TO A TIN SHACK
A visit to a savings scheme
meeting in Lamontville
And in South Africa?
In the South African federation, there is no exchange visit, no meeting
and no gathering - in no matter how inhospitable a situation - without
singing.
Here are one observer’s thoughts about the power of these songs, from
an exchange visit to a squatter settlement just outside Durban :
The poor in South Africa have suffered generations of poverty and
homelessness, centuries of being forced into the slavery of bonded work
and divided by color, thought and creed.
But their communities were not destroyed by apartheid - and they are now
being built and strengthened around fighting for hoses, land finance -
through housing savings schemes.
The enormous volume of exchange visits within the South African Homeless
People’s Federation involve many activities and take many forms, but
one element that is always there is song.
The clouds darkened and bolts of lightning cracked the sky. We were
directed to the top of the hill, where a large shack doubles as church
and community hall. Over fifty women and men were waiting for us quietly
in the half light, but broke into energetic song as soon as we entered.
The elder women ululated and shook outstretched hands so their beads
rattled. Their song marshaled other members of the community, and the
gathering swelled to over 100 people.
The meeting was charged with spontaneous enthusiasm. Every speaker
was heralded with Federation slogans, shouted so loudly that it drowned
out the rattle of rain on the corrugated iron roof. Speeches were
punctuated with wonderful songs, and songs expanded into toyi-toyi,
which shook that little shack to the rafters. Like all groups in the
South African federation, members of Lamontville’s savings scheme have
made up their own lyrics and set them to familiar tunes.
These women in Lamontville live in their language.
It’s not information that their words convey, it’s authentic
experience.
Their words play, they celebrate life, they speak in the pure poetry of
their own history.
Even their most heartrendingly sad hymns are an affirmation of the
wonder of being alive.
We sat singing, swaying and clapping as the women danced. Here was
liberated language, breaking all the rules. In that shack on the hill,
with the wind howling and the rain pelting down we recaptured music,
gestures, longings, dreams.
To those in power, these kinds of dreams are
problematic, even dangerous, since it is in the nature of dreams that
they can never be guaranteed by bureaucrats, bonded by bankers or
transformed into commodities by developers.
The songs of the women in Lamontville, like all the savings schemes,
are made to create direct communication, reciprocal recognition by all
members of this national collective. The sun went down, but the singing
and dancing continued. This was poetry and development in practice.
