By Helen Lieberman, Founder and Honorary President of Ikamva Labantu.

Contrary to what many choose to believe, retirement in Cape Town is no breeze – at least for those living in the townships. Hundreds of thousands of frail seniors spend their days alone in small (and often, unsafe) homes, unable to access transport or medication, vulnerable to crime and abuse, and in desperate need of support.

And the problem is only going to get worse. South Africa’s ageing population is growing, with WHO estimating that it will double by 2050, reaching over 10 million older persons. This rise in the ageing population will have implications on the economy, healthcare and social security, adding pressure to already overburdened systems.

In his opening remarks at the ANC’s 106^th anniversary in January this year, President Ramaphosa recognised elder abuse as a societal problem that needs urgent attention, saying: ‘Gender-based violence and violence against other vulnerable groups such as children, the elderly, people with disabilities and members of the LGBTQI community is a scourge that needs to be eradicated.’

But older persons should not only be lumped together with all other vulnerable groups – they need and deserve special attention and focussed support. After all, no one is immune to the effects of ageing.

In my daily work at Ikamva Labantu, where we care for older persons in Cape Town both at day clubs and in their homes, I have come across cases that are a blight on the whole country.

There is the man who suffered a stroke and had nothing to sleep on but a cardboard box in a one-room shack. Unable to walk, he would pull himself across the floor, grazing his skin and bruising his bones as he moved. Nozamile (not her real name) is 95 years old, has arthritis and suffers from incontinence. She is left alone most of the day. Another 60-year-old woman, bedridden and starving, has attempted suicide three times.

Then there are those who do not have IDs and cannot access the social grants that they are entitled to. And those who have had legs amputated due to diabetes, but have no access to a wheelchair or walking aid. And the grandmothers who walk for hours to collect their pension, only to spend it on supporting their family, or worse – only for it to be stolen by their own grandchildren. In some of the most gut-wrenching cases, these grandmothers also suffer sexual abuse and rape at the hands of their own children and grandchildren.

These are not cherry-picked cases – this is the daily reality for thousands of senior citizens. Those who should be living out their later years stress-free and cared for, are instead suffering the indignity that a life in poverty gives rise to. Moreover, those who lived the bulk of their life under apartheid, who bore the brunt of the struggle and sacrificed so much in the fight for freedom, are now living in devastating conditions with no reward or recognition for their contribution to a democratic South Africa.

Tragically, the plight of South Africa’s elderly is largely invisible. How much do our elders need to suffer before we take notice? And more importantly, before we take action? My work in Cape Town’s townships has taught me that community-based problems require community-driven solutions. NGOs, government and the private sector need to work together with communities to facilitate these solutions and to support them in the drive for change.

Through violence, neglect, and isolation, the voice of the elderly in this country has been reduced to a meek whisper. Let’s help to amplify it.

Instead of splashing out on #BlackFriday, Ikamva Labantu is encouraging the public to use their money to make a difference with #GivingTuesday on 27 November.

Ikamva Labantu provides care, companionship, and support to over 1,000 senior citizens in Cape Town’s townships through senior clubs and home-based care. Our seniors receive health checks and take part in various activities from outdoor exercises to income-generation projects; they also receive two warm meals every day. But these clubs close over the festive season, allowing the club staff to spend Christmas with their families.

Over this time, elderly club members will be at home and will have to provide food for themselves and their families. This can be a huge financial burden for the elderly, who are often breadwinners in their family, feeding children and grandchildren with money from their monthly pension of just R1,600.

To relieve this burden, we want to give these seniors a Christmas food hamper to take home over the festive season. We are calling on the public to brighten up a senior’s Christmas by donating R150 towards a food hamper.

Donate to support seniors in need.

In 1957, Mandisa’s husband passed away and she was left alone to care for their four children in Lady Frere, Eastern Cape. There were very few jobs in her village and Mandisa had no option but to try and find work in Cape Town so that she could support her family. She knew that it would be almost impossible to get a pass that would allow her to live and work in Cape Town, and that if the police stopped her without a pass, they would send her back to the Eastern Cape. “I was so frightened but I needed to get a job so that I could feed my children,” Mandisa says.

