JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA — At just 17 years old, Lawley juggles high school, weekend odd jobs and the full-time care of her two younger brothers. Hers is a child-headed household: her mother passed away and her father has been absent for years.
“I didn’t want us to be separated. So I just did what I had to do,” she said.
Stories like hers are rarely documented, yet they speak volumes about resilience, resourcefulness and the cracks in South Africa’s social protection net.
In the townships of Johannesburg’s Deep South, life unfolds in informal settlements and overcrowded housing where working mothers, teenage caregivers and under-resourced families must navigate child care with little to no state support. Here, solutions don’t always start with institutions. They begin with community.
Across South Africa, Early Childhood Development (ECD) services are unevenly distributed. According to the 2021 ECD Census, 42% of the country’s early learning programs operate without formal registration. These include backyard crèches (child care for babies and young children), home-based care and makeshift playgroups — often set up in shacks or family homes with minimal infrastructure and untrained staff.
Many of these informal centers charge between 200 and 509 Rand (roughly $12 to $29) per child per month. They offer basic meals and a safe space, if little else. Still, they play a vital role.
In 2020, only 16.7% of children 6 years old and younger attended formal crèches or educare centers. More than half were not enrolled in any early learning program at all. In this vacuum, informal caregivers step in — often women in the community, or sometimes even teenage siblings in child-headed households, quietly holding families together in the margins.
Child-headed households — where minors assume the role of parent due to death, abandonment or incarceration of guardians — are a stark legacy of poverty and the post-HIV/AIDS era. Though precise national figures are lacking, estimates suggest tens of thousands of such families exist, particularly in urban informal settlements. Many fly under the radar, with children too afraid to alert authorities for fear of being separated.
For women working informally as domestic workers, street vendors or convenience store assistants, flexible, low-cost childcare is not just a service. It’s survival.
Why are we running a story on child care in South Africa? Source Media Properties is in the midst of a series examining child care in north central Ohio. The series title borrows from a famous African proverb, “it takes a village to raise a child.” As part of this special project, we’ve partnered with journalists in South Africa to offer an international perspective on the importance of high quality child care and how communities are meeting that need. These stories will run daily from August 18 through 23.
‘They teach the kids to write, dance and speak English’
In Orange Farm, a grandmother named Sophie once ran a beloved backyard crèche from her home. Dozens of children were cared for while their parents worked informal shifts.
“I didn’t do it to make money, I did it because mothers had no one else to turn to,” she said.
The small fees she charged helped cover food and cleaning supplies. But when too many parents stopped paying, she could no longer sustain it.
“I know I made a difference,” she said. “Even if it didn’t last.”
In Lenasia South, two women from the Moira Park informal settlement continue to rely on a humble community crèche for that very lifeline.
Dineo Kane, a 30-year-old mother of two, recently enrolled her 4-year-old at an informal ECD center in Hospital Hills, also in Lenasia South. It’s the child’s first year in any learning environment, and for Dineo, the impact has been immediate.
“With my older child in school and the younger one safely at the center, I’m able to take on piece jobs and manage my home without stress,” she said. “I can go to work without worrying. And when I’m home, I can do my chores properly.”
She drops her child off at 7 a.m. and picks her up around 3 or 4 p.m. Having a full day gives her the flexibility to seek income. She values the ECD not only for the care, but also for the early learning.
“They teach the kids to write, dance and speak English,” she said.
Benedict Ncube, 50, is a single mother raising two young children. With no partner or family support, she leans heavily on the same center for her toddler’s care.
“My youngest child goes there too,” she said. “It brings me some relief. I can take on piece jobs or get things done around the house.”
But the support doesn’t cover all her needs. Her 8-year-old has no structured care after school.
“Neighbors sometimes help, but not always,” she said. “I’m emotionally stretched. It’s hard.”
The village rises to the occasion
In South Africa, the Department of Social Development provides a Child Support Grant of 560 Rand (around $31.15) per child per month. Caregivers — including grandmothers, unemployed parents and teenage guardians — rely on it for essentials: food, uniforms, transport. But it’s rarely enough to cover full-time ECD fees.
And while informal crèches offer affordability and access, they’re not without risk. Studies show high levels of undernutrition among children in under-resourced ECD settings.
Many informal centers lack electricity, flushing toilets, proper ventilation and basic safety precautions. Few have trained staff, learning materials or outdoor play areas. These shortcomings affect not only children’s physical health, but also their cognitive and emotional development.
Yet amid the challenge, innovation thrives.
Some informal crèches are improving slowly with the help of volunteers, local churches or NGOs building toward conditional registration or compliance with national standards. Others are introducing low-cost learning activities: story time, donated books or recycled materials for creative play.
A growing area of innovation includes breastfeeding-friendly spaces, allowing mothers working in the informal economy to visit during breaks. Research from KwaZulu-Natal suggests that community-based care like this offers both nutritional and emotional security.
What emerges from all these stories across Orange Farm, Lawley and Lenasia South is this truth: Where government systems falter or move too slowly, ordinary people are stepping in.
They are often women, often unpaid and often invisible to policymakers. They are the frontline of a quiet revolution in childcare. They prove that policy alone doesn’t raise a child. People do.
Because in South Africa’s deep south, as in so many places around the world, it still takes a village.
This story was written by Shirley Govender. Govender is a community media publisher and managing editor behind three independent, hyper-local community publications in the south of Johannesburg: Globe Post, Orange Farm News and Walkerville & Savanna City Times.