Primrose, a middle-class suburb in the east of Johannesburg, was one of the areas hardest hit by the xenophobic attacks that began three weeks ago.
The neighbourhood’s Primula Street — usually quiet and calm — was packed with thousands of refugees seeking shelter from the violence. Some of them slept on the streets, meaning residents had to find alternative routes to get to and from work.
Three weeks later, life is slowly returning to normal.
Normal means conforming to a standard; a usual, typical or expected way of living or being. To most South Africans this means waking up taking a warm shower or bath followed by a hot breakfast before rushing off to work.
For the displaced foreigners living at Primrose Park next to the Primrose police station, however, normal means waking up in a 4mx5m white tent next to nine or 10 other people and queuing for bread and tea among thousands.
Men stand outside their tents, washing themselves using buckets of water in full view of everyone. In the past, children could run and play on the park’s lawns; now fatigued youths sleep on the sun-baked ground outside the tents to keep warm.
Pregnant women, mothers with sick children, and the elderly queue outside the Primrose Methodist church, where a makeshift clinic has been set up. Every 30 minutes the clinic lets in at least another three to five people.
Skhumbuzo Ndiweni, a mother of four from Zimbabwe, has a small table piled with snacks, sweets, cigarettes, candles, matches and other essentials near the park entrance. She wakes up early every morning to set up her table, and starts selling from 6am.
”I used to have a tuck shop where I sold some of the things you see here. After the attacks I was left with nothing except the clothes on my back. I took my last R200 and bought some stock. I set up this table and started selling immediately,” she says.
Children buy packets of chips and sweets; men purchase cigarettes and matches. However, Ndiweni says business has not been good. ”I used to make so much more money, back at my tuck shop, but here people have no money, so I do not make nearly enough to live.”
Next to Ndiweni, two men are selling snacks, cigarettes and fruits. They also run a few community pay phones. Volunteers from the community and foreigners living in the camp use the phones to call their employers, friends and family in their home countries.
Dereio Arthur (21), a Mozambican, says he also used to run a business in an informal settlement where violence erupted. He has since moved his business to Primrose Park.
Elsa Mussoho (28), also Mozambican, plaits Arthur’s hair while he serves his customers. She had a salon that was destroyed and now continues to work with what she has left. ”I do at least four people a day. Without any electricity I can only plait hair. I cannot relax or treat people’s hair.”
The traders say they will continue doing business no matter where they go. ”I love selling,” Ndiweni says, her face lighting up. Mussoho agrees: ”I want to find a room that I can rent so I can continue my business. I love what I do.”
The Primrose Superspar, located 100m from one of the informal settlements where the attacks started, saw thousands of people sleeping outside its doors when the attacks began. ”People ran here as they felt safer around here. Women with children came screaming in fear to hide out here. As the day went on, more and more people came, men and women fleeing the attacks,” says a store manager who asks not to be identified.
For days, scores of people slept on the streets of Primrose and outside businesses like the Superspar where they felt safer. Some businesses had to close completely for a few days as customers were too scared to come into the area, or because their employees could not come to work, fearing their homes would be burnt in their absence.
Hundreds of residents have been helping the foreigners, buying food and donating clothes to those living at Primrose Park.
”The community has been taking such great care of us. People come in and clean every morning, the toilets are cleaned every day and we get three meals a day. The clothes I am wearing now and all the clothes I have was given to me by people from the community who come in here every day. I know the South Africans are good people, I love them and I know they love us,” says Ndiweni.
At Pick n Pay, residents buy cans of cooldrink and bread to donate to the refugees. A teacher and two students from Bishop Bavin School queue to pay for loaves of bread and tinned food that they will donate. Since the beginning of the attacks, the school has been providing food, clothes and blankets — as well as ”girl stuff”, such as sanitary towels.
King David High School in Linksfield donated R3 500-worth of sandwiches along with short notes of encouragement written by its students. The school also helped collect toys, clothing, blankets and tinned food from the community, which it donated to displaced people living at the Primrose City Hall.
Stephanie Frerk, a coordinator working with the Primrose Methodist church, says that buses have since Monday been arriving to pick up those who are keen to return to their home countries. ”We are seeing the numbers [of displaced] starting to drop this week as more buses come to take people home.”
Jerry Mbambo, from Mozambique, has sent his wife home, but he is staying. ”This is something that will pass,” he says. ”We shouldn’t get disheartened by it.”
Ndiweni agrees: ”Things may go wrong sometimes, but later on they do come right.”