Monday, October 29, 2012

Hustling in the concrete jungle of Joburg

Like most Zimbabweans, Agnes Masangomatema never imagined herself leaving the motherland because everything was in shape and although she had failed her O’ Levels her future was still “bright” as her plans included supplementing her school qualifications then enrolling for a nurse training programme at a major hospital either in Bulawayo or Harare.

Today she is in the concrete jungle of Johannesburg South Africa not employed as a nurse at a major clinic, old people’s home or an orphanage at least but she braids hair on the pavement of Bree Street, one of central Johannesburg’s busiest streets. Meanwhile, back home in Bulawayo, her O’ Levels are still three subjects: Fashion and Fabrics, Ndebele and Commerce.

She blends well with locals because she is light skinned and can fluently speak Zulu and abit of Xhosa thanks to her being a Ndebele speaking Zimbabwean. This has worked for her over years when illegal immigrants were hunted by authorities. Business wise, it has helped those like her as there are some locals who prefer their own.

Competition is tough here on the streets and as a consequence prices for services go down. One’s hair gets braided from as little as R30 (about US$5) but there’s no telling that she had her hair done on the street because of the exceptional work done by the likes of Masangomatema.

To earn a substantial amount one needs a pair of quick but neat hands otherwise they will earn R30 in two days. Some women have formed braiding teams so as to garner many clients while also beating the clock. But the downside of this team work is that should business be poor on a particular day the group gets to share the only money made and what does one do with R10 when they get home at night.

Business is not always brisk, there are days when Masangomatema and others who hustle on the streets hit blanks. Rent needs to be paid and one cannot go for long ignoring the stomach’s calls for food.

This is what has pushed many Zimbabwean women to double up as prostitutes. As the sun sets and darkness creeps and covers Bree Street and all over Joburg, the oldest paying profession reigns supreme.

Most of the ladies did not in their puberty envisage themselves trading their bodies for money, but circumstances have driven even the preacherman’s daughter to be a Jezebel. These women are bread winners and there is a chain of children in Zimbabwe who survive from the money sent home by these mothers, sisters and aunts.

Prostitution is big business here. From the conventional loitering by the street corner to featuring in pornographic movies filmed by the Nigerian brothers in Joburg’s notorious Hillbrow, to lap dancing for more affluent clientele at exclusive adult shops.

This avenue has been taken by many because making a decent and honest living through braiding hair or being a waitress at Spurs, Fish and Chips and other fast food outlets relegates one to a hardship dominated lifestyle. Because earnings are less and cannot sustain you through the month, people seek compromised accommodation and this is usually in the form of a bedroom that is shared by four or five people and beds are separated by hospital like curtains hanging from the ceiling.

In such set ups there is virtually no privacy, one’s belongings are guarded with the meanest detail: cellphones, passports and other essentials are kept under the pillow or always in the pocket. And respect for intimate privacy has withered and vanished: housemates bring their lovers or “business clients” for the night and sex happens as if this is a conducive environment-that there are only two people in the room.

And because there is no proper accommodation, people virtually do not buy groceries instead they buy what is sufficient for a particular day. It’s the life of a pilgrim.

Prostitution has become the easiest way out of such a life as one earns a fortune from trading their body meaning they can afford to rent reasonable accommodation and lead a “decent life.”

It’s not only women who have taken into prostitution. Zimbabwean men have also joined the gigolo trade. There are many women who have been left by their men as the young men found themselves rich old local single women. There’s virtually nothing that the young man does for the lady except quenching her insatiable sexual desires. In turn she provides everything, literally everything for the young man: she buys him underwear, airtime, toothbrush, car and everything that comes in-between.

Back home President Robert Mugabe abhors gays and lesbians describing them as being worse than dogs but here these are people recognised by government laws and anyone is free to choose and even become one. Like in most countries gays and lesbians lead a well to do lifestyle, they have lots of money and only Heaven knows where that comes from. It would be a strange thing to find a poor gay or a lesbian struggling in life.

It has often been said that desperate times need desperate measures and converting from Uncle Bob’s life’s lectures on homosexuality has been another option for desperate Zimbabweans. Just as women do, men now bleach their bodies so as to lighten their complexion and look attractive.

Considering all that is happening and that which has sucked most young Zimbabwean men and women, Joburg is now a little Las Vegas, the “sin city” where pleasure shapes people’s line of thought. And Reverend Jessie Jackson said where there is pleasure there is always danger.

HIV/AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases are in abundance in these areas where pleasure dictates the mood of the day. Despite the knowledge of the consequence of leading such a life, many have chosen to “enjoy the moment” and earn a living, send money back home and support their families.

The body bag always hangs next to the First Aid kit. Sins of the flesh have seen people drop like flies. HIV/AIDS is taking its toll while gays and lesbians are beaten to death as the conservative elements of society take the streetwise route of weeding them out.

And when all is said and done and one cannot breathe anymore it all goes back to the widowed old lady in rural Lupane or the stuffy two roomed house in Mbare who has to find scraps to fend for the litter of offspring left behind by those that went to Joni/Joza.


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