I am a Food Handler, and I deserve dignity and rights

I started my job as a Food Handler in April at a school in the Vaal. I learned about the opportunity through my daughter, who brought home a notice inviting unemployed parents to apply. I am often surprised when we are reminded that we are not officially workers but volunteers, even though we submitted CVs, went through screening, attended interviews, and provided references.

We started working immediately after the previous group left, and with no training from the school. I panicked the first time I entered the kitchen. Such a large gas stove, huge pots and food – eight bags of mielie meal, six bags of rice, boxes of milk, and many tins of fish. I paused for a moment, letting my motherly instinct take over. After cooking and seeing the children’s happiness after eating, I felt motivated and realised I could do this with the support and encouragement of colleagues.

There are six of us Food Handlers, and none of us has ever prepared this much food before, even during larger community gatherings where more women typically help out.

The physical effort required for lifting and stirring the huge pots is intense, but the joy of seeing the children enjoy their meals makes it all worthwhile. It’s heartwarming when they ask for seconds. This fills us with pride, especially since the nutrition programme coordinator mentioned that the previous Food Handlers had done an excellent job. We have big shoes to fill.

Over time, we encountered challenges that helped us recognise the efforts of the women who came before us. If they managed this work for two years, we could too. I also realised that empathy often leads us to take on roles beyond the job we are employed to do.

One day I saw a teacher humiliate a matric learner in old, torn shoes. “Where are your parents? Look at your shoes. Why aren’t they buying you new ones?” The boy responded, “Don’t worry, ma’am. My parents will buy me new shoes soon,” then continued talking to his friends. The teacher’s remarks upset me as a parent. Why rebuke the boy publicly? So, I looked for him the next day and learned that both his parents were unemployed and depended on social relief of distress and child grants. The child grant expires next year. I asked him to check with his mother about me buying him school shoes. I bought him shoes at the end of the month, and he was so excited. He comes to the kitchen every day just to greet me.

We noticed that many children are struggling, so our team decided to buy grey or white shirts on sale whenever we went to town. We also bought secondhand uniforms from street vendors and kept them in our lockers to give to needy learners. The children come to us when they need something, and we do our best to support them, even though we don’t earn much. I worry about what will happen when our contracts end in April 2027.

I talked to parents in my community about donating old school uniforms. Now, they come to me voluntarily with their children’s old uniforms when they buy new ones, and some even purchase new items to donate. Now we have enough uniforms in our lockers to distribute. This initiative will continue with future Food Handlers, even after I am gone.

I realise I am not just a Food Handler. I am also a mother, a social worker, and a community builder. I extend my care to sick children as well, offering support and love because we are not allowed to give them medication at school. When a child is unwell, I sometimes walk them home to ensure they receive help. The children share their stories with us because they trust us. We give food parcels to children in dire family situations.

As Food Handlers, we always go the extra mile. We are more than cooks: we provide care, guidance, and support beyond the school. In many ways, we act as parents to every child.

Also read:

How Food Handlers have influenced my understanding of social innovation

From “Volunteers” to Food Handlers: A step towards dignity in school kitchens