Working without a pass was difficult, too. “You had to walk from door to door. Some people were sympathetic, they were the good ones, and they would listen to your story and give you a job without a pass. But they were also scared of the police. When they employed you, they told you that you mustn’t answer the door in case the police come.”

One day, Mandisa was walking back from work when a big yellow police van stopped her. The police arrested her because she did not have a pass. “I was the first person to be picked up, so they drove around for a long time looking for other people to arrest. When the police van was full, they took us all to the police station.” That night, Mandisa and the other prisoners had to sleep sitting up. She was not able to contact her family and they did not know what had happened to her. In the morning, the prisoners were taken to court. “It was very full in the court. But everyone was there for the same crime: not having the right pass. I was given a fine and told that I had three days to leave the Western Cape and go back to my village.”

In court, Mandisa met a woman who reassured her that she would be okay and encouraged her to stay in Cape Town. “She told me to keep running and hiding and doing whatever I needed to do for my children. If I lose a job, then I must find another one. If I get arrested, then I must hide again. This woman motivated me to keep fighting for my family. I threw away the letter that said that I had to return to the Eastern Cape and I went back to work.”

But for many years, Mandisa struggled to find work. She had been employed by a French family but when they found out that she didn’t have a pass, they asked her to leave. “They said that I must go because otherwise, their family would get into trouble. They said: ‘We need to save ourselves so you have to go.’ It was very painful.”

In 1977, 20 years after her husband died, Mandisa found a job at Nazareth House. She had heard that there may be a seamstress job there and she went to see them. “They gave me a basket of unfinished products and asked me to complete them. At the end of the day, they came to see my work and they gave me the job. This was the first time in my life that I felt rested. I felt that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. After 20 years of hardship, the people at Nazareth House helped me to get my pass. I was free. I worked with them until 1999.”

Mandisa lives in Khayelitsha, where she is provided with home-based care from Ikamva Labantu’s field workers, or “Umelwanes”. Our Umelwane programme provides support and companionship to senior citizens who are unable to attend our day clubs due to frailty or poor health. Mandisa is one of over 1,000 seniors who has received home-based care through Ikamva Labantu.

By donating R150 a month, you can provide an elderly citizen like Mandisa with basic needs, support and companionship.

Donate to support seniors in need.

Warning: This story contains descriptions of child mortality that some readers may find disturbing.

It was the ‘70s and a young Sylvia* and her family were living in Nyanga East. It was a time when strict pass laws were in place, and the family’s movements were heavily restricted, affecting where they could live and work. Her family did not have the right passbooks for Nyanga, so Sylvia’s father dug a large hole in the middle of their small house for the family to hide in when the police came to check their passes.

One night, the police were checking passes in Sylvia’s community and they came to her family’s home. Sylvia was nine months pregnant at the time and she was too slow to climb into the into the hole that her father had built. The police saw that she did not have the correct pass, and they arrested her.

19 years old and terrified, Sylvia was taken to the court in Cape Town where she was sentenced to three months in prison. They sent her to a hospital ward cell for pregnant women.

“I entered and heard the key turning in the lock as the door closed behind me,” she recalls. “The first thing that I saw in the cell was several dead babies at the foot of their mothers’ beds.” Sylvia soon learnt that the mortuary only came once a week to collect the babies who did not survive birth, so the mothers in the cell were forced to live with the dead bodies of their children until the next collection.

Heavily pregnant, Sylvia knew it was only a matter of time before she went into labour. With no nurses or doctors around, she was scared for her own life and for the life of her unborn child. “Another woman in the cell told me that she would help me when I started going into labour – but then she said that I would have to pay her first. I didn’t know who I could trust.”

When her first contractions came, Sylvia took herself to the bath. She made sure to keep very quiet so as not to draw attention to herself. “I sat in the bath and I prayed to God, I told him ‘You are the only one who can help me now.’” Sylvia stayed in the bath for as long as possible but the baby did not come. She decided to return to bed and soon after, she gave birth to a baby boy.

