Standing in line at a popular bakery this week I ordered the usual: quiches, ciabatta, croissants. When I reached the till point the young cashier waved me on: “Somebody has already paid your bill.” I looked around, there was nobody. This was a first. I felt a surge of emotion, one of gratitude and appreciation for the goodness of our people.
It is so easy to become despondent with all the doom and gloom hanging around us. Half the working day without electricity is now commonplace; nobody explains, no leader appears to give you hope. With the ANC’s national conference coming up, you marvel at how crooks find the temerity to run for high office. Millions of rand has disappeared, announces the president casually of another corrupt organisation; correction, it was stolen. If you kept hundreds of thousands in foreign currency in your couch, trust me, by now you would have been in prison unless, of course, you are powerful. Ministers all over the place announcing progress ahead of conference is like the captain of a fast-sinking ship looking upwards at the clear sky and announcing what a beautiful night out it is.
This is a warped image of the country, as I discovered at the bakery this week. There are indeed tens of thousands of South Africans who don’t grab but give every day to make us all feel more human, more connected, more loved. There is this amazing woman in Gqeberha who regularly brings to this seaside city the most outstanding talent from business, education, technology and civil society to inspire communities in one of the most corrupt metros in the country. Michelle Brown works tirelessly from the beautiful Boardwalk Hotel connecting people across the divides of race, class, religion and culture. For years she has shone a bright light on the people who hold this country together and, in the process, affirms the best in all of us.
Just down the road from where I now live is a Muslim family, who every Sunday sell the most delicious curries from their garage to long rows of middle-class cars who order in advance: pick-up, pay and drive through. Unremarkable until you see what happens next. As soon as the line of cars disappears, scores of poor people from far and near and across the religious divides line up for free food from the same family home. Ismail Khan not only soothes pangs of hunger every weekend but also gives the destitute something to look forward to, restoring faith in our common humanity among people long discarded by the government of the day.
There are indeed tens of thousands of South Africans who don’t grab but give every day to make us all feel more human, more connected, more loved.
Launched in the Johannesburg suburb of Observatory, there is a school that runs from 3 to 6pm every day providing refugee children, who cannot get into public schools, with the basics of literacy and numeracy but also with meals, uniforms and a solid dose of hope. Led by one of the most generous human beings you could find, Mark Potterton uses this platform to advocate for refugees “so that politicians don’t weaponise this community ahead of the elections”. The current enrolment of 225 children comes from areas such as Hillbrow, Berea, Yeoville and Bez Valley and have gone on to achieve degrees in architecture, teaching and marketing. Some return as volunteers working in the school. The yearly R7m to run this school comes from the largeness of SA pockets. This is who we are.
Radical giving sometimes means self-sacrifice, the giving of yourself. On the night of April 11 this year floods hit the homestead of the Ngubane family in KwaZulu-Natal. The young pupil from a school in the Valley of a Thousand Hills was fast asleep when she fell with her room into a raging stream. Stuck under a wall, the mother jumped in to save her child by trying to lift the heavy structure. Noticing the mother’s plight, the older brother joined his mother in a desperate bid to help save the youngster. On that unbelievably tragic night, all three family members died in a story of the ultimate gift of sacrifice.
What we know about South Africans is, whether we give to strangers or family, within us lies a bottomless capacity to be generous rather than corrupt; inclusive rather than hateful; and selfless rather than self-indulgent.
So here is my challenge to you this holiday season. Find someone in a grocery queue who looks like they’re struggling and once the cashier rings up their bill, offer to pay on behalf of the customer. Ask first: would you mind if I pay your groceries today? I’m off to do that for somebody right now. A small gesture but when many of us do so together, it will make a big difference in a broken country.
Happy holidays, everyone.
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