Chris McGreal
Christina Momoza was relying on her 15 children to provide for her in retirement. Over the years nine of them died, and her four remaining daughters married. But Momoza could count on her two surviving sons.
They worked in the gold mines near Johannesburg and sent money every month. Then last year her “boys” returned to their rural Transkei village, the latest victims of a mass redundancy.
Now Momoza’s pitiful pension is the main source of income for three generations of her family.
She is not alone. Entire villages in the former Transkei homeland are relying on old- age pensions to survive because tens of thousands of miners have been discarded by the gold fields in recent years.
Now a new bout of redundancies and misery is in train because the Bank of England’s gold sale and plans by the big economic powers to use gold to fund debt relief have driven the price of bullion to a 20-year low.
About a third of South Africa’s 16 gold mines say they cannot stay in business long at the present price of about 166 an ounce.
Six have sought permission to lay off nearly 20 000 workers. The owner of the deepest shaft, East Rand Proprietary Mines (ERPM), has already gone into provisional liquidation.
But the mines began shedding jobs long before the present crisis.
More than 100 000 workers have been dismissed in the past three years, with devastating consequences for entire communities in South Africa and some neighbouring countries.
Many of those facing redundancy have worked in the mines for decades.
As black men, they were humiliated, abused and in some cases worked to death for pitifully low wages.
But the money fed many mouths in villages distant from the mines. One South African miner’s wage directly supports about 10 people, and helps provide a livelihood for the fruit and beer sellers and prostitutes who do business at the migrant labour hostels.
About 1 000 of the ERPM miners facing dismissal are from the Transkei.
Simbongile Kamtshe, an official of the Transkei Land Services Organisation, says the redundancies are tearing the social fabric of the region every bit as much as apartheid.
“There are households where absolutely nobody is working. Sometimes I go into a house and I don’t like to ask when they last ate. It’s very pathetic. It contributes to a rise in crime. Alcoholism is increasing.”
There is a boom in loan sharks charging exorbitant interest, he said. “It is the women who are bearing the brunt. They have to feed the children. Women try to find casual or piece jobs, but they don’t earn more than about R20 a day. Some families try and cope by pulling the older children out of school and sending them to work.”
Six members of Momoza’s immediate family have lost their jobs on the mines. She is raising her three grandchildren – aged from seven months to five years – while her sons and their wives look for work in Johannesburg and Cape Town. They have been searching for nearly two years.
“I’m so worried about what will happen if I die. The children are dependent on my pension. I only get R500 a month, but it’s enough for some food.
“The family next door has eight children. They were looked after by their grandmother. Then she died, and the children are suffering extreme hunger. We give them food, but we do not have enough for ourselves.
“Their two boys were pulled out of school to herd cattle in return for food, but all the children are suffering very badly.”
Momoza raises a few extra rand from what she calls her “sowing project” – a vegetable patch she cultivates with other women. But the land is poor and there has not been much rain.
Another pensioner, Euphrasia Vuthela, has an added burden. Her mentally disabled granddaughter was attending a special boarding school in the Transkei capital, Umtata. The family can no longer afford the R150-a-month fees, so Vuthela has taken on the difficult task of caring for her.
Momoza and her neighbours are not without hope. If their sons cannot go to the mines, perhaps the mines can come to them.
There is much talk in the village about the black rock which glistens on the surrounding hills each time it rains. They believe – they pray – that it is coal.
“We need someone to explore those unusual deposits on the hill. There must be something there. Someone must invest and create jobs,” Momoza said.