A life of noise: Shebeen patrol

IT’S Friday night. And in typical Namibian style, it’s party time. Like many pockets of the country, Justine Street in Greenwell Matongo and Eden Street in Soweto are hives of activity. There are cars and people, dogs and children.

There’s laughter and shouting and then there’s the incessant music pounding from jukeboxes. Different songs at once, each more determined to be heard.In Eden Street, Wana Joseph, a 25-year-old student, sighs. She knows a headache is approaching. She wanted to watch a bit of TV, but she knows she’ll now have to settle for visuals of the silent variety. There’s not much she can do. Her home is situated between two shebeens and there’s one right across the street. Sometimes, when a friend comes to visit, they’ll go to the one in front and enjoy a beer. Wana is friendly with the owner and has on occasion asked for the volume of the music to be turned down. But she had to accept a dismissive shrug in reply.’Even the shebeen owner has small children, but they can’t do anything about the music; it’s the customers who put their money into the jukebox; they want the music, they want to dance.’Wana does not attempt to study at home. She goes to a nearby community library during the day as it’s virtually impossible to do schoolwork at home amidst all the noise.’On weekends, we normally don’t sleep. The people quarrel in the street and fight in front of our house. Sometimes in the early morning hours, they come knocking on our door. Sometimes I feel fear, what if they break in? But it’s the same during the week because the shebeens are open the whole day, every day, and people drink a lot.’In Justine Street, cousins Melisa Windstaan (20) and Clarissa Christiaan (16) echo the same sentiments. Melisa, a Namcol student, is concerned about the noise, the safety risk, the fact that children in their neighbourhood don’t have recreational facilities, ‘so they hang out at shebeens’, and the lack of respect for person and property by those who frequent the surrounding shebeens.’I lie in bed at night, angry, irritated, powerless. The noise from the shebeens is unbearable and then you find people parked in front of our house drinking and making a noise. You can’t even go out when they are there; they will make obscene remarks and laugh at you.’Melisa says they avoid walking outside after sunset. ‘This street of ours is known for crime too. People rob you and touch you. And if you’re a woman, they harass you and can molest you.’Clarissa nods her head in agreement. She actually lives in Khomasdal and is only in Greenwell for a visit. She notes that there is a huge difference between the two neighbourhoods. ‘It’s like two worlds. There are no shebeens where I’m staying in Khomasdal, it’s quiet there and it feels safer than when I’m here. This place is rough,’ she remarks.Even though they regard noisy shebeens among homes as intrusive and disturbing, both Wana and Melisa feel helpless addressing the problem. ‘It’s like you will waste your time even talking about it, we just accept; it feels like nothing can be done,’ says Wana. Adds Melisa: ‘It’s like it won’t help to go talk to the shebeen owners; it’s obvious they won’t close because it’s their income. If you start complaining, it’s like you just have to fight every day. All you can do is watch your back the whole time.’ Illustratively, she adds that a nearby shebeen was opened under false pretexts. ‘The owner even came to ask my aunt for her signature. He said he wanted to build an outside toilet at the back. Meanwhile, he was busy building a shebeen in the front.’ Melisa says her aunt, who she lives with, is most worried about the safety and wellbeing of her young daughter who is in Grade 3 and the absence of playgrounds for the children.Alcohol is often a polariser – its proponents and opponents at opposite ends, often passionate in their defences. For some it’s the refreshing end to a work week; or the great escape from the depressing realities of life. It’s the connecting glue that brings together friends, family, neighbours and occasionally foe. It’s the bubbling fluid for fun, joy and ill-prepared hugs. For others it’s the core and source of many societal troubles and personal anguish. It’s the divisive glue of family relations, the lubricant for reckless driving, domestic abuse, sexual assault, violence and sometimes, death.Shebeens, as the most visible face in the long and influential chain of the production, marketing and distribution of alcohol, are thus either loved or loathed. It’s the gathering place of the one group and the thumping annoyance of the other. And sometimes, there is the conscience; perhaps the logical voice of reason.Lydia* is a teacher who feels there is a place for shebeens in residential areas as long as shebeen operators respect their neighbours, keep the music down, and operate for only a few hours a day. Herself a social drinker, the mother of two enjoys nothing more than a cold one after a day of tough talking on her feet. Some afternoons, she relaxes on the stoep of her charming Soweto home, sending her 10-year old boy a few houses down to the shebeen for a beer. She does feel a twinge of guilt for sending her young child to buy alcohol, but apologetically explains, ‘At least its beer, not cigarettes.’ Lydia continues: ‘And I know the owner of the bar and the people there, it’s a good place, it’s not loud or dangerous or anything like that; it’s a respectable place.’ Additionally, the place is conveniently located for when she needs beer or soft drinks for visitors and guests. Last but not least, Lydia considers shebeens a form of job creation. But Wana disagrees. ‘This story of shebeens being an income for the owner and his family does not hold water. What about the other person who leaves his family hungry at home and spends all his money on the shebeen?’ In conclusion she proffers: ‘There must be some consideration for them too.’*Name changed