Our government’s failure a good reason to be sad

A feeling of melancholy has overwhelmed me lately.

No, for a change it’s nothing to do with post-election blues and it certainly could’ve been a reason, given its confusing and ridiculous “coalition” outcome.

The source of the unfamiliar feeling is probably when cleaning out files collected over many moons, and coming across a document reflecting the purchase of our first home soon after our marriage.

A total figure of R13 000 appeared. Must be the deposit, I thought. Wrong. It was the full price for a brand-new threeroomed house in middle-class suburbia.

Today, that same house would fetch over a million. This long-forgotten discovery coincided with me, a short while ago, reading a poignant news item in a daily about an old woman of my age who had been waiting for a promised RDP house for many years.

Let’s call her Bertha. The photograph shows her standing at the door of a tumbled down shack in an informal settlement.

Involuntarily, the thought struck me like a shard of lightning, lighting up the brain with pictures of me and Bertha in the same world at the same time.

Our places of birth were far apart, hers in the slums and mine in an area with all the conveniences. I had a choice of schools, the opportunity to further my studies and find a job without much ado.

Oh, and I had the vote. Her upbringing the complete opposite. Born in poverty, her priority was to find work from an
early age.

Education opportunities were scarce and decent jobs were out of the question. And she had no say in the choice of government.

When it came to owning a house, I had no problem. Loans were available and with a good job I could afford the payments.

Bertha was forced to remain in squalor and eke out a miserable existence.

But, she tells us, that would’ve changed with Mandela. She had the vote and the promise of a proper house.

But, this is the real sad part of my story, nothing has changed for her. The government she probably voted for turned out to be a total failure and the monies earmarked for housing, et al, were stolen.

I retire in comfort. Bertha? When will her hell end? The sadness won’t leave me.