Supermarket: Soweto-style. Picture: Annelies Gartner

The Soweto children were keen to have their photographs taken. Picture: Annelies Gartner


Lounging around my room in the luxury of the Sandton Sun hotel, the world was my oyster; I could flick on the cappuccino machine and my flatscreen television and catch up on the news of the world; I could book myself in for a massage; I could take my credit card shopping in the abundance of nearby shops; I could take a novel down to the pool and laze about. In the end I opted for the opportunity of a journey into the heart of Soweto.

Soweto is south-west of the city of Johannesburg. It is about a quarter the size of Johannesburg but has about three times the population. The rise of apartheid saw the pace of forced removals of blacks from their homes increase, in particular those deemed to live in “white areas”, and many were forced into camps in Soweto.

Our first stop was the Soweto suburb of Orlando. Most tourists come here because two of South Africa’s Nobel prize winners, Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu, lived on Vilakazi Street. It is hard to believe that these two influential figures were virtually neighbours. Today, restaurants are dotted among the residential properties on this tree-lined street, offering a taste of local dishes at a low cost.

After filling up on maize and black beans (being a vegetarian I had a plausible excuse to pass on the offal) at the Sakhumzi restaurant, we headed to Lebo’s backpackers. From here we would travel by bicycle to what used to be referred to as Zone 11. The black African male population used to be impounded here, only allowed out to work as cheap labour. But even to work it was necessary to obtain a passbook that allowed you to move around. Families were forcibly separated under the apartheid regime, sometimes not having any contact for months at a time. Today, this shanty town is a vibrant community of families.

Our guide took us into his home where eight people slept in a room smaller than most of our bedrooms. Men slept in a tin shed out the back. A lot of the dwellings now have electricity but still no running water. A communal area provides water for washing, cooking and drinking for all the “older-style” homes.

The local pub, or Sheeben, is little more than a tin shed. Two types of drinks can be bought at a booth before you enter. Inside, there are benches around the walls and a dirty, sweaty aroma fills the air. The beverages on offer are mague and mqombothi, one bright pink, the other dirty white with the consistency of porridge. They are both served warm and flat and come in one size — bucket size. The good news is you do not have to drink the whole bucket yourself. The bad news, for anyone with a slight germ phobia, once you have had a sip you pass it to the next person and the bucket goes around and around the Sheeben until it is empty.

With stomachs churning we left the “pub” and were greeted with shouts of, “Hello, how are you” and “Shoot me, shoot me”. It is still relatively rare for whites, in particular tourists, to visit this area and all the children want you to take their photograph. Moving through the streets, our guide pointed out housing developments going up on the outskirts of the shanty town. Those still without electricity were supposed to be on the top of the list to move into one of the new homes, but he said bribery was corrupting the system.

He also said health was a major concern for the population — HIV is still a big problem. The practice of safe sex is still shunned by a lot of people — some young men even now believe it is not really sex if they use a condom. Moving along, we saw the local shop that was not much more than the Sheeben. A cage of denuded chickens served as the local poultry shop. Mounds of rubbish were piled in the middle of a street and a sludge of water wound its way through the dirt roads. We passed the up-market bar, the Why Not. And why not indeed, this open-air bar served beer in bottles instead of buckets and plastic chairs instead of the low wooden benches we had experienced.

A lot of people said I was mad when I told them I was going to Soweto. “It’s dangerous,” one said. “You’ll be lucky if you make it back out,” said another. But even though the people in these settlements have little, they have a happy demeanour and are welcoming. They want the opportunity to make money and realise that tourism offers this chance. As our guide said goodbye, he asked us to look at the jewellery hanging on the wall when we returned to the backpackers. If we bought some of the craft he would have money to buy more beads, to make more jewellery and hopefully get to a stage where he could support himself. As I heard many times in South Africa, “Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime”.

Cycling back to Lebo’s backpackers I had time to reflect on the land of contrast that South Africa really is. I would return to my five-star hotel, while a family of eight would pile into a space half the size of my room for the night.

If you are interested in the history of Soweto and the plight of its people, the Hector Pieterson memorial and museum, in Orlando West, documents the student uprising of 1976. Hector Pieterson was the first victim of the uprising. The 12-year-old was shot and killed by police and the photo of his body being carried through the streets became a symbol for the resistance to apartheid.

ANNELIES GARTNER 25th June 2009, 11:00 WST

This article was found on http://www.thewest.com.au/default.aspx?MenuID=8&ContentID=150574

Good article - well written & with fair comment. Nice to see!