ZULULAND LETTER: Born to suffer is Lindani’s fate
His father died of Aids and his mom is a broom maker
Lindani is 12 years old.
His father died of Aids and his mom is a broom maker.
He cannot write his own name, even though he’s progressed to Grade 3 at the rural school he attends.
I tried teaching him what the school failed to do by using interesting subjects, such as the names of the birds and animals he likes killing so much, but like his teacher, I failed and eventually gave up.
His grandfather also tried by means of what educated experts in sterile first world offices would label ‘child abuse’, but also without success, because Lindani is a rock.
He was born into extreme poverty and it will take nothing less than an act of God to save him from a miserable life, but in rural Zululand acts of God tend to veer more towards the natural disaster types, so he’s pretty much screwed.
I was watching them the other day, Lindani and his six siblings.
He was pretending to have a conversation on what looked like a broken cell phone from 1998.
Mboma was running furiously after a scrawny chicken destined to become a meal for 12, and three-year-old Ayanda was taking a dump right next to the cooking shack.
I reckoned that supper – a splash of fowl on putu with black coffee – was going to taste a bit shitty, and was glad I have a strong immune system because I was invited for supper.
Another educated expert in his sterile office will say living like that is unhealthy, but it’s not…
Smoking is unhealthy.
Living and eating in dirt is inhumane.
Destiny
A church man with more degrees than common sense once told me one’s destiny is already decided before you are even born.
That was his pathetic answer in response to my question whether I will be allowed into heaven if I behave like a good boy.
Well, I guess he’s right, because Lindani was born into poverty and he still has no say in the matter – or maybe not.
He might decide one day to uplift himself and upgrade to the latest iPhone by robbing someone who was born with a silver spoon in the mouth.
It’s the only upliftment programme which works in Africa, but he will probably end up eating spaghetti and meatballs on the taxpayer’s expense, which is still a better deal than having to run after chickens in the dust and slipping on excrement.
While relieving you of that iPhone 8 he might just practice his four-word English vocabulary on you – ‘How do you dooo?’
They are taught that in Grade 1 and it seems to be the only words that stick.
In that case just say ‘Fine, thanks’, because you really don’t have it that bad, just a less cushy day.
So stop complaining because there are thousands of Lindanis out there whose fate was decided before they were born.
Life failed them.
The system failed them and we fail them.
It’s life!
I like Lindani.
He’s got bright eyes and always smiles.
If you can choose your robber then perhaps go with someone like him, because he might just let you wake up to another bloody African sunrise.
