Shelley du Plessis looks at the poverty in South Africa

Shelley du Plessis

Cape Town. The mother city of South Africa. A city with two iconic tourist attractions: Table Mountain and Robben Island, known around the world and visited by many tourists. Thousands of beautiful people, visiting some of the most beautiful places on earth.

I stood on Table Mountain looking down onto the city below. Cape Town nestles in the folds of the foothills as a child would nestle in the loving embrace of his mother, safe and secure, warm and loved. The city overflows out of the foothills down towards the sea. It continues to ooze along the coast until it finds the wide open spaces of the flat coastal plains.

As I stood on my high point looking out, I thought of the beauty that lay before me, but was immediately reminded of the truth of what lay beyond the beauty, beyond what the tourist would see, the reality of third world and first world living cheek by jowl, and the lost people inbetween. Where I was standing was a monument to a prominent figure in South African history. This monument has been used in a movie set as the setting for where Jesus confronts the Pharisees.

As I stood, I continued to think about His words: "Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Murderer of Prophets! Killer of the ones who brought you God's news! How often I've ached to embrace your children, the way a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you wouldn't let me. And now you are so desolate, nothing but a ghost town. What is left to say?" (Matthew 23:37.) I looked at Cape Town in all her resplendent beauty, and was moved to tears as my heart ached for her and the possibility that she could become a spiritual ghost town. I uttered the words: "Oh God, break my heart with what breaks yours." I didn't realize how fast God would act in captivating my heart.

The next day, I found myself in the heart of the coastal plains, in an area that can only be described as a place where people are placed and are forgotten. This is a community that knows the power of gang lords, where drugs are more readily available to the community than a slice of bread. Children play in the streets amongst the growing litter and other unmentionable stuff. They don't all go to school because there is no need to go to school. Why do they need to educate themselves? Some are raped and murdered by uncles and brothers, tossed into shallow graves in the same way one would bury a bag of garbage. Justice is slow and the ravaging continues, one child at a time. The people live on sidewalks in wooden structures covered in plastic or a piece of roofing iron. They have been promised housing and have been re-located to a transfer camp. They were promised that they would have homes shortly; for some, that has been nearly six years of waiting, yet they continue to live in hope - waiting.

The houses they live in are nothing more than a house of tin, with a communal water point and toilet. These structures are freezing in winter and boiling in summer. During the rains, they are flooded, the wet and cold seeping into their bones. In the windy times, the fine sand whips around in whirlwinds, depositing whatever loose filth is lying around into their homes. Forgotten people! Forgotten needs! Don't leave your house unattended for too long or you will find another family living in your house. If children are left unattended for too long, they too will be displaced, and the house taken over by others. People dying daily from Aids and Aids-related diseases are just the norm. It's just one of those things.

Now here I stand, squinting in the brightness of the reflection off the tin walls of the houses; me looking at them and them looking at me. They have no anticipation of my actions; they are suspicious of strangers when they appear in their community. However, I have something that brings credibility to my intentions. Next to me stands a couple who have had their hearts broken by the Father for the plight of these people. They have served in this community with excellence for years, winning the trust of the people by proving they have no secret agenda and keeping their word when they make a commitment. Together with a group of others who have caught their love for this community, they have started feeding schemes, upliftment programmes, computer training, and welding classes. They have started door to door clinics to help the sick. Everything is done in the name of Jesus. They pray for the sick, sit with the dying, encourage the downcast, laugh with and love the dirty children. They bring hope to a hopeless community. They bring dignity to the helpless. They love them unconditionally.

This must make the Father's heart so delighted, to see His love in action through those who have had their hearts broken with the things that have broken His.

I was told during my visit that a poor person will give half of everything he has to help someone in need. A man with a slice of bread will give half his slice to a hungry child or friend. What about me? I have so much. Am I willing to give, to help others less fortunate than me? Forgotten by man, but not forgotten by God.

Break my heart with purpose, o God!