The streets of Durban is home to a whopping 16,000 homeless people. In a city beset with challenges, Zohra Teke explores the stories behind some of the city's homeless...
'She calls out to the man on the street
Sir, can you help me?
It's cold and I've nowhere to sleep
Is there somewhere you can tell me?
He walks on, doesn't look back
He pretends he can't hear her."
I'm always haunted by these lyrics from the song 'Another Day in Paradise' by Phil Collins.
It reflects the plight of the homeless and how society often turns the other way.
We're all guilty of that, some days at least. Looking away in our cars at the traffic lights as a beggar approaches our windows. Sometimes gesturing we don't have coins to spare.
But everyone has a story worth telling and I wanted to humanise some of the people we often look away from, to think twice.
So when a chance meeting with Shiraz Khan, the owner of a homeless shelter in Durban came up, I knew it was time. He agrees to a visit and off I went.
The nondescript building is set in the middle of Durban's bustling business district and houses around 140 homeless people — men and women separately, all faiths.
Its 6pm, dinner time. The smell of Durban's curry spices wafting through the air piques my taste buds as I enter the building and walk up the short flight of stairs to the first floor of a large hall.
There, rows of bunk beds and a family like atmosphere greets me. I'm surprised. Perhaps by my own prejudice. We expect shelters to look dingy, dark, unwelcoming.
Instead, Im greeted with a warm hello or a wave by those around. A few kids are sprawled on one of the beds reading books. They look up and give me a smile then continue their reading.
The room is bright, warm, welcoming. The women's quarters separated from the men by a curtain, beds made up neatly.
The manager, a resident at the shelter, is expecting me and gives me a broad smile. He is 55-year-old Gilbert Manuel. He shows me around and introduces me to some of the residents.
They're all waiting in line to receive their dinner — a generous plate of chicken curry and rice. Looks and smells delicious, better than some served in restaurants. I'm a little embarrassed as I’m thanked for the 'sponsorship'. They assume I'm there as a sponsor of the dinner. I smile sheepishly.
It costs R40 per day to stay at the shelter and this includes a warm bed to sleep, hot water, two meals, tea and a snack.
"It doesn't cover my costs, my electricity and water bill alone is over R18,000 per month but it's my calling. I want to serve humanity. If I get sponsors for the meals and I have one of two, it's God's will. I don't turn anyone away as long as they don't do alcohol or drugs. We also house around 20 people who cant afford to pay," Khan explains.
And the joy of giving back appears to show in the faces of those living there. A sense of family and a place they, the homeless can call home, even for a short while. But it's the stories of how they ended up there which make the visit worth writing about.
Remember Gilbert, the resident manager?
He is a former police officer who spent 31 years in the South African Police Force. This is his story of how he ended up in the shelter..
“I was a policeman in Richards Bay and decided to take a voluntary severence package in 2019 from the police force to start my own business. I left SAPS with R2 million. I invested some of it in property, bought a house in La Mercy, had everything going for me. Then Covid hit,” Gilbert recalls.
“I had to take out loans, used what I had left to survive, got scammed by bad business investments and ended up losing everything, including my properties.I tried to get reinstated in the force, kept applying but nothing came of it and I ended up on the streets. I'm now at this shelter, thankful I have a place to sleep and trying to rise again," his voice trails off. I can tell the memories of happier times still haunt him.
I'm taken aback by his story. It's an unbelievable rags to riches and back to rags story. But, he is still smiling, grateful for a warm bed to sleep on.
In that moment, I'm jolted by guilt over my own whining over life's little irritations. Bizarrely, I think of how I complain about cold toes under the warmest blankets. And here is a man, a former millionaire, turned homeless, happy to have a bed.
His story is not the only one of human tenacity to survive. I also meet a 70 something year old Gogo at the shelter.
Let's call her ma Thelma.
A former English, IsiZulu and history teacher with the most infectious smile. Ma Thelma had a good life. Married, her son was a thriving student at a top private school, her daughter just finished.
But, problems in the marriage began and eventually led to an acrimonious divorce.
She was forced to sell the house, received half and used it to finance her daughter's wedding. She ended up taking out loans and eventually lost everything. Her son was later forced to leave the school and now lives with extended family as an adult whilst she in the shelter.
She tries to eke out a living by selling what ever she can on the city's pavements. I'm reminded of the ladies selling crisps, fruits and snacks on the streets. Each bearing an untold story no doubt.
I thank them for opening their shelter and hearts to me as I leave. They seem so happy to have a guest, to have someone visit them, hear their stories and to see beyond the social perception of homelessness.
What is the city doing for the homeless?
That's a story for another day. I did not want the human factor diluted by politics. It's not always those who escape a life of poverty and violence who end up on the streets.
Our streets are not all littered with criminal elements or drug addicts. And while they too have stories to tell about how they ended up where they are, there are also those who were simply dealt a bad hand in life.
And in the midst of all this — 16,000 homeless in Durban, live 3,500 millionaires, high net worth individuals.
Makes one think twice.
IOL has embarked on a campaign called Elevate Her to highlight the plight of homeless women of South Africa. IOL is also collecting items for dignity packs to be distributed across the country. To get involved, email [email protected]
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