Sleeping on the streets was anything but a dull evening
THIS past Wednesday evening will be permanently etched in my mind. On this day I chose, reluctantly, to leave my comfortable bed and opted to sleep on the street to experience what many endure daily.
My newly found pal was Busizwe Mchunu, 30, a fruit vendor during the day who dissects cows’ heads at night.
At best, he gets about three hours of sleep.
Mchunu charges R70 for dissecting a cow’s head, a process that usually lasts about 45 minutes.
When I approached him, he was evidently stunned. “Why would a person want to voluntarily sleep on the street?” he queried.
“Do you think you will survive a night here? Sleeping here is not child’s play,” he warned and chuckled, dashing away without listening to my response.
For me, reality was setting in. Was I still up for this nerve-wracking experience? I asked myself, standing at the ever-busy Berea precinct where he works.
My head spun, but I summonsed the courage to do it. Anyway, my editors wanted the story.
I told him I will sleep on the street with him and his colleagues in spite of the skin-biting cold weather.
Mchunu relayed our conversation to other vendors, who were also equally stunned about what he called a bizarre proposal.
This was going to be arguably one of my “longest and interesting” nights.
We sat around a wood fire with Mchunu and a few other vendors.
The freezing cold weather became unbearable. Mchunu constantly checked if I was okay.
I wasn’t. But I pulled a brave face. I’m determined to do this, I said to myself.
It was about 9pm. My eyes were now fixed on my watch. Can It be the next day already, I wondered.
Initially, our conversation centred on our families. Mchunu is the breadwinner of his family living in Jozini, in far-northern KZN.
He dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a loose Craven A cigarette.
Another vendor, Sthembiso Mfene, from Harding on the KZN south coast, gives Mchunu a lighter and cracks a joke: “If you don’t have a cigarette, make sure you have a lighter. Then you will survive.” We all laughed.
I’m starting to feel at “home” now. But there is one nagging question constantly playing on my mind. Am I going to finish what I have started?
The place is flea-ridden and the stench of urine blows across our faces. Cats are wandering around. My colleague, Siboniso Mngadi, accompanied me but he didn’t go the distance. It was too much for him.
Amid the jokes, Mchunu remembered that the struggling Kaizer Chiefs were up against Supersport United.
We quickly tuned into SABC’S Ukhozi FM’S commentary feed via a smartphone. Supersport United 2, Kaizer Chiefs 1, the commentator said. All hell broke loose.
“Steve Komphela (Chiefs’ coach) must go, he has failed us. Supersport beats us again,” shouted one vendor, who had been sitting quietly all along. He was fuming.
Mchunu giggled, and is visibly excited because he is a staunch Orlando Pirates supporter, he said
Given the rivalry between the Soweto giants (Chiefs and Pirates), it was good news to him that Chiefs were trailing and subsequently lost the game.
Mchunu’s day starts at 3am every day.
“That’s why I decided to make this place my home when I’m not working in Jozini. I can’t afford to be late for work. Some of my customers are here at 4am. Sleeping here makes things better for me. At the end of the day, it’s business. I don’t mind sleeping here as long as I’m able to feed my family.”
The clock is ticking and it’s 10.45pm already.
My companions say it is too early to sleep.
They hit the hay around 1.30am. What was going to be my bed for the night was a concrete table. Fortunately for me, we did not sleep. Instead we chatted until the wee hours.
But I was armed with my blankets and pillows.
The rapport between all of us had warmed up, even those who were initially tightlipped were talking freely. They were no longer afraid of the journalist who dared to spend the night with them.
I’m a die-hard Amakhosi fan, as Kaizer Chiefs are known. I’m trying to hide my disappointment at the result, which was churning inside me. The ridicule my team was subjected to added to my discomfort.
Out of the dark of the night, a vendor, who declined to be named, dropped a bombshell when he asked: “Why are you wearing a Springbok jersey and not a Bafana Bafana shirt.”
Mchunu, who was a wonderful host, jumped to my defence and said: “They are all South African teams. They represent all of us.”
This sparked a burning topic around our wood fire about transformation in South African rugby, with many vendors, agreeing that it was lacking.
At that point, I was beaming from ear to ear at how the debate ebbed and flowed, in a dignified manner, between the group of patriots. It was not what I had anticipated when I decided to spend my night on the street. I thought it was going to be a long, dull evening for me.
But, instead, It turned out to be a thrilling 6 hours. I left the vendors at 1.30am, less than two hours before they started to work. This was an experience of a lifetime.