Help this woman

The yard is big and there is a small mud hut with thatch turning into powder from years of weather beating. Just behind it is a dwarf mud house with iron roofing sheets and no door. On top of the roof there are rocks to keep the roof on the mud walls. The strongest structure is an unfinished pit latrine in the corner which keeps us rushing for our noses from time to time when a strong wind blows in our direction. By the twig fireplace is a pile of bricks that does seem enough even for one room. “I think I am the reason why the rain has not been falling. I have no choice but to pray that it doesn’t rain. Look, this is what I call a house. If it rains the water will simply dissolve these weak walls and we will get wet,” Maonyana Ramadi, 55 of Maseetsele ward in Moshupa says taking out her snuff box. She sits on the bench and inhales then sneezes. “I want someone to build me a strong house so I can live in dignity. I have no job except Ipelegeng which is not reliable because there are so many of us you can go for up to three months without a job.” An old man on nearby bench clears his throat impatiently and frequently looks at an empty mayonnaise bottle with only white foam remaining as she tells me; “I used to sell home brew but now the government doesn’t allow it. It used to help a great deal because at least we could buy food with the money.” As she speaks, a young lady in her early 20’s emerges from the hut. Her lips a swollen and she tries to conceal the wound as she utters greetings. “She was beaten up last night when she had gone drinking.” Ramadi offers an explanation as her daughter who seems embarrassed disappears into the short house. “I have four children but none of them are employed. They have either been schooled up to form two of form three. The one you just saw is the youngest. My first daughter has a baby and her siblings are also struggling to look after their children.” Ramadi tells me that she and her family moved here in 2006 from Tshwaane lands. “We thought life would be better here but as you can see we are barely surviving. In Tshwaane we used to live off the land but as time went on the land stopped yielding anything due to poor rains so we had to move. “My only source of income is Ipelegeng, but because we have to alternate it’s unreliable. My children are not allowed to work for Ipelegeng because only one person is allowed to work from a family. We’ve tried selling cigarettes and sweets but soon demands of this poor life caused us to spend the money for stock.” She reaches for her snuff box again and says; “My children don’t have a father. I just picked them up while I was going about.” She chuckles mischieviously. Some time ago when there were heavy rains Ramadi says her hut walls were dissolved in the flood water and she went to the social welfare office but there was no help coming her way, so she gave up. “I need a proper house in which I will feel safe. I can’t do this on my own. Where would I get the money to buy the material or to pay the builder? Every time the rain clouds gather I despair wondering where I’m going to run,” she says tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She goes on; “If there is anybody out there who can help me with a house and a stand pipe at least, I would be grateful. I’m tired of begging for water from the neighbours and I’m sure they are tired of me too. Even though sometimes I help them with the bill other times I simply can’t. “In the second year after settling here, we tried to build a house but we stopped because the money we used to make from selling ‘power brew’ stopped when the government outlawed home brew.” I follow her gaze to the pile of breaks which corroborate her claim.