Ken Liffiton: south africa : township

24 hours in the townships
Thursday-Friday, 15-16.6.2000

contents
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Third class
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Stranger
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Feeling at home
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Nightlife education
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The Day formerly known as Soweto Day
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Back across town
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Township economy
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"One settler, one bullet"
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Departure

My friend Thobani is not only a great guy but a good guide and an interesting person to have a conversation with. As you can see, he's better dressed than me as well. He was interning at IDASA during my visit; we met when he heard I was interested in visiting the townships and immediately offered to show me around for a day in Guguletu, KTC, and Nyanga, visiting his friends and family in their homes. After that we became good friends.

Some have asked me about pictures from my 24 hours in the townships, but I have none. It seemed unnatural to be sticking a camera in people's faces or otherwise acting like an observer rather than a guest in people's homes. However, I made other visits to townships, and images from those trips appear elsewhere on the site.

Third class

After an afternoon taking a look at township housing projects, I stop by my house to pick up a few things and take the train over to the Salt River station. I meet Thobani on the platform and we get on a train headed down the Cape Flats line. We get into what we think is a third-class rail car, but find first-class seats inside. It's a bit puzzling until we realize why it's third class -- there are no windows! Throwing rocks at first-class train carriages is less popular in townships today than it was during the frustrating years of apartheid, but a rock or two is still hurled upon occasion, and our train car seems to have been one of the main victims. So, it's quite cold in our train car.

The high-security train (with special doors, security cameras, stronger windows, and so on) to Khayelitsha township is running on the tracks next to us. It appears to be especially rock-battered but able to withstand the abuse. The Khayelitsha train, with windows on every car, looks pretty comfortable in comparison with ours despite being overcrowded. Thanks to the old apartheid government's forced relocation policies, Khayelitsha is a township of nearly a million people located in just about the middle of nowhere, and that's none too good for the Western Cape's poor transportation infrastructure.

Stranger

I've become accustomed to the diversity of Capetown, but the areas outside the city are still very segregated along the lines drawn by the apartheid regime, and my pale skin is conspicuous in a sea of black faces.

We reach our station and begin the walk to Guguletu township. I've become accustomed to the diversity of Capetown, but the areas outside the city are still very segregated along the lines drawn by the apartheid regime, and my pale skin is conspicuous in a sea of black faces. However, I don't find the same reactions I got the last time I was in a similar situation. That was during my recent four-month stay in Danang, Vietnam, where people would literally stare and point at me as I passed. It's nice to at least feel like perhaps I belong; everybody goes about their business as if I'm not there.

That wouldn't have been the case under apartheid. If the township residents actually didn't give me trouble in say, 1985, I'd still be facing issues with the police. Perhaps I had some sort of residence in the area, violating the Group Areas Act, or (even worse) maybe I had a girlfriend there, violating the Immorality Act and getting me a ticket to jail and drastically diminished social status. Today there isn't much threat for outsiders traveling to the townships, but it is good to go with somebody familiar with the area.

Feeling at home

After a long walk through a mix of houses and shacks, down a few roads, and past more houses and shacks, we reach the home of Thobani's friend Russell. Russell lives in one of the nicer homes in the neighborhood. Upon entering I think it has to be a new home, but find that it is in fact freshly renovated. We spend a good deal of time discussing politics and world affairs, along the way weighing the merits of various political and economic theories. Most importantly, we discuss

Democracy isn't the cure-all many here had expected following the 1994 elections. Many have become complacent since then, and Russell is no exception; he says he hasn't paid a great deal of attention to politics since then.

democracy's superiority to other political systems (or at least representative democracy; you can have too much of a good thing), even if it isn't the cure-all many here had expected following the 1994 elections. Many have become complacent since then, and Russell is no exception; he says he hasn't paid a great deal of attention to politics since then.

Russell's wife offers me tea or coffee and, after I choose tea, she returns with a cup of coffee, apologizing that the only tea she has is something called "rooibos," as if it must be terribly foreign to me. I assure her that I drink at least three cups of rooibos (a tea grown in South Africa) each day; she is surprised but happy to give me a steaming cup of rooibos and everybody is satisfied. I hope that not too many people will try to "accommodate the foreigner" during my visit to the townships!

Just before dinner, Andile, Thobani's cousin, comes in. We all talk a bit more over a dinner of chicken, vegetables, and cornmeal. Russell had worked as the manager of a McDonald's for quite a while, but he eventually decided the job was too stressful and he now is planning on starting his own laundry business. Although there is drastic poverty in the townships, not everybody there is "dirt poor," and some have disposable income, perhaps making a laundry business feasible. We're soon distracted from our conversation by the preoccupation that's been gripping South African households of all races for weeks -- the case of Hansie Crojne, the captain of the South African cricket team now on trial for match-fixing.

We see Crojne's confession in its entirety before it's time for Thobani and me to leave with Andile for his home in Nyanga township. He is fortunate to have a car, old but still holding together well. We drive down NY1, the main road through the township and the "place to be seen." Andile's home is a shack no more than two and a half meters square; inside are a double bed, dresser, wardrobe, food cabinet, and large refrigerator. The furnishings are nice but the shack seems hardly able to accommodate them. The government is slowly building houses to

Andile's home is a shack no more than two and a half meters square.... The government is slowly building houses to replace shacks such as this one, but many of the government subsidized houses aren't much bigger than the shacks they are intended to replace.

replace shacks such as this one, but many of the government subsidized houses aren't much bigger than the shacks they are intended to replace. Andile's wife and small child are home as well as a neighborhood girl who has stopped by to visit, and it's a bit crowded with six people in the little shack! So after a brief visit we go off with Andile in his car again, this time with his wife and child as well.

