Award-winning poet, journalist and author, Rabbie Serumula. Picture: Nokuthula Mbatha.
Johannesburg - In the 1990s, when it still took a village to raise a child, I found myself in a situation that required some neighbourly assistance. My father was away on a work trip, leaving me, a 10-year-old, home alone. I decided to make myself a comforting pot of Jungle Oats, but in my youthful enthusiasm, I inadvertently added an excess of salt, rendering my meal nearly inedible.
Back in those days, it was perfectly acceptable to rely on the collective goodwill of the community, and so, with a cup in hand, I ventured across the street to my neighbour’s door. I knocked and waited, my young heart racing with a mix of uncertainty and hope. The door opened, revealing a friendly face, a symbol of trust and familiarity in our tight-knit neighbourhood of Greenvillage, in Soweto.
With shame and embarrassment, I explained my predicament, asking if I could borrow some sugar to balance out the salty oats.
Without hesitation, my neighbour smiled and obliged, handing me the sugar with warm reassurance. It was a simple act of kindness that transcended the mere exchange of ingredients. In that moment, I learnt the profound value of community, where neighbours weren’t just strangers living next door but an extended family ready to support one another. That day, my overly salty oats became a lesson in humility and the beauty of relying on the bonds of a community, a lesson I carry with me to this day.
Having experienced the simple yet profound act of borrowing sugar from a neighbour as a child, I can relate to the reality reported by a tuck shop owner from the township of Folweni in KwaZulu-Natal, of people buying cooking oil by the spoon and opting for a cup of rice instead of a full pack. Bird flu or not, buying two eggs at a spaza shop is nothing new to us. That childhood memory etched in my mind is a reminder of the inherent human need for help and support.
Just as I had found myself in a moment of culinary distress, where a single ingredient could make a significant difference in the outcome of my meal, I can imagine the struggles and sacrifices individuals face when they are compelled to buy essentials in smaller portions – economic hardships weigh too heavy on their fragile shoulders. Knocking on a neighbour’s door, seeking a helping hand, was a lifeline for me then, and I can extrapolate that feeling to understand the challenges faced by those who have to resort to similar measures at tuck shops today – a deed that symbolises a broader erosion of dignity and agency.
A reminder that people are forced to depend on the kindness and understanding of others just to meet their basic needs. This dependence can be degrading, and it emphasises the disparities in our society, where some have plenty while others must scrape by.
In hindsight, my father had told the neighbours I’d be home alone, and the village cradled me for those two days.
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