On a recent Saturday morning, I decided to take a walk from Phaphamani informal settlement to town to clear my mind.
It wasn’t exactly a stroll, but I thought it would benefit me to observe an unfamiliar part of Grahamstown up-close, as opposed to the usual drive-by view from a taxi window.
On a recent Saturday morning, I decided to take a walk from Phaphamani informal settlement to town to clear my mind.
It wasn’t exactly a stroll, but I thought it would benefit me to observe an unfamiliar part of Grahamstown up-close, as opposed to the usual drive-by view from a taxi window.
On my way I passed by as many people heading in the same direction as me as the other way: old ladies going shopping in town, young men wandering to the nearest hangout to nurse their babalaas (hangover), and others tending to all sorts of errands.
I also went past clay and face-brick houses with mothers hovering over sagging clotheslines, grandpas chilling outside on verandas, and heard pop music playing loudly from inside homes. Later that day though, the image that stuck in my head was of a day-care centre on Albany Road bearing the name “Little Lambs”, and accompanied by the slogan: “Where little lambs become sheep.”
Try as I might, those five words clung to my mind like a spider’s web dangling from the roof – however meaningless the walk, the mental picture refused to fade. For the most part, the slogan reminded me of the many children I’ve met during most of my time covering protests by the Unemployed People’s Movement, a local social movement of poor people.
Are these so-called “children of the struggle” also little lambs who will grow up to become sheep too?
Who will be their shepherd?
Julius Malema? And where exactly are they being herded to?
A better future? Perhaps such questions can only be answered by today’s pre-schoolers for themselves. As they say, tomorrow is theirs.
