“Why are there so many children walking the streets?” is the question I had ringing in my head as I drove through the narrow, winding streets of the low-income area called Seaview Park, also known as Hopland, situated in a small coastal town on the West Coast in the Western Cape.
While the area is a stone’s throw away from where I live, it’s completely unfamiliar territory to me, indicating my limited knowledge of the disadvantaged community that resides in a town that draws so many tourists who only see it as an escape from the hustle and bustle of city life.
My search for a home crèche felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack, only the haystack was the small area of tiny, crowded houses.
Even though it was a Tuesday morning, it was two little boys who eventually guided me to Rainbow Daycare, which was tucked away in the yard of one of the homes.
As I parked my car on the narrow gravel sidewalk, owner Mickey Botha stepped out from behind a metal gate before I even approached it.
With educational posters on the walls and colourful children’s drawings on display, one could immediately identify that it was a little crèche.
A passionate start in a backyard
Fortunately, I arrived during nap time, which allowed me the opportunity to sit down and talk to Botha about her establishment.
Botha, who has lived in Langabaan for over two decades, recalls the precise moment her mission to open the daycare began in 2017: “God gave me the vision to do it.”
It was her own four-year-old grandson who inspired the idea, asking, “Ouma, why don’t you start a daycare?”
She explains the effect his words had: “The words he spoke filled my spirit. Something tumbled in me. At that moment, I decided, ‘Lord, it is now you and me.’”
She started the crèche with just two children on March 31, 2017. Within weeks, the enrollment rapidly increased, eventually growing to 27 children today, ranging from six months to five years old.
The name, Rainbow Daycare, came to her in a dream and reflects the diverse reality of the children in her care.
“In my daycare, it is not only Coloureds. I’ve got Somalians, Zimbabweans, Coloureds, Xhosas. So, we are a Rainbow Nation,” Mickey proudly states.
Despite the immense need for childcare in the area, the crèche faces significant financial hurdles.
The monthly fee is only R700 per child, and after paying her assistant and covering essential costs, she admits the money is barely enough.
“It can’t cover,” she says frankly, explaining that many parents do not pay on time, forcing her to wait to cover expenses. She runs the crèche out of her own home to avoid having to pay rent.
However, Botha’s deep-seated passion is what keeps her going: “It is a passion, and I love it! Every day with the children, it is for me, mwah, 100.”
She relies on her own fundraising efforts to generate extra funds to ensure the children receive small comforts and go on outings.
Botha is not merely a caretaker; she is a dedicated educator. Her ultimate goal is to prepare the children for formal schooling.
She recounts a story of a bright four-year-old who, after a two-week absence, was able to flawlessly recite the months of the year after being told them just once. He can write his name, his surname, and knows his ABCs.
When asked what change the government could make to help, Botha’s request was straightforward: she wished the government would simply “come and see us” and acknowledge the vital role crèches like hers play.
She hopes for a subsidy or sponsorship that would allow her to “help me build the crèche and do it nicely.”
The financial strain and the rise of “pop-up” crèches
A mere five-minute drive from the tiny daycare, I spot a well-structured centre on a large field across from the town’s primary school.
There I met Bevelynn Blaauw, the founder and principal of Langebaan Pre-Primary Community School, which she established in March 2012.Discussing the critical challenges facing early childhood development (ECD) in the community, she quickly highlights the core financial hurdle her school faces.
“The majority of people in this community live in poverty. They can’t afford school fees in the same way as other people do.”
As a result of this widespread poverty, her fee-paying school is often the first casualty. “I don’t get any grant from the government or any organisation. The only money I generate is from my school fees. I’ve lost a lot of Grade R children because parents can’t pay fees.”
She argues that, given the lack of affordable options, government intervention is desperately needed to fund the parents, not just the institutions.
This economic pressure feeds directly into the second major issue: the rise of unregistered childcare centres, which Blaauw refers to as “pop-up” or “mushroom” crèches.
While parents choose them because they are cheaper, she stresses that many operate primarily for profit, “an income, not an outcome,” and lack the necessary qualifications and structure.
More importantly, they fail the children by focusing only on supervision and not development.
When discussing the tendency of some to boast that a three or four-year-old can write their name, she explains that this focus is dangerously premature.
A child needs to be holistically developed.
“In order for a child to read and write, there are so many other developmental areas that need to be developed, like in midline crossing, which is so important because you read from left to right, you write from left to right.”
Blaauw is clear on the solution: collaboration and humility.
“My plea to all these pop-up mushroom schools, to these unregistered schools, people who have their own businesses who are not qualified, reach out to the schools where the people are qualified… So, put your pride aside.”
Surviving on love
Further up the west coast, in the small town of Lambert’s Bay, the early foundations for many children are being laid by the sheer dedication of a few compassionate individuals.
