Lessons in Life: A Series - Teenage Pregnancy on Budget

“I never planned this for myself,” she says throwing her baby over her shoulder carelessly. The chubby baby boy gurgles in pleasure as he is secured to his mother’s back with a towel. He will spend the best part of today there; nearly six hours of not crawling, not kicking his legs, not playing; just feeding breaks.

“I mean, I knew when I didn’t finish school I would not be likely to get a job that would make me rich, but I hoped that at least I could work for a white madam in Jo’burg, and make enough to take care of myself,” she smiles while she lays out her wares in tiny little towers; four onions for R5. I wouldn’t buy them; they’re too expensive; I can get the same from the supermarket for much less. But she has carved a niche for herself; she keeps people’s groceries while they shop around and when it is time to get into a taxi, they collect their things and have to pay her for her guardian duty. She rarely goes home with left overs.

While her dreams may not have been lofty or adventurous, at least she once dreamed. At 16-years-old she left school, pregnant with her first child. She could have continued to study but even though learners have the right to continue in their studies while pregnant, some teachers have made it their personal duty to make this impossible. They bait those up the duff with snide comments, puns and innuendo.

“Today we start the reproductive system everyone, So-and-So you can leave because you already know this part!” they snigger.

“I can’t say I blame teachers or anyone else for where I am, I am responsible, which is why I work this hard,” sitting down on the make-shift stool made of an empty paint drum and an old pillow, she lights her Cadac Skottel braai for the hot dogs she sells.

The baby on her back is her second, the first now in school. This 23-year-old single mom of two no longer has anyone else in her life. Her parents kicked her out over the second pregnancy. She then moved in with her boyfriend even though she was not sure he was the father of the baby and he beat her up.

“I know that it is wrong to sleep with many men and not condomise, but once you’ve been in my shoes for as long I’ve worn them, you find there is very little that you won’t do for some money,” she explains, a defiant slant in her words. Indeed, who am I to judge?

“My parents gave me and my daughter a place to live and food; everything else I had to work for. They refused to let me leave and look for work; they couldn’t look after my child even though they stay at home. It is through the social welfare grant that I have been able to do anything for the children,” she carries on.

Using the social grant she has managed to rent to a stall at the busy taxi rank, buy the skottel and start her business. She rents a dingy room in an unsavoury part of the little town and lives her life. She no longer dreams, she plans. She knows that you get nothing from doing nothing.

“Throwing me out was maybe the best thing my parents have done for me. Now I know how to take care of myself and my children.” Her voice is with pride. I decide to buy a hot dog, the sausage is cheap, the oil she uses is cheap but there is already a small queue of people wanting some.

As humble pie; it tastes delicious.