Life in a Shack

If you’re being politically correct, it’s called an informal settlement. You may also know it as a shanty town, the slums, or a squatters camp. The houses are shacks made out of corrugate metal, plastic, or wood. It is poverty in one of its most extreme forms, and Cape Town is littered with them. On the rainy and dreary day we arrived, an informal settlement was the first thing I saw coming out of the airport. “Welcome to South Africa, this is what life is like here.” The entire time I’ve been here I have wanted to walk through one, so I asked my friend Amanda, who leads the Wednesday night tutoring sessions, to bring me. This morning, along with her sister, we took a walk through a settlement in Khayelitsha, which by the way has the largest informal settlement in South Africa.

The sights and sounds were as I expected, though you can never expect the emotions you’ll experience walking through such a setting. People young and old literally stopped in their tracks to stare at me as I walked by; white people don’t frequent these parts. Some kids smiled and waved, a few wanted to shake my hand, others scurried away and hid. I wore my hiking shoes because I knew I would be walking through dirt, rocks, broken glass, and garbage. Most of the kids ran around playing barefoot. Kids were everywhere, one group kicked around a flat soccer ball, two young boys drove around old milk cartons turned into toy cars, and another group of elementary aged boys and girls played a dodge ball type game with a grocery bag-turned ball. A woman fetched water from a water spigot to do her washing, while other women hung their clothes from lines tied to whatever they could find. Men mostly hung around, smoking, drinking, and conversing. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even 11am yet. The shacks were on top of each other; as we walked we would have to squeeze through the maybe foot and a half gap left in between them. Electricity wires were all over the place, both running along the ground and from poles up above us. When a line would break, it was simply tied in a knot back together.  You can imagine how dangerous, deadly, and common fires are in these communities.

Despite it all, the people are proud of their homes and live with dignity. Every shack had a mat in front, and many times the dirt beyond the mat had been freshly swept. Many people had stereo systems playing and TVs could be seen through the windows. A couple shacks even had a satellite dish attached to it. You may be thinking, “Why would these people who live in such poverty waste their money on material items like that when their money could be better spent buying food or clothing?” To that, I ask you, have you ever bought something you really couldn’t afford? Maybe it was a nice electronic, an appliance, a car, a house…you get the point. Why did you do it? Because you wanted to feel normal, you wanted to fit in, right? It’s the same with these people, they want to be normal, they want the dignity of feeling like everyone else even though they live in such poverty. They can adjust to a diet of less food. It was something I thought about as I walked around the settlement.

The highlight of my time in the camp was visiting a shebean, an informal and illegal bar amongst all the shacks. Owned by Amanda’s extended family, it had a pool table (to which I said, how the heck did they get this thing in here), tables, a bar, and a huge speaker playing house music (essentially just beats). I timidly entered and before I knew it Amanda was arranging for me to play a game of pool. I don’t play pool, I’ve never been very good, but I couldn’t back out now. The man I played was serious, early on my jacket sleeve brushed up against a ball and he made a big fuss about it. Before long he only had two balls left while I had only gotten one in; the game was looking to go as I expected. All of a sudden I hit a couple lucky shots and had the game tied up again. By that time a crowd had gathered to watch the white boy play. To the cheers of those surrounding us, I ended up coming to within one ball. Had we been playing by the rules I’ve always known I would have won; he scratched on the 8 ball twice. But this was their table, their shebean, and their rules. I didn’t end up winning, but it was still a pretty cool experience. I wouldn’t be surprised if I am the only white person who has step foot inside the shebean.  

Visiting an informal settlement was on the list of things I wanted to do that I made shortly after arriving here. It took me 14 weeks to do it but I’m glad I took my second to last Saturday here to travel to Khayelitsha for the third time in four days and walk through the community. It’s certainly like nothing I could ever experience in the States.