Johannesburg, 18 March 2008
by Godknows Nare,
Source: The Star
http://www.thestar.co.za/?fSectionId=3268&fArticleId=vn20080318081856613C679001
My name is Godknows Nare and I am from Zimbabwe. I have never worked on a farm before. Yet for the next few days I am going to pose as a farmworker on South Africa’s northernmost border near Musina. My mission is to find out if all the stories about the exploitation of illegal Zimbabwean farmworkers are true.
I arrive in Musina on a Monday. I am nervous. To ward off any suspicions, I have transformed myself into an authentic border-jumper desperate for a job. I stopped taking showers or combing my hair. I look a mess.
I take to the streets of Musina to hear people’s opinions. I find it strange that many of the people on the streets are unemployed when employment seems to be in abundance on the farms. The belief held by many of the unemployed South Africans living in this area is that working on farms is exclusively reserved for Zimbabweans, who, farmers claim, work very long hours for little money and under unfavourable conditions.
“These people take advantage of Zimbabweans because they don’t have papers (correct legal documents),” says Charles Makushu, a youth community forum chairperson.
My mission soon becomes personal as I realise that, as a Zimbabwean, I too am the subject of their hatred and exploitation – or should I call it xenophobia.
As we drive along the border we are given a taste of life on these farms. My heart immediately goes out to some women whose already difficult conditions are worsened by having to work with babies on their backs.
We stop to ask for directions, and the farmworkers are like zombies, programmed not to speak, let alone look at us. We persist in getting their attention, but our only success at any communication is an incoherent mumbling.
The next day we journey to Mopani, about 40km south of Musina and situated off the tarred road. The board at the entrance says Delft Farm, and we walk up the driveway timidly towards the farmhouse. “Out of my compound, no job!” is the rude and insulting scream that pierces the air.
I look up to see where the voice comes from, and a white man peers through the window. All those stories of people (especially farm labourers) being mistaken for baboons and shot at, bitten and killed run through my mind. We scurry off the farm.
While standing at the side of the road, a dusty white bakkie comes to a halt beside us. In the driver’s seat is a white man and on the back of the bakkie sits a black man. We later learn that he is a foreman. The driver signals for us to jump on. No questions asked. Along the way, the black foreman asks workers on the other farms if there are other people looking for work, and tells them to refer those job-seekers to his farm.
At the farm gate, people rush to the bakkie. All except one woman are told to jump on. The woman, referred to as a “senior citizen”, is accused of demanding too much money.
After a few kilometres we reach the tomato fields, where other workers are already busy in the fields. None of the workers look up when we get off the bakkie. After a short discussion, the black foreman dishes out instructions in Shona, a clear indication that most, if not all, of the labourers were Zimbabwean.
We are told how we must go about picking the tomatoes and the number of crates we have to fill. There is no mention of how much we’re getting paid, and I muster up the courage to ask. R14 a day, I’m told. Disbelief and shock block my hearing. I need to hear that again, but he just continues and says we should also expect to sleep “like soldiers”. We are given mealie meal, which is expected to last us for the whole month, and for relish we have to depend on the tomatoes we pick in the fields.
Our shift is supposed to end at 5pm, but I am told that today is different. There is a lorry parked next to us that must be filled to the brim with tomatoes, which must reach Joburg by tomorrow morning. This means that we are going to be required to work until 10pm. Those who fill up more than 10 crates with tomatoes are eligible for a permanent job, or so we’re told.
The following day we continue our journey on foot. We speak to countless workers, foremen and drivers, who all repeat the same story. The wages range from R10 to R20 per day, nothing more than that.
I spot a group of women who just got paid and notice their disappointment. I take a look at their payslips, and see why. Their wages range from a mere R200 to R400 for the whole month. In most cases, there are also deductions for items bought on credit during the month. All of these payslips are way below the legislated amount of R5,07 per hour or R1 094 a month.
The farmers are well aware of the conditions that these people flee from, yet they shamelessly capitalise on the workers’ desperation to survive. The tragedy of it all is that while the economic chaos continues in my country, migrant workers will continue to cross the border looking for work, exposing themselves to exploitation by unscrupulous South African farmers.
Godknows Nare’s exposé of the exploitation of Zimbabwean migrants can be seen at 9.30pm today on Special Assignment on SABC3.
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