‘We can’t see a way out of Bonteheuwel’

Cape Town – 160129 – Clayton Pieterse, from Bonteheuwel visits the sea side behind the V&A Waterfront Mall’s parking lot with his sister, Candice Pieterse. He says the ocean gives his the courage to keep on looking for a job in the city. Photographer: Armand Hough

Cape Town – 160129 – Clayton Pieterse, from Bonteheuwel visits the sea side behind the V&A Waterfront Mall’s parking lot with his sister, Candice Pieterse. He says the ocean gives his the courage to keep on looking for a job in the city. Photographer: Armand Hough

Published Feb 3, 2016

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Cape Town - “It’s not that we don’t want to improve our situation, it’s just that there are no opportunities.” An exasperated Clayton Pieterse, 19, from Bonteheuwel sits sullenly across the table, his sister Candice, 25, at his side.

The two work at a popular retailer at its V&A Waterfront branch. Clayton is a seasonal worker whose contract ended on Friday.

“I was unemployed for seven months before I got this job. I really want to study, but the course I want to do needs me to improve my maths and science marks.” He pulls out his matric certificate. His maths and science scores are poor – it doesn’t bode well for a teen who wants to study physiotherapy.

“They look at his marks and they reject him,” says Candice. “But they don’t see that on the day that exam was written, they (gangsters) were shooting and he came running back home one his way to school.

“I asked him ‘aren’t you writing today?’ and he said they were shooting.”

Clayton interjects: “I was walking and these two guys on the field told me ‘it’s not safe now’, and I turned around and ran.” “As soon as he told me why he was back home,” says Candice, “the gunshots started.”

Once the gun fire had subsided, Clayton ran to school to write his maths exam. “How can he be expected to perform well when you’re living like that?” Candice pleads.

Clayton matriculated in 2014, and said he was one of 10 pupils in matric at Bonteheuwel High. The Grade 8 classes have up to 80 pupils, he said.

“But they tell you,” says Candice, “when you start high school, ‘out of the 600-odd of you Grade 8s, only a handful will make it to matric. I wonder who among you it’s going to be’.”

Gangsterism has long been a problem in Bonteheuwel, which Clayton says is cut off from the rest of the city due to its layout and public transport routes.

“We only have Vangate Mall, and that only came up a few years ago,” he says. “And they don’t even have a Sars office,” says Candice. “There’s just no services there. You have to travel far just to get your business done and your affairs in order, let alone find a job.”

“It’s up to parents to raise their children properly,” Clayton says, “so that they don’t become gangsters. But we’re very lucky to have parents that raised us right. But I still feel this pain.”

Clayton tells of how, while sitting in a bus en route to work one day, he felt a pain across his chest “like something was bursting out of me”.

“He sometimes cries at night,” says his sister, wiping away her own tears.

Stellenbosch University runs a programme called SciMathUS which takes recently matriculated pupils who have had poor marks in maths and science and mentors them rigorously so they are well-prepared to rewrite for a better result.

“I know if I can get onto that programme, I can improve. I want to study to be a physiotherapist. I want to work in a government hospital and help people. That’s where I’m needed.”

Clayton shows the Cape Argus an SMS that reads: “We regret to inform you that you have not been accepted onto the programme as we can only accommodate 100 people at a time.”

“That was the second time I was rejected.” He convinced his father to drive him to Stellenbosch to plead with the administrators in person.

“I asked him to take the day off. I was already rejected, but I didn’t tell him. I still don’t know how I’m going to tell my dad. But he took me, and I saw the lady and I asked please, please, please. I explained my situation. That I come from a disadvantaged background and my marks are like that because they were shooting that day.”

His other results attest to his dedication to his schoolwork, achieving a bachelors pass with marks in the 60s and 70s.

But the two results in subjects required to enter university in the course he wants to follow, he scored 22 percent.

“She told me she would really like to help, but they can only take 100 kids. Now that was 2015. It’s now 2016 and I no longer qualify. They now need to look after and consider people from the class of 2015.”

Candice wants to be a teacher too, but has been struggling to obtain a better English mark, which she finally has achieved. “I was unemployed for six years after matric, re-writing English. Everytime I re-write, I can’t apply to a teacher training college because I must wait till next year for my results.

“During that time, I helped my sister out with the feeding scheme at the school. You see those children and it’s like this is their only meal of the day…”

“I also ate there!” Clayton interjects.

Candice continues: “I count myself lucky. I get home in the evenings and supper is ready. But these kids, this is their only meal.”

Candice and Clayton don’t have partners. They both feel engaging in relationships would impact their futures negatively. “So many girls fall pregnant at a young age, or they (young people) get distracted when in a relationship,” Clayton says.

“I’m 25 and I’ve never had a boyfriend,” says Candice, “because I want to make a success of my life first. I don’t want to end up living like some of the other people.”

They say that in many households, gangsterism and rampant drug use has led to the breakdown of the family unit.

“Many of the kids live with their grandparents. The parents are missing – drugs, alcohol or (in) gangs. How are they supposed to know what family life is like or learn respect or learn how to be good adults when their parents are missing?” says Clayton.

“You know what it’s like being unemployed in Bonteheuwel?” he continues. “You can’t walk around, you can’t look for jobs, there’s nothing in the community. At least in Manenberg and Mitchells Plain, you have MyCiTi. Nothing comes through Bonteheuwel.”

Sometimes, says Candice, the stress becomes too much for Clayton, and she knows he is depressed. “How can you not be depressed? You have all these things stacked against you, but you see no way out,” Clayton says.

Candice is unable to speak. Her tears now streaming down her face, her tiny shoulders wracked with sobs.

“I’m sorry, hey?” Candice says, brushing away her tears. Clayton’s eyes well up. “I promised you I was not going to cry. I rather cry at night, when no-one is watching.”

Clayton often travels to the beach to reflect on his situation.

“If I reflect and meditate in Bonteheuwel, I can’t see a way out. It’s just a cycle of depression. But I motivate myself. I’m going to be a doctor one day and help people.”

He draws inspiration from the successful candidates of the SciMathUS programme. He shows the Cape Argus a video of a success story where a man who came through the programme went on to be a successful GP.

He also motivates himself with the tweets of Nick Vujicic, an evangelist and motivational speaker who has no limbs. “He spoke at the World Economic Forum,” Clayton tells us, his eyes lighting up once more.

Candice and Clayton say more educational and social programmes are needed in order to turn Bonteheuwel around. “The people want to change,” they agree. More policing won’t help either, they say, because as soon as the police leave, the fighting flares up again.

“We need better education. People must know this tears us apart. I can easily say I became a gangster or I got addicted to drugs because life here is too depressing. But I won’t,” says Clayton.

“But no-one talks about it. No-one talks about the struggles they go through,” says Candice. “No-one comes forward and says ‘I can’t take any more’. The stories like that don’t get told.

“That’s why no-one cares.”

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Cape Argus

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