A city of saints

Abad attitude is like a flat tyre. If you don’t change it you will never go forward. Right attitude, right aptitude: We have come to live with these expressions.

We often blame this on the apartheid government but where does it really start? Please help me with ideas.

I am an elderly black woman and have begun to empathise with people of my own age, irrespective of their colour.

We are slower, clumsier, forgetful even arrogant at times. Dear reader, never interfere with an “arrogant” old timer. One of the questions they will ask you: “Who do you think you are? I can be anything but not the scum of the world!!” Then they start quoting Mandela; they can even be related to him just by having the same clan name, Madiba or Dlomo, or their sons/daughters who hold high positions in some important institutions. They themselves could have held the positions in their younger days.

Everyone will be old and helpless one day but I might not be there to say “I warned you”. There are people 20 years younger than us who have started mumbling and talking to themselves. They ramble on, they can even bump into you but this is not old age, is it? What I am trying to impress is that respect for one another complements a positive attitude.

One learned friend told me “It’s in the genes and mama bears responsibility for the bigger part. She feeds the unborn baby with hosts of habits. From her diet to her behaviour, even her level of intelligence. So I can conveniently hold the mother responsible for the proper upbringing of her child.

“Regular conversation with her child who must grow up knowing the difference between right and wrong. The importance of sharing with their siblings for a start and school later.”

The above I think would make a huge difference to the level of bullying that happens in our schools, from Grade R to institutions of higher edu- cation. Our children know and demand their rights but seem to forget that we, as their parents, also have and know ours because it is these rights that assist in bringing up and nurturing well-bred individuals who will be able to occupy their rightful space in the world.

There is nothing as frustrating as working under an individual whether black or white, who joins the company but has nothing to present but a glowing CV and/or his colour.

A 50-year-old man who has been working for the company since he was 18 years old, who knows all its nuts and bolts, has to train the new 18-yearold who becomes his boss. When the old timer reaches 70 (and the younger person reaches 38), he is pensionable and is awarded a merit certificate and a wrist watch which would be stolen and sold by one of his grandchildren. The old man would not even care about the loss.

In the mid 70s I worked as a TB Information Officer in a TB hospital locally, was assigned to visit surrounding out-stations to hold workshops with their communities. This was scheduled to occur during pension dates, and was held at the magistrate’s offices or relevant locations assigned for the task. I was assisting a 24-year-old white lady who stayed in Port Elizabeth, who would pick me up from Grahamstown, and we would drive to Peddie in this particular instance.

I would be introduced to the officer-in-charge who would direct me to the venue where I would have to wait for hours before gaining an audience and would be fortunate to be able to address more or less 30 people, some were just waiting to be collected by the driver from their farm homes and would have a convenient waiting room at the venue.

At lunch time, just when the workshop was gaining momentum, Boss Lady who would have disappeared into thin air after introducing me to the officer-in-charge came to take me to lunch, and she made it sound like a super privilege, her pretty eyes light- ing up, swinging hips supported by a beautiful pair of high-wedged heels. Wow, she was quite an item!

We would drive to a café in town, stand in separate waiting areas, she on the “whites” side with the menu written on a wall board. She would then ask me to choose from the menu board, which was against the rules because there were ready-packed fish/chips, bunny chows etc, in the display units on our side. So she would pay for what I had chosen from the display unit and would, so sweetly compensate by bringing something from her menu board, a hamburger and juice; quite exciting don’t you think? Especially since I was not aware what she had ordered for herself.

We would then drive back to the workshop venue at about 2.30pm; finding a miserable audience who were just not prepared to undergo the special question/answer session I was confidently presenting.

They just continued with their lunch and attending to their babies, anxiously waiting, going in and out to see if their transport was anywhere near the venue.

At 4pm, we would drive back to Grahamstown, but would stop at a slope opposite the hill Intab’enzono, where I would have to write a report on what WE had done in Peddie.

This would be sent to the head Office in Johannesburg. I would also present the same report to our Local Management Committee.

A few months later our superintendent excitedly reported to me that “Boss Lady” had been promoted to work in a more senior position, and as a bonus to me, recommended that TB Information Officers could be trained in Grahamstown by yours faith- truly instead of travelling to Johannesburg-to cut down on expenses and we could still be working together. Salary increase NIX for me; Wonderful achievement!

There was also an option of working with the mobile unit or learn to drive a motor bike which I would have to take to places where residents could not reach the mobile unit. Can you imagine me on a motor bike? I was younger of course and could meet all the mishaps of such riders. I resigned from my post in 1975. Head Office awarded me a small Kodak camera and a certificate for meritorious contribution to the fight against TB. I lent the camera to Keith Ngesi, my grandson who after matriculating at the Gadra Education Centre, did a crash course in journalism at Rhodes University.

He then proceeded to work with Umhlobo Wenene Radio in Port Elizabeth but after a few years of service was invited back to Grahamstown by his former mentor to assist in establishing Community Radio stations and working with RMR, started Radio Grahamstown.

The project proceeded to different parts of the Eastern Cape. Keith seemed to be excelling in his love for radio and now owns his own-named KNR (Keith Ngesi Radio) which covers an international listenership of 300 000 since its launch in April 2015.

I highly commend his mentors in Rhodes for his success, which also illustrates that a positive attitude breeds success stories like these.

I am also a benefactor of similar incidences; Grocott’s editor developing a latent talent in Newtown... Old Eyes.

This is what Grahamstown stands for; A city of saints and sense.