Former dancer Xhantilomzi Kotobe is one of the Esplanade “cave” dwellers.
He lives in one of the paving sinkholes that yawn menacingly on the Eastern Beach section of our city’s beloved Esplanade.
He is not alone.
He shares this grim, fetid infrastructure wound with other miserable souls who have found themselves rejected by local society and have crawled into this dreadful shelter.
Some have minds addled by the cheapest, nastiest and deadliest drugs. Emotions range from rage to morbid despair. They are relentlessly broke.
Here, in this hellhole, there appears to be not a shred of care.
Once upon a time, this boy of Mdantsane grew up to dance isibujwa and pantsula. His body and mind filled to the brim with artistic expression, creativity and talent that took him up to the stage of the National Arts Festival in Makhanda.
Today, the only movement he will be doing will be a macabre remnant of physical theatre – he will be slopping soapy rags over shiny cars.
He has become a car washer – the pennies earned feed his addiction which started with recreational, party drugs during his dance gigs.
Life in the hole was “unsavoury”.
He euphemistically describes his life on the streets as “adventurous” – you never know what to expect, but you know that inevitably it is going to be unpleasant.
Make no mistake, “akukho mnandi estratweni. It’s not fun and games out here on the streets”.
Kotobe distances himself from criminality, which he says is a frequent reality here. His only aim is survival — finding food, a safe spot to sleep.
“I’m here because of family issues at home. I’d rather stay here, even though life on the street is dangerous. You have to do anything you can to survive.
“People do everything they can to survive out here. So you see a lot of bad things and it can get dangerous quickly. But at least I can sleep in the hole and look for cars to wash in the morning.” Kotobe, technically, is known as a poly-drug user. He admits to taking multiple drugs — “buttons” (indanda), crystal methamphetamine (tik), and occasionally nyaope, a notorious mixture of heroin, cannabis, and other toxic fillers.
“We have all sorts of drugs here — whoonga, tik, flakka. Flakka didn’t last long. It made people pass out and wake up after months. I know a guy who went into a coma for nine months. When he woke up, he had memory loss. That’s why I don’t smoke everything.”
Yet, despite this personal and social maelstrom, he says street dwellers are misunderstood.
“We don’t hurt people. We just want a roof over our heads. That’s why we live here.
“Those people who park their fancy cars by the beach — some of them smoke rock too. We’re not that different.” As the sunset streams over the beachfront, setting the ocean alight, Kotobe packs away his bucket and rags and walks off to his grubby, sewage stench-filled cave of darkness.
In his head, he dreams. The day’s work is done — but his struggle of sleeping in the hole continues.
Somewhere between his dream of dancing again and the harsh rhythm of survival, he is still searching for a beat that feels like home.
According to the National Library of Medicine, alcohol abuse affects between 30% and 40% of homeless people, while 10% to 15% struggle with drug addiction. It emphasises that recovery programmes must integrate rehabilitation, psychological support, and drug-free housing to succeed.
