Carol’s Column

Richmonds are aberrations

There is a sense of sadness and gloom throughout the land because of the tragic shootings in Richmond this past week. For a few months, the people of that battle-ravaged town had peace and they were able to pick up the thin threads of their lives and live almost normally. Then this. But, and I feel this from my heart, Richmond is not the whole of South Africa and in our tremulous country, good things are happening.

Here's a story. Yesterday, I drove down a suburban street and stopped at a traffic light. And noticed two schoolgirls walking. They were teenagers, perhaps 14 or 15, smart in their school uniforms. As teenagers do, they talked animatedly, gesticulating, arms flying, eyes flashing, giggling, laughing. One wore her blonde hair swept from her face tied in a pony tail, the other had a circle of short dreadlocks halo-ing her head. And here's the thing. One girl was white, the other black. As they crossed the road, not stopping for a second to catch their breath as they chatted away, I smiled because they were fresh and lovely and because not so long ago this would have been a most atypical scene.

Yes, I thought to myself in mental capital letters. It is happening in this country, Slowly we are getting things right.

Here's another story. I happened to pop into a local shopping mall and upon emerging, discovered that parking had risen 100 percent from R2 to R4. "Dammit," I muttered to myself scratching through my purse, bag, everything.

"Hey, I'll lend you R2," said the woman behind me, which, under the circumstances was really kind of her.

"Please, give me your address so that I can pay you back," I said gratefully.

"No, it's not necessary. We sisters must help each other out." As it happened, her car was parked near mine and I noticed she came from Natal.

"Are you here on holiday?" I queried. "No, I'm attending a conference on the empowerment of women in seriously disadvantaged rural areas," she confided.

Finally, I'd been searching in the newspaper smalls for a second-hand pram and noticed an advertisement for one that sounded just right. I phoned the advertiser who directed me to his home.

As I drove, the suburbs became distinctly rundown. Each time I stopped to check my scrawled directions, somebody would approach and ask if I needed assistance. A youngster offered to direct me to the house. "I live on the next corner," he said.

I was a little apprehensive but his smile was reassuring and within five minutes, he'd taken me to the correct place. The pram, as it happened, was not the old-fashioned coach pram I'd wanted (the ad had said it was 27 years old but in mint condition), but instead of the pushcart variety. It belonged to a family called Williams.

"Lazar, is Lazar a French name?" enquired Mr Williams. "No, it's a Jewish Hungarian name," I replied. "You're Jewish?" said Mr Williams. "We're Muslim." "I'm sorry to disturb you," I said. "You must be celebrating Eid."

"Please come in and join us in some refreshment," said Mr Williams and for half an hour we debated the similarities - and dissimilarities of our respective religions.

Cynics will say I'm patronising. That these are all incidents which in any other society would be regarded as normal. That's my point, we're becoming so damn normal and I find that heartening.

The Richmonds are aberrations because more often, every day there are good things happening all around us and that's the essence, that's what South Africa is all about.

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