Ella Cordy, a representative of the Non-Governmental Organisation (NGO) Diakonale Dienste Lambertsbaai, offers a candid look into the daily struggles of running the Seemeeu ECD centre.
The centre cares for 60 children, aged two to five, all from less-privileged backgrounds.
The parents pay a nominal fee of R250 per month, which is often waived with compassion if a mother cannot pay.
The commitment is unwavering: they simply cannot allow a child to miss out.
Seemeeu is, by any financial measure, a difficult operation. “Every year the auditor says to me, ‘You know the crèche is bankrupt,’” Cordy states. Yet, the doors remain open, carried financially by the NGO because “we do it because we care.”
If Seemeeu were to close, the 60 children would have nowhere else to go.
This necessity means the staff and the NGO are constantly walking the extra mile.
The children are provided with breakfast and lunch, and those most in need are given an extra peanut butter snack and hot chocolate before going home.
Since parents cannot afford basic necessities, the NGO relies on donations for essential items like wet wipes and nappies.
The staff, a principal, three teachers, and a cleaning lady who doubles as the cook, are the unsung heroes.
Despite some having worked there for 30 years, they all receive minimum wage because that is all the organisation can afford. “So that says to you, it’s love that keeps them coming back every day,” Cordy muses.
The recognition the children receive later is the real payoff. “They go to Pikkewyn Primary School, and then we hear, ‘It’s Seemeeu’s children. They are school-ready,’” Cordy shares, beaming with pride.
This holistic approach empowers the parents, too. “We are able to empower the parents also. How to get the best out of your child. And then the parents are also proud because they are also empowered.”
Sustainability is a dream, not a certainty, as fundraising is difficult in a poor community. Yet, they rely on the kindness of others, from bikers making large ad hoc donations to family members rallying friends to send “bakkie-loads full of stuff.”
A national economic wake-up call
Early Childhood Development isn’t just about cute toddlers; it’s an economic powerhouse waiting to be unleashed in South Africa.
Zaheera Mohamed, CEO of Ilifa Labantwana, a non-profit dedicated to systems-level change in ECD, lays out a compelling case for why proper funding is essential for the nation’s economic future and gender equity.
The real victory of financing the sector lies in creating a system that values women’s labour.
“The proper financing of ECD does not translate into a ‘mass women’s employment programme,’ it creates the conditions for a care system that values women’s work and unlocks their agency to participate in the economy meaningfully, and improves child development outcomes, building a sustainable future for all.”
The potential job creation is staggering. Achieving universal access to government-funded ECD services could directly generate an estimated 544,000 early learning programme jobs.
More significantly, providing quality, affordable childcare means two million women caregivers would have the genuine choice to enter the formal labour market, with economic ripple effects multiplying these gains across sectors.
The current cost of neglect is a terrifying wake-up call.
According to Mohamed, South Africa is severely underestimating the economic contribution of the female-led care sector. The figures on missed opportunities are eye-watering:
- GDP boost from health: If all children were on track with their physical growth (currently 24% are nutritionally stunted), the country could add R62 billion per year to its Gross Domestic Product (GDP).
- GDP boost from education: Ensuring all children attend a quality early learning programme could grow the nation’s GDP by about a quarter.
- Health system savings: A properly equipped national home visiting programme could save the health sector an estimated R30 billion over 10 years.
In short, underfunding the ECD sector isn’t saving the country money; it’s actively draining its future productivity and health.
A major challenge is ensuring government support actually reaches the children who need it most, particularly in informal, community-based centres.
Mohamed points out that the cost of fees is the biggest barrier to access, as many families can’t afford fees, and many centres can’t afford the infrastructure required for full registration and subsidies.
The solution requires two key policy shifts:
- Registration support: Thousands of “entry-level” programmes need direct help with physical infrastructure to progress. We need to better use existing tools like the ring-fenced ECD Maintenance Grant and consider “progressive funding mechanisms” to support entry-level sites where they are.
- Aligning subsidy value with quality: The current subsidy of R24 per child per day is simply not enough. “The current subsidy value of R24 per child per day still falls short of the real cost of quality provision, estimated at least twice that amount. Our government needs to progressively align subsidy values with the true cost of quality.”
Finally, Mohamed brings the discussion back to gender. The ECD workforce is predominantly female, and often undervalued and informal.
This isn’t just a workforce issue; it’s a national gender equity issue. Women bear the heaviest burden of unpaid care, which directly limits their participation in the formal labour force and contributes to South Africa’s high unemployment rates.
Mohamed concludes that developing a functional and effective childcare system is the key that catalyses the realisation of its gender transformation objectives.
Investing in ECD is investing in a productive workforce, a healthier society, and genuine gender equity.
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