The wind is blowing the dust around me as I’m writing this. The summer has been harsh on the soil in Johannesburg.
Almost no water was left in the wells, and we’re starting to notice the lack of water. The people of the slum are getting
anxious and more desperate by the day. Not a day goes by anymore without someone getting killed.
When everyone’s on the edge, people change, you can’t trust anyone around here. Except your family that is.
Here's a picture of our little village two years ago.
I live in the outskirts of Johannesburg with my two older brothers Amani and Amik, and my younger sisters Za and Zhila.
I’m 16. The boys are 19 and soon 18 years old, while the girls are 10 and 6. When I was about ten I think, my mother died
of AIDS. My father left right after Za was born. Mother had Zhila four years after that.
This is the only picture i have of my youngest sister Zhila.Though she has grown a bit since then, Isn't she adorable?
After Mother died, I got the responsibility of keeping my younger siblings alive long enough so they can start working in the
city with me. I don’t work at a factory or anything fancy like that. I mostly do the dirty work for the upper class.
For example like washing the streets or picking up the trash that people throw around. It’s not much, but it pays enough to
buy some food for the day. Za started to work with me just yesterday. I was afraid that there was going to happen
something on our way there, but this time we were lucky. There’s no chance we’re that lucky the rest of the week.
Here's a picture of Za. It's taken last year, infront of our shack. This is a foto of my brothers, I think they are about 16 and 15 years old here. The picture is taken by a tourist.
Amik has already gotten used to the jackrolling, or so he says. I’m sure I’ll never get used to any of the assaults that we’re
facing every day. That’s a part of why I’m writhing this, to maybe give someone in the future that is in my position a chance
to get out of this life, to at least get a chance to actually live and not be someone’s personal ragdoll. At first, I counted.
I tried to mesmerize the people that did it, but when I turned 9, I couldn’t do it anymore, so I stopped. I just started to go with
the flow, no matter how silly that sounds like. I’m sure that if someone saw one of the assaults now, they wouldn’t
categorize it as a rape.
Unfortunately, the road to school is no better than any other road in Johannesburg. I started to attend the UNICEF school
three years ago. There I learned how to read, writhe and count. There are about 50 girls and boys in my class, it’s crowded,
but everybody is interested in learning so it’s never an issue, except for the equipment supply. The school doesn’t have
enough money to pay for books for everyone, so we have to share. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to start
complaining about this amazing chance to get an education! I’m forever grateful for the chances I’m going to get after I finish
school. Maybe I’ll even become a doctor one day?
I took a picture of our class, so you could see! The two girls in the front are my best friends, Amya and Kashika.
A few months ago, South Africa became the first African country to host the world cup. I don't know what that means for the
country - much less for the continent - but for me and my family the occasion was distinctively less joyous than for its attenders.
Usually we get to go to the city to work - it's not that we earned much there, but it was money - during the cup, we were denied
access to the town center. This meant even less money to spread across the entire family and even less food each day.
Some days we wouldn't eat at all!
After several weeks of being kept out of Johannesburg, Amik decided to try sneaking in in an attempt to work, beg and possibly steal.
The police caught him and beat him to a bloody pulp before having him removed. I think that’s the biggest problem about these big
arrangements. Everything has to look perfect so “the important people” just push all us less fortunate under the rug and hope that
nobody’s going to show up and ask questions about it. We are getting compared to the trash on the sidewalks, to the rats in the
kitchen and the sickness of the world. It’s hideous that when big contests like World cup or OL I going on, these civilized people would
sell their countries soul just to be envied by the rest of the world. And they’re asking what’s wrong with the third world countries;
I’m asking what’s wrong with the world?
I leave that question for you to answer. And I leave this site for the world to read and maybe think for a while how privileged they really are.
My life
The wind is blowing the dust around me as I’m writing this. The summer has been harsh on the soil in Johannesburg.
Almost no water was left in the wells, and we’re starting to notice the lack of water. The people of the slum are getting
anxious and more desperate by the day. Not a day goes by anymore without someone getting killed.
When everyone’s on the edge, people change, you can’t trust anyone around here. Except your family that is.
Here's a picture of our little village two years ago.
I live in the outskirts of Johannesburg with my two older brothers Amani and Amik, and my younger sisters Za and Zhila.
I’m 16. The boys are 19 and soon 18 years old, while the girls are 10 and 6. When I was about ten I think, my mother died
of AIDS. My father left right after Za was born. Mother had Zhila four years after that.
This is the only picture i have of my youngest sister Zhila.Though she has grown a bit since then, Isn't she adorable?
After Mother died, I got the responsibility of keeping my younger siblings alive long enough so they can start working in the
city with me. I don’t work at a factory or anything fancy like that. I mostly do the dirty work for the upper class.
For example like washing the streets or picking up the trash that people throw around. It’s not much, but it pays enough to
buy some food for the day. Za started to work with me just yesterday. I was afraid that there was going to happen
something on our way there, but this time we were lucky. There’s no chance we’re that lucky the rest of the week.
Here's a picture of Za. It's taken last year, infront of our shack.
This is a foto of my brothers, I think they are about 16 and 15 years old here. The picture is taken by a tourist.
Amik has already gotten used to the jackrolling, or so he says. I’m sure I’ll never get used to any of the assaults that we’re
facing every day. That’s a part of why I’m writhing this, to maybe give someone in the future that is in my position a chance
to get out of this life, to at least get a chance to actually live and not be someone’s personal ragdoll. At first, I counted.
I tried to mesmerize the people that did it, but when I turned 9, I couldn’t do it anymore, so I stopped. I just started to go with
the flow, no matter how silly that sounds like. I’m sure that if someone saw one of the assaults now, they wouldn’t
categorize it as a rape.
Unfortunately, the road to school is no better than any other road in Johannesburg. I started to attend the UNICEF school
three years ago. There I learned how to read, writhe and count. There are about 50 girls and boys in my class, it’s crowded,
but everybody is interested in learning so it’s never an issue, except for the equipment supply. The school doesn’t have
enough money to pay for books for everyone, so we have to share. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to start
complaining about this amazing chance to get an education! I’m forever grateful for the chances I’m going to get after I finish
school. Maybe I’ll even become a doctor one day?
I took a picture of our class, so you could see! The two girls in the front are my best friends, Amya and Kashika.
A few months ago, South Africa became the first African country to host the world cup. I don't know what that means for the
country - much less for the continent - but for me and my family the occasion was distinctively less joyous than for its attenders.
Usually we get to go to the city to work - it's not that we earned much there, but it was money - during the cup, we were denied
access to the town center. This meant even less money to spread across the entire family and even less food each day.
Some days we wouldn't eat at all!
After several weeks of being kept out of Johannesburg, Amik decided to try sneaking in in an attempt to work, beg and possibly steal.
The police caught him and beat him to a bloody pulp before having him removed. I think that’s the biggest problem about these big
arrangements. Everything has to look perfect so “the important people” just push all us less fortunate under the rug and hope that
nobody’s going to show up and ask questions about it. We are getting compared to the trash on the sidewalks, to the rats in the
kitchen and the sickness of the world. It’s hideous that when big contests like World cup or OL I going on, these civilized people would
sell their countries soul just to be envied by the rest of the world. And they’re asking what’s wrong with the third world countries;
I’m asking what’s wrong with the world?
I leave that question for you to answer. And I leave this site for the world to read and maybe think for a while how privileged they really are.