Wolves, Witches, Giants and Giant Slayers

I used to sit eagerly in front of the television set every Sunday morning. The blinking black and white images were always a source of entertainment for me. But even more so on this particular day. Legs crossed. Eyes glued to the screen.

My favourite show would be on in a few seconds. Finally, my patience throughout the week would be rewarded.

‘Wolves, Witches and Giants’, it was called. A classic cartoon, which was the only remedy to get my mischievous self sitting still even for 10 minutes. The episodes never disappointed. There always was a happy ending, and, even though the wolf and the witch were difficult to get rid of, a giant slayer would eliminate the giant together with the wolf and witch and retain the hope of the people in this village.

After watching, I’d feel a renewed sense of optimism for the next episode. One should forgive me for not drawing any life lessons from it. After all, it was a cartoon featuring fairy tale creatures (except for witches which are a reality, particularly in African communities). My grandmother used to call these cartoons ‘zvidhori’. Dolls. Nothing could highlight the insignificance of these cartoons more than that.

Meeting Moses in the shanty township of DRC, Swakopmund, for some reason conjures up these memories of me, slightly younger than Moses at the time, slouched in front of the television set every Sunday.

We have had different upbringings; we are of different generations with different realities. We are from different countries altogether. But somehow I feel an instant connection with him the moment we engage in a very basic conversation.

“I am eight years old,” he says confidently as he picks up the ball which had rolled out of play. I immediately take note of his brownish-red T-shirt scribbled with charcoal on the back – the name ‘Ronaldo’ and the number ‘7’ inscribed on it. I make nothing of it. “Childhood creativity,” I tell myself.

These children in the DRC settlement play football on this field nearly every day for recreation.

At this point, it is evident I have disrupted the heated football match that Moses was playing with his peers. Soon, I am surrounded by a dozen football stars, ages ranging from anywhere between six and 11 years. This is their playground. Football field, I should say. It is a large patch of grit and gravel with the goal posts marked by more heaps of grit and gravel. Their bare feet seem to have evolved and reinvented themselves to adjust to what seems to be a daily routine on this impossible surface.

What fascinates me about Moses is how his peers, even those older than him, seem to give him the status of ‘leader of the pack’. In his defence, he surely acts the part and the role suits him. Perhaps it’s the old childhood law that says ‘the owner of the ball decides how things play out on the playground’ that gives him that status. I am not taking anything away from his character by suggesting this.

“Yes, we come here every day,” says Moses, confirming it is, indeed, a daily routine. “Sometimes when we don’t go to school or when it is a holiday, we meet here and play all day. We only stop when our parents call us to eat.”

Having taken a stroll around the community earlier, I am aware of the struggles the residents face daily. They have limited water supply and no municipal electricity for the majority of the residents. Crime and violence are sewn into the fabric of this community. Regardless of their tender ages, these children cannot be oblivious to all these ailments their parents, and themselves, are facing.

I look at society in the modern day as a theatrical stage, hiring people to play different roles in life. Sadly, it seems as though this community has been hired to play the victim.

With that said, playing football all day, every day starts to make more sense than before…

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