Today is our last full day in South Africa, and I am not looking forward to saying goodbye. I have arranged for someone from the staff at Bergendal School to take Monique over to Vlakte Brick Farm. I wanted her to go as a physician in hopes that she might be able to advise the people who live in a tiny village where everyone has tuberculosis, and in order for her to experience what I experienced there. It was a feeling of utter helplessness that words just could not express.
We started off the day with our normal ritual of morning devotion before I spent some time outside just loving on the kids and letting them love on me. I sought out some of my little friends to enjoy some laughs and smiles on what would be a difficult day of goodbyes. 
Soon it was time to go over to Vlakte Brick. As we drove over, I tried to prepare Monique and Gay for what they would see, but again words seemed to fail me. As we drove in, we were greeted by the village matriarch, Rhoda. We chatted a little, and I asked Rhoda if she could take us into one of the houses so that everyone could see the living conditions. We had driven passed a number of informal settlements during our trip, but had never been able to go inside. Most people advised us that going into an informal settlement was far too dangerous a thing to do. Visiting this farm community gave us a chance to go into the living quarters of some of South Africa’s poor and get a sense of what it is like to actually live in these cramped inhumane conditions. The home that Rhoda took us into was actually a bit better than the first one I visited a few days prior. The dimensions of the space were the same, but only 3 families lived in this unit. It was also a little cleaner than the first unit I visited, and there was a homemade bed in one of the rooms as opposed to blankets on the floor. 
Still it was unimaginable that people were living like this. Monique would later say that she felt as though she had entered a time warp and traveled 200 years back in time to a slave plantation. While Monique and Gay talked to Rhoda, I decided to walk around and take some pictures. I spotted a friend from my last visit and went to greet her. She took me over to the building that had the water spout on the side. This is where all 48 families must get their water. She told me that there were bathing facilities in the building. She also showed me the drains where they must empty the contents of the Porta-Potties. The drains are at the same site where the clean water spout is located, and my friend expressed to me that the people were sure that their water was contaminated by the waste. Across a span of about 20 yards from where we stood in front of the water building was the farm owner’s office. On my last visit, I asked if I could talk to the owner and I was told that he was in there with his gun and would probably be “happy” to see me. Well, “momma didn’t raise no fool,” so I elected not to go over and visit that day. As I noticed customers and trucks going in and out of the office area, I turned to my friend and asked her, “Is the owner there now?” She replied that she did not know. As we talked, I noticed that there was another building adjoining the water building. I asked my friend what was inside, and she said, “that is the church.” She then asked, “Would you like to see it? Shall I get the key?”
The church was locked up. Just like many churches in America, closed and locked up most of the time. I’m so tired of irrelevant churches that haven’t figured out how in infect communities with the gospel message by seeing the church as a vehicle for social transformation, not just a place to Bible thump on Sunday’s and one other day when Bible study is held… BUT that’s another blog post… BACK to business… As she ran off to get the key, I started my steady determined walk to the owner’s office half wondering if these would be my last steps.
I walked confidently into the little building where I was greeted by a receptionist. It was a brightly lit, clean, well kept office, and it seemed that business was good. 
Keep in mind that the people of the village had all told me that the farm had been sold and that the clay (brick making) business had been shut down as a result of the sale. This was the reason they had all lost their jobs. I was perplexed by what I saw, and figured that there must be more to the story. I walked up to the counter and was greeted warmly by the receptionist. She asked how she could help me. I said, “I am a pastor from the United States and I would like to speak to the owner about the living conditions of the people on the farm.” I was hoping he might not shoot a clergyman. The woman said, “I will see if he is available,” and to my surprise he agreed to speak with me. I walked into the office to see a rugged looking, forty-something white male sitting in front of his computer and talking on his PDA phone. He told me that he was not the owner, but the manager (the owner’s son-in-law). I asked him what had happened with the business and why the people had not been paid their severance. His response to me was that the business was broke. I asked him about the trucks going in and out and he forcefully replied that he could show me the books that business was down 85%. He stated that the recession had killed the clay business. This is a fact which I had pointed out to the people of the village the day before. I asked him if the farm had in fact been sold (as the people had told me) and he said that it had not been sold, it had all but failed and that’s why the people lost their jobs in December of 2008. He also informed me that there are 2 businesses on the farm: a clay (brick) factory and a cement factory. The cement factory was still running and about 5 of the people in the village were employed there. This was news to me, but it still didn’t explain the living conditions of the people in the village. I asked this man if the people would be paid their severance, and he said that he didn’t have money to pay them… even though the farm owner owns several other farms in the area. I asked him if he had seen their living conditions and if he knew that they often didn’t have food to eat (farm owners provide and maintain housing for their employees on these farms).
