The woman who cleans my flat every second week has wanted to move to a new area within her township and, as it happened, my wife and I had access to a trailer last Saturday. We called Gloria up and asked her if it was a good day for her to move.

She didn't hesitate. She said yes and directed us to a spot where she would meet us in the township where she lives, in Philippi.

My expectation of helping her move her furniture, which she'd said "wouldn't take long because I don't have a lot of furniture" was realigned when I realised the walls, roof and floor of the two-room shack would be coming with us.

Seeing poverty

It was then that I actually saw poverty. Not from my car window as I zipped past a township on a highway, but with my slops in the dust helping roll up pieces of carpets and plastic. I had to get my hands dirty to understand what it means to have nothing.

I know that this hard-working individual is looking for work (apart from cleaning my flat she also braids hair) but moving from an area where she pays R150 in rent to a 'landlord' to a sand-blown area used as a dump for broken bottles and other rubbish gave me a fresh understanding of terms such as "poverty" and "between LSM 1 and 2".

Arriving at her home, her boyfriend hopped onto the roof with a crow-bar and systematically separated the tin walls from the flimsy wooden frame while we unpacked the shack. The almost-broken electrical equipment we'd given her had been repaired and given pride of place. Piling everything on top of the trailer (fortunately it was a big one) we made it to the spot of her new home marked by dirt, noise and broken glass.

What does it mean to be poor?

Do you know what having no electricity or running water really means? It means more than not being able to store leftover meals in the fridge overnight or plugging in the dishwasher. It means more than not being able to work from home with an ADSL connection. It means more than roaming the streets to get water from the nearest tap or walking to the long drop that you share with hundreds of your neighbours in the dark at night.

Yes, I saw electrical connections running from her flat but I found myself sympathising instead of seeing the words 'electricity thief' branding her chance to listen to the radio.

Cape Town has hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people who live in neighbouring townships. This means that children born into those circumstances will probably go to inadequately-resourced schools; they will get a matric if they are fortunate; and, in all likelihood, won't get any further education.

It seems that driving out there and helping Gloria move to a place where she will be able to spend money feeding her family rather than paying the rent was an act that won't make too much of a difference in the greater scheme of things. But my wife and I hopefully helped her in a way that will save her a day's wage each month and will make a difference to her and her daughters.

On a personal level I suppose I am now more sympathetic to the plight of the poor who travel hours to get into our cities so that their children can eat when they return from school.

I'm not sure if cutting off illegal electricity connections in the townships, as Eskom may look to do now that the rates are going to go through the roof, is a Proudly South African solution.

I'm not sure if keeping township municipal and education officials unaccountable is sustainable and the next time residents of a distant township start burning everything in sight because their service delivery funds have vanished, they'll have my support.

Thanks Gloria for showing me, unashamedly, the world that most South Africans live in.

Can you relate to Alan's story? Do you have a South African story of your own? Mail us and, if we like it, we'll publish it!