There was no way to cut the umbilical cord and the door was locked, so they could not call for a nurse. One of the women in the cell climbed onto the back of another woman and shouted for help through a small hole in the ceiling. Eventually, they heard footsteps. A nurse came in, cut the umbilical cord and left. “I will never forget the sound of the key in the door as she walked away,” says Sylvia.

Sylvia’s son, now 51 years old, survived the birth but he has been left with severe developmental challenges. “I do not know if this was caused by the birth, or maybe because I was unable to breastfeed,” she says. For the first two months of her son’s life, Sylvia was only able to feed him water and half-cooked mielie meal.

Sylvia’s son is very vulnerable as a result of his developmental challenges and even though he is a grown man, he is an easy target for gangs. “My son has had to be supervised for his whole life. Today, he cannot be left unattended because he likes to wander away from home.”

If Sylvia wants to leave the house or come to the senior club, her daughter must stay home to watch him. “I am so worried about him. I am 75 years old now – what will happen when I am no longer here to look after him?”

Sylvia attends the Masibambane Senior Club daily, where she is provided with two warm meals, healthcare and counselling services, income-generation projects and recreational activities. She is one of over 1,000 seniors who attend Ikamva Labantu’s senior clubs.

*Real names have not been used.

By donating R300 a month, you can provide an elderly citizen like Sylvia with daily meals & safe transport to our clubs.

Donate to support seniors in need.

“In 1976, I was working as a domestic worker in Cape Town when my employer told me that there was trouble in the townships and that I should go home. The schoolchildren were protesting and the police were beating and killing them. My daughter was just 6 years old at the time and I was worried about her, so I left to go find her. When I arrived home, I was so relieved to find her safe inside. She made me laugh because even though she was so young, she was dressed up and shouting ‘Black power! I am ready to fight!’ My daughter was like me – she believed in fighting for freedom.

I grew up in Nyanga when the pass laws were very strict. We couldn’t even move from one township to another without a permit. The government wanted to divide us. At night, the police would go door-to-door to check our passes. I was 15 years old and people around me had started to throw away their passes in protest. The police retaliated by sending some people back to the Transkei, arresting and even killing others. They called us monkeys. I threw my own pass book away three years later. I said ‘no more!’.

I took part in a lot of protests but there is one night that I will never forget. The police came to my community and they burnt down all the houses. Many people were killed and shot. It was a terrible night. We lost our home and everything we owned – and because we had no rights, we didn’t know where we could go next. For a while, I slept on the floor of a church with my children, until my family could fix up my house again.

Many of my family members were killed in the struggle. My cousin was an activist in exile for a long time. When he came back, the police found him. They called our whole family together and then they killed him in front of us. I knew that I could never stop fighting for our freedom because of my family members who died in the struggle.

Kholiswa sits with fellow members of the Masincendiswe senior club in Khayelitsha.

Years went by and Mandela was released. I watched his speech on my black and white TV and I hung on to his every word. We were so excited to vote. We didn’t not understand this voting thing but we were excited, whatever it was! On the day, we were dressed and ready to vote at 4am! It was an exciting day. Everything was new. Mandela won. The ANC won. We won. And we felt relief.

Mandela served us very well. But today, our leaders have forgotten that it was us that put them there. It was us that also fought. South Africa is not what Mandela fought for now and it is not what we fought for. It is not what we thought it would be.

Our people are still living in very small houses. They say we are free but we do not feel free. There is no progress or success and there is still so much poverty. I do not even feel safe in my own home. When I come home from the senior club, I lock myself in my house because the gangsters know that I live alone. I am not free from the crime and I find it hard to trust the police. When you are a grandmother living alone, you are a target. We still have hope that things will get better. We still have hope. We will never throw in the towel.”

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Kholiswa Zwana attends the Masincendiswe Senior Club daily, where she is provided with two warm meals, healthcare and counselling services, income-generation projects, recreational activities and companionship. She is one of over 1,000 seniors who attend Ikamva Labantu’s senior clubs.

By donating R300 a month, you can provide an elderly citizen like Kholiswa with daily meals & safe transport to our clubs.