I climbed off a train at a station that was clean and in service. Not anymore. Now a dirty dilapidated place for homeless people and crime. There is a 90 per cent chance of something happening to you there. No one travels by train anymore. I started into town safely on foot that night. Today, you have a good chance of being robbed, even before you cross Station Street.
The thing I remember first about Carletonville was the line of yellow-orange street lights starting from the train station right up to 007. Like Christmas lights. Not one was not working and I remember seeing a high lift replacing a bulb. Today, in Carletonville, more bulbs are not working than those that are. I decided to sleep somewhere for the night and proceed to Western Deeps the next day. I stayed at the President Hotel in Annan St. I was hosted in a clean hotel and had a decent breakfast. Look at the property today and see the dirty fire-burnt facade. I caught a taxi – Welties to Western Deep levels. A proud and clean property with flowers in the gardens. The houses were all neat and tidy and, most of all, there was peace and tranquility. There was no loud music, old cars, boom gates or security needed to keep the unwanted elements out. Today, people live in mine property with up to heavens knows how many families in the house and one in the garage. You can film an adventure film in gardens or get lost in them.
I started work at then West shaft or No. 2 shaft, Western Deep Levels. I had a room at the men’s hostel on the property near 2nd Ave. It was a beautiful clean room with clean sheets every week and food to die for. Today, it doesn’t exist. The one opposite the fire station where I later stayed is dirty, full of papers.
It was once one of the best colleges available. Today, there are papers all over the place. Pavement vendors. Fences broken. Strikes every now and (more than) then. Eventually, after ten years, I bought the house where I presently reside, much to my disappointment. I bought a house with the money I earned by toiling underground every day, by the sweat of my brow. It is near a residential accommodation in Norite and Agnew streets, owned by Sibanye. It used to be a place where you could walk across the street and enjoy a three-course Sunday lunch at a steal of a price. It was clean, well-kept and, most of all, quiet.
Now, while I was living there, I have had a peaceful life. But, for the last twenty years, I have had to put up with verbal abuse and urinating in public. Believe me – that is the one that grieves me the most. Our kitchen window looks out over the street and directly on the piece of lawn where the front gate is. This is some 30 metres from our kitchen window. Not once, not five but numerous times a day, a car pitches up with occupants who have been drinking and driving. They all pile out and stand in a line, haul out their equipment and proceed to urinate in front of my wife and children.
When you ask someone who is under the influence of alcohol, still with his beer bottle in his hand, why he is urinating there, he proceeds to abuse you verbally. It is disgusting and, the last time I looked, it was still a criminal offence to urinate in public. The next thing that happens is the beer bottle is either thrown on the grass, in the road or into the veld or even on my pavement out of spite when they leave. My pavement is clean, mowed and has flowers on it. Inside the residence, there are at least 20 toilets. The irony is that they will urinate outside and then go into their rooms.
Anyone returning from a drinking session in town plays loud music or doors and boots are opened and a drinking session is started from as early as 08:00.
I joined numerous groups, thinking I could make a difference. I have certificates from the police for my work with drugs addicts, alcohol abuse, marriage counselling, etc. I opened a safe house in Agnew St for abused women. When I report these abuses and offences to the police, or any of these groups I thought were there to help us, nothing, but nothing, comes of it. They don’t even acknowledge your call. A certain person takes and removes you from his site because you dare to tell him he is unresponsive to your plea for help. This, after being a good, honest, hardworking citizen of Carletonville for almost 40 years, paying my taxes and property tax while others don’t even pay for water and lights, never mind taxes. The councillors of both the DA and VF do nothing. The police don’t even bother to come out. I’m still waiting for them to react after complaints laid ten to fifteen years ago. CPF groups shrug their shoulders and tell you their hands are tied.
Well, from now, I refuse to do anything about anything in Carletonville. No more is there anything to be proud of. The police cannot manage a small town like this. The traffic cops don’t exist, only the dead, grey one with a camera does any work. The stop signs and robots are ornaments and non-existent to drivers, taxis and trucks.
I am beyond disgusted and emotionally drained and negative with this disgusting town and its disgusting people. When you have helped so many people and you ask for help, none comes. (Letter edited and shortened – Editor).