'I have God and my soapies': SA's elderly waiting it out during Covid-19 pandemic

Claire Keeton visited the Neighbourhood Old Age Homes (NOAH) in Woodstock, Cape Town

Brenda Bugan, 76, laughs a lot even though she cannot see her best friend or grandchildren. She also cannot attend church on the corner at 8am each day, and the daily exercise classes in her old-age centre have stopped. She cannot make candles to boost her state pension.

"My friend phoned the other day and I said: 'I'm not fed up! No man, enjoy the lockdown!' And we started laughing," says Bugan, decked out all in blue, down to her mask.

"We can't get together any more to clean the church on Friday or go out. We have to stay put," says Bugan, whose black hair is scraped back into a ponytail, silver roots showing for want of a hairdresser.

Bugan sits on a bench next to housemate Georges Anthem on the stoep of the NOAH community centre and clinic. NOAH is a Cape Town nongovernmental organisation that helps fund and maintain communal homes from Woodstock to Khayelitsha for more than 700 pensioners who live on state pension grants of R1,860 per month.

"I don't worry about Covid. As long as I keep to myself, what must be must be," Bugan says.

The stoep is the smokers' hangout. The ashtray is full of no-name stompies.

Anthem, 70, longs for cigarettes but cannot afford the black market price of R130 a pack. "I wish they would lift the ban. It's working on my mind," he says.

Bugan and Anthem share a sunny house in Regent Street, Woodstock, and Thelma Pedersen, 67, lives in a home two doors down with 11 others. No outsiders are allowed inside.

The historic street is a mix of houses with gleaming paint and security bars, and scruffy homes with neglected front doors.

Bugan and Anthem's stone-grey house, which they share with seven others, has six rooms with wooden floors and high ceilings. The residents saved the little money they earn through NOAH's projects to buy themselves a flat-screen TV.

Anthem, originally from Mauritius, bought a small TV for his room, and Bugan jokes that he wasted his money because he spends all his time on his phone, on Facebook.

"I keep occupied on Facebook 24 hours and it's not enough even," he says, grateful for the house's free Wi-Fi.

He chats with his daughter, elder brother and sister in Australia, watches French church services from Reunion, and follows news about Covid-19 on Radio 702 and Al Jazeera.

Bugan listens to Cape Talk for Covid-19 news and says she is not afraid of the virus.

"I know it's contagious and you must wash your hands often. You must wear your mask at all times and mustn't mingle," she says. "Also, we must stop with this kissing, hugging and taking hands."

She greeted two of her grandchildren with her elbows when they visited before the lockdown.

"I haven't seen them since and now my children can't even visit any more. I miss them, yes, yes! But we speak on the phone. It's the same with my brother and sister."

Anthem dreams of attending his 31-year-old daughter's wedding in Australia.

"Imagine taking a bird and putting it in a cage, clipping its wings. This is what has happened to me."

Pedersen, meanwhile, doesn't have much time to relax under lockdown: she is sewing masks flat-out, starting with an order for 65 from an ice-cream company. The pale pink roses on the fabric match her painted nails.

"I get up and work, work, work," she says, silver head bent over her older sewing machine.

Pedersen's husband died last June and she moved out of her daughter's home and into 17 Regent Street in September.

"When my daughter went to work, I didn't want to sit all day in front of the TV. My brain must be working. I wanted to mix with people my age, be active and doing things," she says.

"I know the virus is deadly and you can't see it. It could be anywhere. I'm glad that I stopped smoking last Friday evening. I started when I was 14."

Pedersen listens to gospel music. "I miss going to church very, very much. I'm a strong believer someone is watching over me. I'm not worried by something I can't fix."

Yasantha Naidoo visited the Aryan Benevolent Homes in Chatsworth, Durban

Chatsworth's RK Khan hospital bustles as taxis drop off passengers - young, limping and frail - who make their way past informal traders selling murkhu, chips and fruit. A kilometre down Arena Park Drive, the silence at the 99-year-old Aryan Benevolent Homes is deafening.

There, a security guard, armed with sanitiser, a thermometer and a clipboard with a coronavirus questionnaire, eyes all who arrive at the gate. Operations director Vinay Nunthkumar collects the Sunday Times team at the nonprofit home for the elderly, home to 282 residents who live in 22 single-bed wards or a 2-bed unit.

