Working class issues and middle class concerns

The obsession with race and class in South Africa always leaves me with questions, usually on the brink of an existential crises. I identify with being a poor South African mostly because of the family history and schizophrenic childhood I had and I identify with the privilege few South Africans have mostly because of the education I’ve received in former “white” institutions such as Rhodes and a 12 year education at Clarendon (a school for girls in East London).

What does this really mean though and why does it matter?
Coming from a poor family (both in terms of income and education) means my family has always aspired to move up the echelons of success which has mostly meant benefiting from a good education and quiet suburbs. So we moved to a school in the suburbs and soon realised that we couldn’t afford to be there. Because the school was a public school, my sister and I were never “kicked out” of the school and so we benefited from the better half of South Africa’s education system premised on a history of privilege for white people in South Africa. Like many peers across South Africa, I was that kid who never seemed to fit in; with white parents always commenting about how I speak so well…that I’m not like other black people.
Going back home, I was aware of our lack where my mother didn’t work and my dad brought home about R500 a week working in a factory on the outskirts of the suburb we had moved to. At school I mastered the middle-class code because I had access to a library at school and in walking distance to where we stayed (note: not “home” but a place we simply stayed). This exposed me to reading and books that allowed my English pronunciation to get better while I was in a school that privileged learners who were articulate. Part of mastering the middle-class code at school meant being exposed to friends’ homes when I went to sleepovers (no-one ever came to sleep over at my “house”). When I went to Lauren’s house I slept in the spare bedroom, but when I went home, I slept on a single bed mattress with my sister on the floor(the first time I had my own room was in Grade 12 when I was in the hostel where it was a matric privilege to have a single room). When I walked into Katy’s house, her bathroom was bigger than the room I shared with my family. I always knew the new South Africa was very problematic.

Come high school, the question was never about whether I was going to varsity or not. I was streamlined into classes where the conversations were about “which varsity are you going to? Wits, UCT, Rhodes or UJ?”. I applied for NSFAS and came to Rhodes, not because I could afford to, but because that was the expected step given that my family had supported me through an education at a school where an exemption was a given.

Throughout this process, I had the best of both worlds; an understanding of the consequences of apartheid. When I looked at the options my family had and some cousins who had remained in township schools, I knew what it meant to be privileged in South Africa. Privilege was always about speaking like a white person. People still acknowledge me based on the accent that I have. Sometimes it’s empowering and sometimes it isn’t. Just last week, I had someone tell me I don’t “sound” like a Xhosa-speaking person. She interrogated me about my family and the person would have been shocked that I know my clan names, maternal and paternal. I’m still asked if I’m black and often told that I look Coloured (I’m never sure if that’s a compliment or not). Last week I was in a panel at Fort Hare University listening to research proposals. In a room of 15 people, a friend and I were the only 2 Black people, this is a university in the new South Africa.

And why does this matter? At face value I am Black and angered by the past, but I know my future is different because I’m in a position of privilege not only because of my education but because the agency I have as someone socialised in a confusing country where privilege is about class and race. I have middle class concerns about low GI bread and whether I should sign up to the gym or not, but at the same time, I am financially insecure: I can’t call my parents and ask for a loan if my scholarship money runs out and my rent is due because my parents are still poor; I am my parents’ pension fund. We don’t own property or even a bond; we’ve been renting other people’s houses for as long as I can remember. So everyday it feels like I’m caught in the crossfire trying to figure out the questions of how best to live in South Africa amidst all the questions of white guilt and black anger or amnesia.


barefootmeds said…
"echelons"- everytime I read your blog you broaden my vocabulary.
"I am my parents' pension fund" - and every time you broaden my insight, too.
By the way, you inspired me in school although I didn't know your story.
Clea said…
"Crossfire" is a brilliant way of putting it. I think all of us (well, everyone who tries to be aware) is caught in this crossfire. Its hard to know how we can act for the good of ourselves as well as for our families, our communities and those who many would consider outside "our" communities. I know, though, that writing helps...somehow.

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