Phumla Matjila: Ahem, I get a lump in my throat the size of an egg when older black people remember pre-democratic South Africa with a whiff of nostalgia.

AHEM, I get a lump in my throat the size of an egg when older black people remember pre-democratic South Africa with a whiff of nostalgia.

Surely, South Africa today can't be worse than during apartheid, I tell myself as I eavesdrop on the conversation of three generations of women, chit-chatting, bemoaning how some things have changed for the worse in our country.

Even the youngest of the women, in her late 20s, is sounding pessimistic about her future and that of her children.

Politeness takes a back seat as I strain to hear their conversation. After all, their story resonates with many South Africans: those who are unemployed, live in the poor areas of our townships - and, in rural areas, rely on public healthcare and transport, and survive on government grants - and, when they die, burden those left behind, usually children.

Sitting on the stoep, watching children play in a muddy puddle, the older woman tells the youngest of a time when they would wake up early in the morning to look for a job.

A grandmother reminisces about those days when she wouldn't return from a day of job-hunting without having found a job (even if was just for that day), or the promise of a job for a relative, or a neighbour, if she was not suitable for the job.

The other older woman nods in agreement. Looking for a job meant going from door-to-door in the "suburbs", she explains.

"It was never a futile exercise."

The pass laws, the inhumane way in which they were treated at work, the pay - all of that doesn't matter when people are at pains to paint a rosy picture of a stinky, shameful, past.

However, even though it pains me to admit it, the reality is that it is the much-hated matchbox houses, that are now considered dignified housing in the township - the three-roomed and four-roomed houses, in which many of us grew up, which our great-grandparents, grandparents and parents were not allowed to renovate or extend because they didn't belong to them.

These matchboxes are now benchmarks for what a government should at least provide for its people.

They are bigger and stronger than the "sim-card" houses being built by the present government.

When it comes to housing, the bar for our government clearly hasn't been set that high.

In November, this newspaper reported that "a total of 40000 defective RDP houses nationwide will be flattened and rebuilt in coming months at a cost of more than R1-billion, about 10% of the national housing department's annual budget".

R1-billion!

So, when the older women ask: "How hard can it be for our democratic government to build at least 'apartheid-quality' houses for it's people?" no one answers.

The argument by the youngest of the women, that the RDP houses, despite their poor quality, are safer than shacks - and therefore people should be grateful that they have a solid structure to live in, is immediately rejected by the older women because one of them knows a few RDP houses that collapsed with last year's summer downpour - whereas the shacks in the yard stood strong.

It might not be possible to create five million jobs in the next 10 years, but it IS possible to build people quality housing - the first time around.