be. But nearly 100 people were displaced because a raging fire destroyed their homes. Memories, shelter, struggles and triumphs went up in flames.

And as residents refused to leave for areas of safety for the night, I understood: walking away from home with no promise of certainty cannot be easy – even in an informal settlement.

This is testament to the poverty and lack of housing in this country.

But housing is expensive; what is the alternative? RDP housing? That which has a bloated waiting list and political corruption that tarnishes the process of acquiring one?

And the quality of RDP houses is downright appalling. The workmanship leaves very little to be desired. With building materials from China and tenders handed to pals for the construction, it really is no wonder that these houses are in the conditions they are.

Imagine waiting for years to be handed your keys – sometimes protesting, adding your name to list upon list, city council visits and repeatedly voting for a government that keeps promising you a better tomorrow.

Then, after 20-something years and a few brown envelopes exchanged, you get the keys to the shoddiest of houses.

I was in a RDP house last week: as long as your definition of a home is a wall riddled with cracks, ill-fitting doors and darkness as most of these houses lack electricity, then, I guess, you’re in luck.

The truth is the ANC is to blame. Why are they not being asked about the failure to deliver quality; why have the masses accepted that the ANC will only deliver scores of houses when elections are at the doorstep?

I know if I had to occupy an RDP house, with the standards that are being delivered, I most likely would be at the front of the queue of the complainants.

Complain but do not torch the infrastructure.

These houses are an insult to those who are meant to live in them.