Straatwerk

28 leaves you thinking of gang members and graffiti (the 28’s that leave their mark everywhere) and ‘n nice age just before thirty. But then there’s Jonathan. He is 28- we think. His ID book is with a friend again, so how can we be sure about his age, or about the friend?

Jonathan came in search of a cup of coffee one Friday night. The teams were still on the streets busy with outreach, but luckily the kettle is always boiling and the coffee, tea, milk, sugar, hot chocolate and sandwiches are always ready for visitors and half-frozen outreach-workers.

Jonathan is a beautiful boy. He has good manners and a big smile with an agreeable manner about him. Jonathan is also part of the 28’s (about his involvement in the gang I’m not too sure, but he is part of the group of young guys who, years ago, had to walk barefoot in Seapoint with the American’s operations.) See, he turned 28 years old on this cold, Friday evening. A group of young people from a small town came with us on outreach that specific evening. The pastor of the congregation came with as well. A wise father figure who spoke to Jonathan with so much gentleness that I needed to concentrate on something else to stop myself from shedding a tear. He talked to him, encouraged him, and didn’t care that Jonathan hadn’t had a bath in days. When the clock struck 12 we sang to him, prayed and gave him a jar of cookies for his birthday, thanks to our visitors. Jonathan was overwhelmed and at one stage he tugged at my pants like a child would when he wants his mother. He ran out of the hallway and I saw him curled up in a small bundle outside. Big sobs were shaking through his entire body. I sat next to him and wanted to cry about him, his life and his worn-out shoes.

With drenched cheeks he looked up to me and said: “Why do I struggle so much to serve the Lord? You know what, this is the first birthday that people sing to me.”

28 years of nothing. Prostitution, men, drugs, girlfriends, surviving, manipulation, smiling sweetly. 28 years of lies, streetwise manners, wondering about God and wondering about people.

And then there’s Rudi...hmmm...yes, there’s Rudi. Sweet, sweet smile and Jonathan’s brother. With cuts and blood they declared themselves blood brothers. They were inseparable until one warm summers day.

I was walking towards my office in Kloofstreet, when I heard a familiar voice calling towards me. I turned around, but thought that I’d imagined the voice and just walked on. The calling became louder and more urgent. I turned around again and saw Jonathan, dripping with sweat, running towards me.

“Just hold me” I didn’t have a choice and held the wet body close to me and he broke out in big, shaking sobs. “Rudi is dead. Rudi is dead. Just now. An overdose. I was in hospital with him for 2 days, but the doctor said his kidneys and liver were done, they said they had never seen that much poisonous substances in one person’s body. I found him at the station. Rudi, Rudi, Rudi- the only person I had in the world. He was like a brother to me. He said he loved me before he died. I can’t live without him.”

David and Jonathan?