Piece-Jobs

By Louis Solomon Jeevanantham

Piece Jobs is a collection of fictional short stories
which looks at the, very real, everyday life of the marginalised. This body of work focuses on the notion of what it must be like to live from hand to mouth and what an individual would do in order to survive life in Johannesburg. It isn’t always pretty but it also isn’t always bad-very much life. Piece Jobs attempts to open the readers eyes to those unseen people among us and offers up a raw but still humans look into the world of the “jobless”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Louis Solomon Jeevanantham
• Release date: Feb 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9780620707107

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Piece-Jobs

Piece-Jobs

Louis Solomon Jeevanantham

Copyright © 2017 Louis Solomon Jeevanantham

Published by Louis Solomon Jeevanantham Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Author using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Printed and bound by Novus Print Solutions

Edited by Derek Awkins for Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.co.za

E-mail: [e-mail]

Cover designed by: Abel Siminya

Cover photo taken by: Vernon Reed

Table of Contents

A Surprise

‘Springbok’

Father Christmas

It Tastes the Same

The Graduate

Glossary of Terms

1

A Surprise

To the unsuspecting and ignorant passerby, the shadowy figures perched at the sides of the road could form part of the terrain, so fixed had they become in their motionless patience and so absorbed and rendered traceless by their surroundings. To those who passed on the road regularly, the even profile of the landscape was given relief by the presence of these figures: faceless men who sat there day after day, hoping that some generous passerby would offer them the opportunity of employment.

Just down the road, about twenty-five metres away, stood the white man with a board announcing his indigence. His attempts at eliciting a social response had moved to the level of the social conscience, because he now carried his placard in one hand as the other was used to support him on a single crutch. Perhaps he reasoned that the people who passed him in their cars would take pity on him because not only was he poor, but he also had the additional handicap of being incapacitated through being injured. I wondered if this was genuine or a pretence, and if it was a pretence, how long he would continue it.

I mused over the predicaments of the two different sets of people in need. The one group was black and poor and the other white and poor. The black people and the white person were products of their social systems. The black men were prepared to do anything - yes anything - to make some money for the day to ensure that they would not starve. The white man had decided that he would depend on the generosity of the people who passed by on the road to ensure his survival.

I evaluated the two positions and came up with the answer that the white guy was actually better off, for three reasons: he wasn’t in competition with anybody, he didn’t have to do any actual work and he would inevitably get some money. Unlike the black guys, who were in competition with others and were expected to do anything to ensure that they made some money, since they would not get paid if they did not work.

I pitied both instances of the poor. I thought that I knew what it must mean to the white guy to be standing at a set of traffic lights begging for money. He dignified his act by writing on a board to inform the public of the legitimacy of his position, but it still took courage and great humility. After all, only a few years ago he was placed in the racially superior group in South Africa. He must have been humble, brave, desperate and humiliated. The black predicament seemed more acceptable. Black poverty is the norm in South Africa, so black begging is accepted as normal.

I then mused over the predicament of the white man again. I have always stated that it takes a special calibre of uselessness on the part of white people to end up as this guy had. When one takes into consideration all the structures that had been put in place by the apartheid government to ensure that there was no white poverty, this guy and thousands like him had failed against all the odds that were stacked in their favour. It was truly amazing, but nevertheless pitiable.

Just then a bakkie pulled up at the roadside and the scramble began. From every conceivable direction hordes of job-seekers converged on the bakkie. Some jumped onto the back without knowing whether they were going to secure employment or not. Others went up to the cab to place themselves in front of the driver. He got out of the van and carefully inspected the prospective employees, for God knows what. He was a middle-aged man dressed in a floral short-sleeve shirt, with a pair of khaki shorts, knee-length socks and bush shoes, and looked like the typical farmer type, although his business could have been anything. He was tall and dwarfed the men who surrounded him. A lightly bearded face tapered into a chin that protruded slightly from the vertical plane of his face. His hair was neatly cropped and parted down the left side. Piercing blue eyes were emphasised against his ruddy complexion. Beneath his left eye there was a scar, which had faded with time.

After about ten seconds he came to his decision. He pointed to a slender man who hardly seemed suitable for the rigours of manual labour. A thin man, very poorly dressed, jumped onto the back of the bakkie. The rest of the group, numbering about twenty, sauntered off to their waiting places. The driver returned to his bakkie and drove off.

Jacob - not his given name - had left home early that morning in the hope of securing a piece-job. He was over the moon. At least, at the end of the day, he would have some money to feed himself. He had taken along nothing to eat for that day, as he had no money. He had walked a long distance to seat himself at the side of the road, as he had done each morning for the last three years, ever since he came from the Eastern Cape to seek a better life in Gauteng. This was his better life! In the Eastern Cape he faced starvation on a daily basis. Here he found jobs from time to time that kept him going.

When he left home that morning he told nobody where he was going. There was nobody to tell. Jacob had lost contact with his family in the Eastern Cape. The last time that he had spoken to them was when he was leaving. He promised that he would visit them regularly, keep in contact and send home money after he found a job. None of this had happened, but he did not think about it and, even if he did, it would not bug him as his sole objective was survival, something he had succeeded in doing over the last three years.

The bakkie drove along a highway and moved further and further away from the built-up areas. They were travelling in the direction of Vereeniging. Jacob didn’t know this. All he knew was that he was travelling to a job. Where this was, was immaterial. He would do anything, anywhere, as long as he got his money at the end of the day.

Having travelled for about twenty minutes, the bakkie pulled off onto the side of the road. The driver leaned out and invited Jacob to come and sit in the front. Jacob willingly complied. At least this would protect him from the harsh, morning sun. It was very hot on