Soweto drive by
Trip Start
May 25, 2005
1
25
284
Trip End
Ongoing
Soweto,
South Africa
Sunday, July 24, 2005
The baby had huge eyes. Was it the third or fourth generation to share that room? The grandma's stared at me through their cataract eyes. 'Why do these westerns come here?' flashing through their minds.
This was Soweto. A place I remember hearing about as a child. A place of human cruelty. Hector Pieterson was a name I would not forget.
"Is this your dinner tonight?" I asked the two men standing in the blinding light of the doorway to the outside
A trip to the Butcher's
. Swinging from a nail, above a sleeping dog, in an alley of corrugated walls, an owl was drying in the sun.'Yebo!'
"Did you catch it?"
'Yebo!' They smiled. 'Tonight we will feast!'
The fire was being prepared for the evening meal. A small crumbling oil drum was being stuffed with whatever fuel they could find. Perhaps it was good that the asbestos roof was falling down; the pieces would burn brightly tonight.
As we moved past the kitchen, I noticed a white cloth doll. It was bigger than the baby, but was abandoned, the limbs twisted as if broken by the force of the throw-away. How ironic to see a white doll in this slum, rotting like the heart of the South Africa gone by.
I was determined to talk easily. The human in me wanted to run, to get away from the poverty, so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore
A whole lot of Orange
. But these were real people, living real lives. I was just the same underneath it all.The father of the family stood outside. As the rest of the group moved on, I hung back, wanting to see if we could somehow connect our lives.
"You have lovely children. Such a beautiful smile." I said, indicating a small child with a nod of my head. It was true. She was striking. But what life had she inherited?
'You know, I can't find work. We try everyday. But it costs too much to get transport into the city if you don't have any pay. All we can do is keep trying, because then my children will have a better life. They will go to school, I am determined. They will have a better life. I didn't get to go to school and now I am struggling. They will go to school.'
Around us the children who had first stared at our arrival were now playing with the old tyres and pieces of wood, arguing, as children do everywhere, about who should balance on the trash first. The father had spoken with such a gentle voice. A voice of conviction, and not anger at the life he had led
Baby eyes
. Born in the 1960's he would have witnessed the worst of the violence. He was born into an era of Apartheid, into one of the biggest townships in South Africa, close to the heaving economic heart of Johannesburg, and the parliamentary capital, Pretoria.
As a black person he would not be able to move about without an identity card. He had to live under the rules of curfew. He was not a free man.
But has South Africa really changed? I couldn't help wonder if this life of freedom wasn't now also his captor? Were there opportunities for him, shelter, running water and electricity? What did he think of the government now?
'It's been ten years of democracy and still we don't have the basics of life. Still we live like this. But at least my children have their freedom.'
Aiybee, our guide, was proud of his city of Soweto.
Beautiful
'This city, Soweto, is my city. This is my home. And people here are doing better and better all the time. Look around you! Let me show you Soweto. You will be surprised!'
'Here is the house of the richest man in Soweto. See all his cars parked there....Mercedes, BMW... just look at this man's house. He is rich. He sells all the minibus taxis you see in Soweto, and there are millions of them. But he still lives here in Soweto. He is here in his home.'
We were parked outside a very exclusive house, built of brick, with security cameras and guard dogs and fences, domestic staff and large gardens. This was a home of a wealthy man - the upper class of town. And he was not alone. The surrounding buildings were of similar size and prestige.
"But is this the real Soweto Aiybee? I know it's part of the city, but how many people here really live like this?"
'Ok. Let me show you all of Soweto. Then you will see.'
And so we drove for miles and miles
Bus Stand, Number 32
. We went from the richest areas to the poorest informal settlements. The social divide was never more evident. The old hostels built in the days of Apartheid for single men and women who worked in the local industries were now owned by families. Scores of people packed into the dormitories made for a few. Portable latrines lined the streets; blue and green chains of plastic glinting in the midday sun. The houses and shelters were packed high up on to the hills.
'New Sowetans' were still arriving daily from the rural areas to chance their luck and find work in the city. They still erected cardboard and corrugated iron shacks. The city still had it's roots in the underprivileged.
'There is everybody living here that you want to meet. People come up to me all the time and say, "Aiybee, this is my city. This is where I want to live".'
Meat was being sold on the side of the street, flies buzzing around as the entrepreneur butchered his wasy to a profit.
'Do you eat meat?' said Aiybee
Cool cooling tower
. "Sometimes!" I said.
'I think it was a cow! He's doing it the proper way! Cutting it up where people can see!'
The mixture of rural in the city was everywhere. People were selling oranges and food from baskets. The informal economy was strong, people buying what they knew, the way they liked.
And as we drove slowly down the street, looking at the houses with washing floating high on the lines between the fences, a small boy made a gesture of a gun with his hand aimed at out faces.
So it's true that Soweto may not be the place of violence, or perhaps not the place of uprising portrayed around the world. And maybe it is now safe to stay in the backpackers hostels that have emerged on the edge of town. (Crime is now kept in check by the local 'Kangaroo courts') But I wanted to see more. I wanted to see the history of the place.
'So let me take you to see where Hector Pieterson was shot. That is the old Soweto. I'll take you there now, sharp, sharp!'
And with that Aiybee swung the bus around. No more picking through the streets. He knew where he was taking us. Through the city of four million people and through the roads of 2 million taxis.
We were going back to the dark days.