He said to me, “Look man, I don’t lose any sleep over that. I don’t have a guilty conscience. That place wasn’t like that when those people moved in!”
I replied, “But you underpaid them for years, and you did no upkeep on the property. Of course it doesn’t look the same.”
He said, “Would you like me to take you into town to one of the compounds man? Can I show you how they live there?”
I replied, “I have been to those settlements. They are horrible. BUT you are not responsible for those settlements. You are responsible for the housing here on this farm.”
He replied, “There is a housing problem all over South Africa man!”
I replied, “That’s true. BUT you are not responsible for all of South Africa. You are responsible for the housing here on this farm.”
He responded, “Pastor, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” as he stood up from his desk.
I said, “You have to be accountable to those people.”
He responded, “Pastor, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” as he walked me towards the door.”
I said, “The living conditions are deplorable.”
He responded, “Pastor, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” as he walked me over the threshold of the door.”
I said, “Don’t you care about their children?”
He closed the door and locked it as I stood outside facing him.
I walked back to the church building in disbelief. The door was open and my friend rushed over to find out what happened in the owner’s office. An older woman accompanied her. They stared at me, but wouldn’t ask the lingering question… “What did he say?”
I told them that he said the farm wasn’t sold, and that their job loss was due to a decline in business. I also told them that he said he was broke, and that he had no plans of paying them any severance. I didn’t believe that he was broke, but it didn’t matter because that’s what he had said, and it was obvious that he had no plans to pay any of those people a dime. “He doesn’t care about you,” I said. “If you dropped dead on this farm, he would be happy. You have to leave this place. There’s nothing here for you. He doesn’t care.” They nodded in agreement. Easy for me to say (well not really), but some of them have lived on that farm for 30 years. The prospect of leaving can’t be easy.
I looked at the makeshift church, and rejoined the group. As we drove away, those who had visited for the first time were visibly shaken. As we contemplated what we had just seen and heard, I began to explain how the people as laborers on the farm are tied to those properties, which they don’t own, and can be evicted from at any time. If they gripe about anything, they have to worry about being kicked out. I also began to share that the schools on farms, like Bergendal, had to play a political game of chess with the farm owners who actually own the schools. These kinds of schools were built by farmers to educate the children of the farm laborers. It was obviously in their best personal interest to educate the children only to the point that they would be the next generation of farm laborers. The farm owner’s wife would have been the schoolmarm at one time. Eventually, schools like this were leased to the government, but principals must still play nice with the owners. Ultimately, the farm schools belong to the farm owners. Now that’s power. Employment, housing, and education all in the hands of one man… This is the case for countless farm laborers in this part of South Africa.
I also began to share that all farm owners weren’t so heartless. I had heard that the owner of the Bergendal School was known to be generous, and to take good care of his workers. Adele (a teacher at Bergenadal and our escort) began to expand on this. She took us to the Seidelberg Wine Estate. Mr. Seider is the owner of the estate, the Bergendal School, and the Fairview homes. Mr. Seider has paid for some renovations at the school, secured donations of coats for the children, and recently held a jazz concert where the proceeds were donated to the school, and more (more info here: http://www.seidelberg.co.za/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=24&Itemid=49). We stopped at the estate, and had a look at their glass blowing operation. There is a store on the site where beautiful glass art pieces blown on the site are sold.
From there we went back to the school which is right next door. I decided to take Monique on a walk through the Fairview homes located just next door to the school for comparison to Flakte Brick. We found a couple of students who lived at Fairview and they took us on a quick tour. It was a thousand times better that Flakte Brick.
Monique’s comment was, “So it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Truth be told, the whole farm laborer/farm owner relationship needs to be overhauled, as it does in many parts of the world including the U.S., but people should be treated like their lives matter.
We spent the rest of the day hanging out with the kids… laughing, dancing, singing… it was a great time. It was capped off with a few songs from the Bergendal Gospel Choir, and boy are they good. I mean they are fantastic. We each said our farewells, Tristian wowed them with a quick Que Dawg step show, I told them my life story, we prayed, we all cried, hugged, blessed, ate, exchanged gifts and eventually tore ourselves away. Two words, “life changing.”
We finished the day with several celebrations, food, reflections, a visit to 2 churches, words of encouragement and affirmation. One thing that was interesting for me is that they let me speak and pray as a minister on several occasions. I usually try to keep the clergy and the academic separate, but they allowed me to be both with no censoring. I’m saddened to say goodbye to my new family.
Written by Frederick A Hanna
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