Carol’s Column

Suffer the little children

Johannesburg is so beautiful at the moment. Jacarandas burst purple blooms and carpet the streets and even downtown, the trees are shades of jade and everything is lush from the gentle rains.

Several bridges cross the charcoaled railway lines to pour suburban Johannesburgers into their city. Here also, grass verges are green and luxurious.

Lately, I have taken to driving around with peanut butter sandwiches, apples and biscuits. Why? Because whenever I stop at a certain traffic light after crossing a bridge, a small group of street children come and beg.

They are ragged and pathetic and thin.

The occasional driver gives them a few coins. But most of us shake our heads and look straight ahead.

Sniffing glue

I know the theory. Don't give them money because they spend it on glue. And it's true, I've watched them on their little grass island sniffing glue. And sometimes one or two empty beer bottles lie discarded.

I know there are wonderful homes for street children, Twilight and Streetwise, where they are cared for and fed. And I know that many of these small people don't wish to stay at the shelters, they prefer living on the streets, sniffing glue, drinking, drugging, begging. They feel free. It's a dark fun. They're spaced out and removed from reality.

Often when I stop, the same boy, the youngest of them all, comes begging at my car. I don't think he recognises me. His eyes are dulled from drugging, his cheekbones push out of his skin and his lips are dry and cracked. His clothes are filthy and have seen many nights and days. He wears no shoes.

He says his name is Sipho but I've spoken to four boys and they all say their names are Sipho. Perhaps they are. I've asked the smallest Sipho if he'd like me to take him to a street shelter. He shakes his head. I give him a sandwich or some fruit and he sometimes smiles. But often his face is grave.

Sad tale

Once, we entertained a group of street children from Streetwise for a day. We took them rowing at the Zoo Lake, and gave them lunch and talked. There was a Sipho there too. He was 12 but looked eight or nine. He came from Natal and he'd seen his father and mother hacked to death. He'd moved in with an uncle who drank and beat everything that moved around him, so he'd run away.

I checked afterwards with the Streetwise helpers. His story was true. What was also true was that he was greatly disturbed. He wet his bed at night, he'd climbed into other boys’ beds at night and attempted to initiate sex and generally he was not liked by the other children at the shelter. The staff were sympathetic but eventually he left.

I think of my four children who have grown up advantaged, who have food and shelter and always love.

I don't know what the answer is for these ragged boys living on their green island. I do know that all of us in this country are guilty for the fact that they're there.

This morning, I stopped at the traffic light and small Sipho came to my car. I gave him a sandwich and some fruit and said: "Sipho, shall I take you to Streetwise or Twilight?" He shook his head. "No," he said. "I want to come home with you."

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