Nyaope, rock and Thai white are all street names for drugs which have found their way into Joburg’s homeless communities.
|||Ellen Dietrich, 28, crushes a line of heroin on a red bible.
She is homeless and sleeps on a brick ledge in Hillbrow’s Pullinger Kop Park. Her four cats depend on her as much as she depends on “nyaope”.
Nyaope, rock and Thai white are all street names for popular street drugs. But whatever they’re called, the drugs have found their way into Joburg’s homeless communities.
“Metro cops chase us away from this park with sjamboks and burn our blankets,” Dietrich says.
Winter is coming. It’s Friday night in Hillbrow. The red LED lights from the Vodacom tower tint the drops of rain spitting down on Pullinger Kop Park a hazy red.
It’s warm inside the Quantum police van with shaded windows, patrolling the area.
“I will show you Hillbrow tonight. I’ll show you a dangerous place,” laughs 46-year-old social crime prevention police officer Sergeant Nicholas Mncube. He has worked in the area for almost 20 years, helping to house children from the streets.
He now faces the social issue of more than 500 homeless heroin addicts living in Pullinger Kop Park.
“Hillbrow is a city of many cultures,” he says.
“See there, Zimbabweans on (the) street corner,” Mncube comments as he drives down Edith Cavell Street. The shebeens are lively as people spill out on to the tarmac.
Left on to Esselen Street. “Over there, Tanzanians.”
It’s almost midnight, but shops are open. You can buy a TV with a surround-sound system.
Right on to Pretoria Street. There is the smell of dagga burning, and urine, in the air. Street dwellers eye the Quantum.
“Here are the Nigerians. They own several hair salons on the street. But no haircuts happen here,” says Mncube.
A sporadic queue stretches around the block. It’s apparently leading to a drug den.
A man stands on the corner of the street, in the shadows beyond the reach of the street light. He is wearing a black pinstriped suit and white shoes.
“He is a scout,” Mncube says. The man on the street corner gives a warning whistling, and the queue disappears into the darkness. The Quantum screeches to a halt outside Pullinger Kop Park.
“Welcome to a bad place,” says Mncube, swinging the doors open. He lights a cigarette. “I have been here for 19 years. I’m not scared,” he says, comfortable in his jeans and hoodie.
There is an empty basketball court overlooking highways lit up by cars – one of the best views of Joburg.
Someone throws a bundle of tissues from a flat window, and it is quickly salvaged by a man. A deal has been done.
The park is guarded by men hidden by the darkness. They scatter as Mncube approaches.
“Don’t worry, it’s the father,” he shouts, and they regroup.
Macdonald Madladle, 28, crushes his next fix with a rusty razor blade.
“They call it Thai sick,” Madladle says. It’s a cold night, but he is in a T-shirt and sweating profusely. “Your whole system is f***ed up. You can’t think straight,” he adds.
“Everyone wants to quit,” he says. The drug numbs the pain of his stomach ulcer.
Wayne Greys, like many in the park came to Joburg from Durban in search of work and opportunities: “Prison is better than this. They have shelter and food.”
“If you are over 18, there is no shelter in Hillbrow. You are on the streets. And it’s stressful being homeless. Mothers and children are growing up in the park. We look after each other, because no one else will.”
Justice Petersen, 35, says: “We want to get clean. But in what direction? Which door do we knock on? We are slaves to heroin.”
He believes rehab is not a sustainable solution.
“We need something to do. A job. A new life.”
As we leave, Dietrich feeds her felines Whiskers cat food and takes another drag of her nyaope joint. She wants people to know that not all women on the street turn to prostitution and crime. And she is willing to sell a cat, or four, if they go to a good home.
“People undermine and judge us. But what we crave most is normality.”
* View the video footage at www.youtube.com/journalisminaction.
yusuf.omar@inl.co.za
The Star