In the courtyard, a group of residents sit 2m apart in their wheelchairs as a nurse rolls a body ball to them.

Jabu Nzuza, 65, a former credit manager from Lamontville, has lived here for 24 years. Nursing sister Susan wheels her to the nearby rose garden, which reminds Nzuza of her late mother, a nurse with a passion for gardening.

After 53 days in lockdown, Nzuza, a diabetic who has been debilitated by two strokes, is eager to share what she misses the most - her special treats and physiotherapy sessions.

"I miss my porridge, biscuits and sweets," says the mother of four, adding that she used to buy them on outings to the shops with the nurses.

In her bejewelled knitted beanie, thick stockings and scarf, the Full Gospel Church member says she's "scared of this deadly virus".

"But I have God and my soapies. Like I shout at the actors on Scandal or Muvhango when they do something wrong, I talk to God and reason with him as I have throughout my life. When I am facing difficult situations, I have conversations with him and ask him why he is doing this," she says.

"The only time we have heard about something like this is Ebola. My cousin died of that disease. We don't know how she got it and I don't even think she knew, but we only heard about it afterwards."

She understands how important the lockdown is for vulnerable people like her, but says she is not afraid of dying. She just doesn't know how long she can do without her beloved physiotherapist.

Told by Nunthkumar that permission has been granted to reopen the physio section, Nzuza exclaims: "Oh God! That is wonderful! God can hear my prayers. I am so stiff!"

Back in the courtyard, the aroma of chicken curry fills the air.

The centre's oldest resident, Ganesan Sambana, 92, or Thatha - grandfather in Tamil - sits with an oversized mask that fails to dull the spark in his eyes.

The father of "three boys, three girls, 15 grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren" says he is not concerned about Covid-19. A diabetic, he appears to have accepted his more limited freedom, and others telling him what to do during the pandemic.

"We never had this kind of sickness before. At that time, we heard about measles and enteric fever [typhoid] but nothing like this," he says.

"I am not afraid to die. Oh no, no, no. I came to an age now, nothing can hurt me. If I go, I will just go."

He says he doesn't watch TV or listen to radio news because it can make one "disheartened", but he does read the newspaper from cover to cover.

"Sitting here, you don't know how big this thing is and we think nothing of it. We think, like a flash of lightning it will just go away. But now I can't explain it," he says while tugging at his mask strings.

The lockdown has robbed him of simple pleasures, like his favourite Louis L'Amour Westerns, which transported him to a new world each Wednesday courtesy of the municipal library.

Also gone are his Sunday visits from his sons and close friends, and the beer he used to enjoy.

He keeps himself busy socialising with friends and the kitchen staff at the home, and says the lesson of the lockdown is the importance of obedience and discipline.

"Did I tell you about how I met my wife?" he suddenly asks. "We were pen pals. I put a notice in the Leader and she put one in the Graphic and we started conversing. There was no arranged marriage, we fixed our own!"

He asks for our names as Sister Susan prepares to wheel him away.

"Nice to meet you, stay safe, baby," he says, as only a thatha would.

Alex Patrick paid a virtual visit to the Park Care Centre in Parktown West, Johannesburg

Wendy Fischer, 79, sits very close to the screen to hear this reporter better. Residents of the Park Care Centre speak to the Sunday Times from its new "virtual room", where they can video-call family and friends.

Fischer stands out in her fluffy crimson shawl. Everyone wears surgical face masks.

"I haven't physically seen family for over a year but we have Wi-Fi so I'm chatting to friends and family. I'm watching a lot of Netflix. Have you seen Netflix? It's wonderful!"

Fischer sits next to Innocent Khumalo, 75, who, with his fresh looks and stylish dress - including a zipped military-style jacket - looks too young to be in a wheelchair.

Khumalo last saw his family four weeks ago when he was discharged from hospital and his son took him back to the home.

"There's nothing I can do about it," Khumalo says. "I just stay in my room and read books and the Bible."

Fischer insists they are not bored. "We have cards going and games of Scrabble. You have to be happy in yourself," she says.

The old-age home, painted in soft pastels and decorated with landscape paintings, has large gardens and an outside tearoom where residents can enjoy the sunshine and the birds.

