“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us...” – Charles Dickens
These are the famous opening lines taken from Charles Dickens novel A Tale of Two Cities. I’m sure many of us at some stage in our high school years during the ‘80’s, held a copy of this small, scuffed-up set work under our arm. Of course few of us would have appreciated it for the literary masterpiece that it is. Most of it went right over my, otherwise preoccupied, teenage mind.
But if you did pay a little more attention, you will recall that it tells a magnificent story of chaos, conflict and despair, as well as a story of happiness and hope. Dickens always knew the perfect ingredient for a strong story! In this tale, Dickens compares two cities, Paris and London, during the French Revolution. He tells a story about extreme opposites, different classes, rich and poor. A captivating narrative about joy and hope on the one hand, and suffering and despair on the other.
Every great story leaves us changed. Yet back then, as a ‘know-it-all’ teenager, I wish I had listened more and appreciated what this story had to teach me. But the other day, as I took a trip around two cities, this remarkable tale, with all its lessons about controversies, contradictions, contrasts and comparisons came flooding back to me. Perhaps it had changed me and I just didn’t know it.
The morning began like many during lockdown. My daughter, Joanna, was up early and waiting for me - tackies on and her small pink bike helmet tilted sideways on her head. She rides her bike while I run and we’ve found the perfect route through the leafy streets of the Southern Suburbs. The road winds along the banks of the Liesbeek River and we feel like Dorothy on her yellow-brick road with a bright warm carpet of leaves paving the way. It’s a great reminder that while we’ve all been locked down, nature has flourished more than ever and the burning autumn colours literally take our breath away! Joanna kicks her legs up as she rides through the puffed up leaf piles. This sends a million orange shades scattering and her stomach into a fit of little-girl giggles.
The normally quiet suburban roads are as busy as ever in the morning and many families are still making the most of the slower pace of lockdown life and the new stay-at-home routines.
Dads often join in - one hand holding a dog leash and the other supporting a small bike with trainer-wheels. I can tell there are smiles beneath the masks. Eyes always give a smile away and the chatter and laughter tell the story. It’s the happiest of morning routines and a daily tonic that helps me clear my fogged-up, locked-down brain and Joanna prepare for a morning of online school behind a computer screen.
My afternoon was quite different. The weather had changed during the course of the day and as we headed out on the N2, it was clear that the balmy morning had secretly been ushering in a cold front. Today the car was packed with boxes of much needed masks that Jacqs and I had collected, sorted and packaged to deliver to the schools in the Makhaza community in Khayelitsha.
If you don’t know them well, the roads of Khayelitsha can get confusing, but after many visits, I’ve got to know my way around the Makhaza area. I still rely on my own landmarks to navigate me: the turquoise container of Nosisi’s Fishery; the God is Great Hair Salon (well that’s what’s painted on the side wall along with a brightly coloured mural of hairstyles). The braai shop on the corner, as always, is buzzing with people and its big rusty half barrels sizzle with boerewors. Then just before we turn off Govan Mbeki road towards Chris Hani High School, there’s the sunshine-yellow fruit and veg shop with its heavy pockets of oranges hanging from the roof.
Today we drive slowly as there are lots of people milling in the streets - much more than usual. So many are facing huge daily struggles, grinding poverty and unemployment. Those who still have jobs are hard at work. A group of young men load bags of cement onto a bakkie – I presume they are dad’s as children are milling around close to them - some helping to load the heavy bags. The more I look the more children I see. Most are not yet back at school; so older children watch over their younger siblings as they drag sticks through the dirt making patterns or kick a soccer ball … even a stray dog joins the games, anything to pass the long days of lockdown. Quite simply put, for this community locking down at home is hardly an option - shacks are just too small and too confined and work must be found.
Our time at the school was really good - a harsh eye-opener too. Despite all the challenges, thorough safety measures were being taken – temperatures, social distancing and sanitizing. The staff and headmistress we chatted with looked tired. It’s obvious they’ve had so much to deal with. They shared with us their daily struggles and fears and most of all the fact that no online schooling has taken place. These children are all 3 months behind in their schoolwork and the task of catching them up is overwhelming, if not impossible. Our conversation outdoors was eventually cut short by heavy drops of rain and an icy wind that began to sweep through the barren, and still largely quiet, school grounds.
As we drove out and back past the still bustling Spaza shop the wind began to pick up. Flurries of dust rose up into the air – no blowing trees, no autumn leaves. Some people began to seek shelter amongst the over-hanging oranges at the fruit and veg shop, whilst others just continued their work - resolute and undisturbed by the swelling storm around them.
I returned home to be greeted first by my daughter, who by now had finished her online school for the day. My eldest son had surprisingly taken the initiative of lighting the fire and, much less-surprisingly, was making his fourth sandwich of the day. My home felt warm and inviting – my family together and a cup of coffee in the making.
This season of Covid-19 has left us all with much to contemplate, much to consider and much to change. For some it has been “the best of times”, yet for others, “the worst of times”. For some it's been a “season of Light”, yet for many more it’s been a “season of Darkness”. I think we all realise that we still have a long winter ahead of us, yet we remain hopeful that by spring Corona might be moving behind us. So for some it may be a “spring of hope” with “everything before us”, but let us make every effort to be aware that for so many more it will remain “the winter of despair” with “nothing before them”.
Today was indeed The Tale of Two Cities - worlds and cities much closer together than London and Paris, yet still separated by a deep abyss of controversies, contradictions, contrasts and comparisons.
I do my best to make sense of this story, but I can’t. It is a hard one to read. So instead I choose to pray and to open my own eyes and ears and begin by listening to the stories of others. Can we grow a stronger South African story? Do we know what this often overused yet misunderstood hashtag really means: #StrongerTogether?
I’m not sure; but for now I will choose to remain hopeful.