Last week a received a random phone call from Sello Modiba, a member of the Stoffel Park Council.  “Can we meet tomorrow?”  I agreed even though I received absolutely no details surrounding the request.  Not sure what to expect, probably a request of some kind, either for money or assistance, we showed up to meet Sello.  He didn’t waste any time.  He was concerned.  He wanted our help, but not for himself.  He wanted us to help another community, a squatter’s camp, which we later found out is called only by its postal address:  Pienaarspoort, Plot 45.  My first thought was, ‘but there is so much need right here in Stoffel Park’.  Sello wanted to bring the medical care, food, and fresh water to the struggling people of this makeshift community.  His concern was genuine so was agreed to meet him the following week to visit Plot 45.

This morning Sello hopped into our car and off we went.  Again, no details.  We just drove.  We filled the silence with periodic questions regarding what he thought his community, Stoffel Park, needed most.  Water, electricity, food, proper roads, jobs, a clinic and HIV testing and counseling.  He decided that a clinic and HIV testing were the most pressing issues.  He decided that he better sit down and make a plan.  This man has a huge heart and wants to make a difference in his community.  We drove on.  The road got worse, much worse.  From pavement to dirt.  We bumped along, stopping here and there looking through the weeds to see if we were in the right place.  Then we pulled to an opening and there it was.  A squatter’s camp, Plot 45, right in the middle of the countryside, hidden by the vegetation.  I would have driven right by without noticing.  These people go unnoticed everyday.  Their lives meaningless to most, but not to Sello, he was determined to help them. 

Sello walked us through the camp, stopping to talk to everyone.  Mud and shacks and more mud.  The shacks in Plot 45 were rough, really, really rough.  Allow me to digress for a moment.  I have come to notice that there is a difference in the quality of a shack.  A proper shack has maybe three pieces of metal on each side, usually of similar color or texture.  The shacks in this camp were constructed of 10-15 pieces of random metal and wood on each side.  Literally, cobbled together with anything that was big enough to put a nail through.  Oh, and some were living in ragged tents.  In the mud.  This was worse than any settlement in Mamelodi. 

After a walk through the muddy settlement, Sello showed us the place where women and children walk to fetch water.  It was literally a swamp 2 km down a muddy path across a busy set of railroad tracks.  No wonder Sello wanted to help these people, they live in isolation without food or clean water.  No one is helping.  No one seems to care.  No one seems to even notice. 

The ride back was mostly quiet.  Sello was pondering how he was going to raise R10 000 ($1400 USD) to buy food parcels for 40 people that he identified as ‘needy’.  I personally find it ironic that Sello identified 40 people as ‘needy’.  The man lives in an informal settlement himself.  He has his own problems and needs, his community has a long list of needs, but his only concern is how he is going to raise money to buy food for these otherwise unnoticed people.  I am blown away.  I sit in silence in total awe of the man sitting beside me. 

Am I doing enough?  Am I making a big enough impact?

I need to sit down and make a plan...  wS