Executive manager Manda Pretorius says lockdown has been very hard for many because they cannot have visitors, but most residents understand that they are vulnerable to infection.

"But the dementia patients don't understand, so we are on high alert to look out for depression in these residents."

No visitors means no art therapy and no lectures or talks to look forward to. Bingo parties, with proper social distancing, remain.

"We never expected anything like this, but we know how important it is for residents to see family, so we have created a virtual room where residents can video-call them," says Pretorius.

Covid-19 precautions have meant they have had to find an extra R500,000 in the budget of the 320-resident home and frail-care centre, which has an agreement with the department of social development to care for 215 state pensioners.

Khumalo likes to call his family and is proud that all his grandsons are married. One is a graduate in the UK, another lives in Johannesburg. His granddaughter often calls to keep him company.

All the residents the Sunday Times spoke to wanted to know how much had changed in the world outside, and many appeared not to believe they'd see it again.

Sometimes I think what it was like three months ago and what we had then. But I still feel loved and wanted. Most of all I miss having my hair cut - I want to hide away

—  Heather Muna

Wheelchair-bound Heather Muna, 76, wearing an immaculate bob, gushes about President Cyril Ramaphosa.

"Sooner or later we'll be told [lockdown] has ended. The president is remarkable, he can see [the virus] better than most and he knows what to do. We have the greatest confidence in him," she says.

"Sometimes I think what it was like three months ago and what we had then. But I still feel loved and wanted. Most of all I miss having my hair cut - I want to hide away."

Muna's friend Ivan van der Haar, 78, whose daughters live in Australia, says he's "raring to go" once lockdown ends.

"We've got to sacrifice big. If we don't it will get to us. It's sad to know some people are taking the virus lightly, we don't know what will eventually happen," he says.

Lynette Rens, 82, hasn't seen any family since August last year. Her son's scheduled visit in April had to be cancelled and she is still upset about it.

"He lives in America - of course he married an American girl and has American children," she says.

"The corona news and coronavirus updates have been going on so long I am no longer interested. I can't wait to have my friends around."

Asked about the future, she says: "At my age I don't know - I just carry on living. I miss the hairdresser. When this is all over we'll have a party and I will even do the Twist."

Lwandile Bhengu visited Garden Grove in Musgrave, Durban

On the days that retired nurse Sue Bloom receives a visit from her son at Garden Grove, she sits inside the gate and he stands on the pavement behind barrier tape. Bloom, 81, knows how serious the virus is. Her son had Covid-19.

"Now that he has recovered and is back at work, he pops by and I speak to him from the gate with my mask on. It's wonderful," she says.

Bloom has worked through many an epidemic.

"I nursed the last of the polio epidemic. I was involved in that when they were still using iron lungs. Then we had Hong Kong flu and a whole lot of other nasty epidemics, but nothing compares to this.

"I am not afraid as long as I take the right precautions, plus Terry, the manager here, has done everything in his power to keep us safe and we have had no infections in six weeks."

Bloom has spent her time jollying the other residents along. One of them is Dr Dudley Forde, 80, who says the lockdown has given him the focus he needed to finish the new book he's been working on.

When he's not writing, Forde runs and cycles around the upmarket retirement home.

Like Bloom, Forde remembers a polio outbreak he lived through while in boarding school in the '50s.

"A couple of friends and I have compared this to how we had to look after ourselves and wash ourselves constantly. In a sense we are living a bit of that. We are watching with deep concern how many people are being affected," he said.

"At that time there wasn't this terrible scourge of hunger and people who lost their jobs. This is unlike anything I have experienced, I must say."

Resident Frances Steele has used the lockdown to organise her cupboards and connect with fellow residents.

"We get together, four or five of us, to have a cup of tea while adhering to social distancing. I have gotten to know people better," she says.

All three residents hope the pandemic will change people for the better.

"I hope that people will be kinder to each other and realise that others have had much more hardship than we have had here. We have had it easy. There are people out there who are hungry and have no homes," says Bloom.

Forde says the pandemic has made us hold a mirror up to ourselves.

"It seems to me that perhaps we needed to have a good look at our world and not take so much for granted. When we think of climate change and how people across the world have treated each other, perhaps this is an opportunity to appreciate each other by working together," he says.