By Thakira Desai

With the sound of the athan echoing from masaajid, Muslims throughout the Cape break their fast in harmonious scenes of family bonding, but this is not the reality for every fasting person. It’s a different story for the homeless people of Cape Town, who against the harsh elements, face an even greater struggle of the physical and inner jihad.

VOC News ventured to former District Six, where we spoke to Muslims observing the auspicious month while braving the difficulties of life on the street.

Hidden in burrows in the remnants of the historical area, young men and women find themselves amongst the rubble of a destroyed community in eye shot of the bright city lights. But life on the street is not a choice made easily.

There are many reasons why young Muslims choose a life on the street, forcing them to make the most of Ramadan as they brace the bitter cold of the winter night.

Sulaiman’s harrowing story of rape and neglect 

We spoke to Suleiman, a young man who after being raped by his foster brother from the age of five until the age of eight, discovered that the only escape for him, was to find solace on the street.

“I grew up in Manenberg from the age of two years old and then when the storm came in 1999 everything changed. I was raped and abused – from there my life was damaged.”

Sulaiman is unable to forget the traumatic experience, living each day with immense anger. It was the very first time that he has shared his traumatic experience of rape and abuse. Sulaiman says he does not possess the strength to face the man who has changed the course of his life.

“I know this person, but I can’t face him, because if I must face him I will kill him. I can’t tell my family about this, because they are all gangsters and they will kill him – honestly they will kill him. That’s why I removed myself from my family. But in my heart I forgave him,” he reveals.

The young man not only suffered unimaginable pain at the hands of his foster brother, but having only recently met his biological mother, continues to deal with internal turmoil. In vivid recollection he shared grim details of being dragged into “the bush” where his nightmare began.

Having played for Queens Park Soccer Club, Sulaiman was an avid soccer player, and had great dreams for his sports career. But, he says life on the street has given him a sense of freedom.

“When I confronted the person who did this to me, I couldn’t hurt him because he was older than me, then it was always swept under the mat. Then at the age of [about] 11-years-old, I came to the road…then I went to jail and became a number 28 because there wasn’t love [in my life].”

“When you on the road, you’re comfortable because you feel love – here they can’t tell you ‘gaan werk’ [go work] or don’t scratch in the bin – you are free. No matter if [the food] is old, as long as I make a dua on it. From this I know He has a reason for me living, because if He did not have a reason for me to live, I would be gone a long time ago.”

Due to his heroin addiction, he says he is unable to fast a full day, choosing to only use heroin after he breaks his fast.

The aspiring sports manager described his memories of the finer details of Ramadan in his family home as a month that was filled with family, attending masjid  and reciting the Quran.

“I used to face the fast feeling that there are people who are hungrier than me. But now that I am older it’s different, [thinking] ‘I am on the road, why must I fast?’ But I ask Allah to make it easy for me – to change my manners, because I can be the person that I wanted to be ten years back,” he says.

Muhamad’s search for a better life 

Muhamad, a Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) national, is a graduate in a commercial and administrative course in France and after having completed a mechanical engineering degree in Cape Town, he reverted to Islam some ten years ago and is today a hafith al-Quran.

“No one pushed me, but by the mercy of Allah because of the faculty of intellect to understand what the Quran says…I embraced Islam through understanding how my brother [Ebrahim – also a revert] was living according Islam. Really it’s a mercy and it was a salvation for my life.”

After his Belhar home was destroyed in a fire, Muhamad says he found himself on the street, in search of work to care for his wife and two children. Despite the harsh realities of life on the street he has, however, continued observing his religious obligations.

Commenting on the ability to maintain a spiritual link while on the street, Muhammad says it is difficult for him to witness people born into the deen who do not completely appreciate the month of Ramadan, while struggling to manage life on the street.

“Most of the brothers here are Tanzanian, who are born Muslim and many of them know how to recite the Quran, but they don’t live accordingly. Even though I am [also] struggling – they don’t fast or attend the mosque, especially on the day of jumuah.”

Abdullah’s tale of ‘riches to rags’

Entering the informal settlement as an outsider, 32-year-old Abdullah, was born into a loving family along with his five accomplished siblings. He lost his father at the age of 16 and his mother at the age of 26.   Describing his home as a truly spiritual place, Abdullah notes that his father’s passing is the reason for the life he has led.

But, after much persuasion to reveal the reason as to how he found himself living on the street, Abdullah eventually shares the truth; at the age of 16, he began hanging with the wrong crowd and experimented with drugs. As a result, his life has been at the mercy of the heroin syringe.

“I am a drug addict – I am addicted to heroin! The first time was at the age of 16, we were a group of friends and we were on our way to Signal Hill – and it started from there, it fulfilled the loneliness [of missing] my father.”

A budding actor in his youth, having performed in a number of local productions alongside the likes Emo Adams, Abdullah says he is most ashamed of disappointing both his family and himself.

“They tried many times to help me, [but] every time I just disappoint them. I don’t know why I keep going back to this life style. I feel like a failure.”

Remembering his mother sending him around to neighbours to share “cookies”, Abdullah reminisced about the special moments eating with his family and praying in jama’ah.

“I wish I could turn back time,” he says nostalgically.

While in the minds of locals, those who live on the street disappear into the colours of the city, for these men life on the street means spending the month of Ramadan and the celebrations of Eid praying for the clock to turn back and for them to return to the warm embrace of their loved ones.

“I would really love to see them, [but] I don’t want to spoil their Eid, because if they are going to see me they are going to put their stuff away or be disappointed in me. They are going to say ‘kyk hoe lyk jy’ [look how you look] aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I just wish my mother and father could have been here and I can stay clean and be with my family. So the day of Eid is a very sad day for me,” Abdullah reflected.

*The complete identities of the individuals have not been revealed.*

VOC 91.3fm