Nightlife education

Our next destination is the University of the Western Cape, where Thobani studies when he is not interning at IDASA. UWC was a non-white institution during apartheid; today white faces are still extremely rare and most white students are in fact exchange students from Europe. The large campus residence halls accommodate many of UWC's 16,000 students and, although the original plan had been for me to stay in Nyanga, I will stay along with Thobani at a residence hall because there simply isn't enough space in Andile's shack. I would have been perfectly happy to sleep in the sliver of floor space between the bed and the dresser, and wonder if perhaps I'm being treated as a foreigner again, but I will spend plenty of time in the townships tomorrow and South African university life is something I know little about.

We spend a good deal of time wandering around campus, stopping by and visiting Thobani's friends. Most campus buildings are large and modern, but some of the older buildings show signs of wear and tear, and the school is underfunded for purchases of needed tools such as computers. The residence halls are fairly new and spacious but do not have any telephone or Internet connections. Those who can afford them have cell phones, while others use the public cell phones located in a shipping container in the middle of the dorm complex, the cheapest way to call a friend's cell phone.

We meet up with Thobani's friend Bruce and eventually find our way to the campus pub, the happening place on campus. Much like US college students, these UWC students enjoy their beer, and it looks for the most part like a US party with a twist or two. For instance, while some sing and dance, others (at least the people I'm talking with) are actually having reasonably high-minded political discussions. The overall air of the party seems a bit more civilized as well; some people are in fact drinking too much, but it seems to be the exception rather than the rule.

The main problem I face at the pub is the size of the beers. After politely drinking substantial quantities of Vietnamese beer and "wine" (a.k.a. moonshine) as well as a substantial dose of Filipino "special juice" over the past few months, I had been hoping to escape alcohol at least for a while, but I'm out of luck. Bruce and Thobani go to the bar and get the six beers for the three of us. This is seemingly no problem, except beer comes in 25-ounce bottles here and I'm already tired out. This trip to the pub will be a bit lengthier than I had expected! I talk with Bruce

A major street gang here calls itself The Americans, putting a new star on their flag whenever they conquer more territory, just as the original Americans did. Fortunately, people here don't buy all aspects of American culture.

for a while and tell him about my experiences in Cape Town; he seems quite pleased that I have never been to the Waterfront, the main "first world" bastion of the Western Cape, and that I am trying to spend as much time as I can in the townships -- the "third world."

Our beers finished, we head back to Bruce's dorm to get some rest. Late US rap star Tupac Shakur (a.k.a. 2Pac) is prominently featured on the walls of Bruce's room along with posters of BMW automobiles. 2Pac appears to be even more of a legend here than he is in US rap circles. Just like most places in the world, South Africa imports a lot of American culture and not all of it is good. A major street gang here calls itself The Americans, putting a new star on their flag whenever they conquer more territory, just as the original Americans did. Fortunately, people here don't buy all aspects of American culture. Next to the 2Pac posters are others hailing the importance of rejecting imported culture, but 2Pac is the acceptable exception to the rule.

The Day formerly known as Soweto Day

After a good rest, we wake up on Youth Day, a South African public holiday to celebrate the achievements of youth, especially in their previous struggles against apartheid. Youth Day rose out of 1976 Soweto student uprisings against the apartheid government's plan to provide public education exclusively in Afrikaans, a language alien to most of the black majority. June 16 was orginally called Soweto Day, but has been renamed by the ANC government to be more inclusive.

For a bite to eat, we stop by the dorm of Thobani's friend Linda, which is apartment-style and therefore conducive to getting us some breakfast. As today is a public holiday, the TV is blaring with the exact same weekend morning fare found on many US TV stations -- a variety of infomercials selling overpriced products with dubious claims. Our favorite is a direct import from the US, selling what appears to be little more than a "pager" attached to an elastic belt. This miracle invention has helped billions of satisfied customers lose weight and it's available for the low, low price of only R199 (US$30)! "But wait, there's more..."

As today is Youth Day, Thobani and I plan to go to a rally being held at a residence hall across campus. "Across campus" turns out to be a long way, past the Bellville Metro rail line and a former taxi terminus that is now a shambles, inhabited by thugs who attacked women on their way to the distant residence hall at night until the university started a shuttle service. At our destination, we can't seem to find a rally, as the intended speaker for the rally hasn't shown up; it seems that Soweto Day has lost some of its intensity in becoming Youth Day.

We aren't idle for long; Thobani soon runs into yet another friend. Having been in student government for a while, Thobani seems to know about half the people on campus and we visit at the residence hall for a while.

Back across town

In the end, we end up with a taxi to Nyanga that's on the verge of collapse; I'm convinced that the door next to me is going to fly open at each bend in the road, but we finally arrive safely.

We check back around the main part of campus to say goodbye to Thobani's friends there, and then head out to the main road to catch a taxi to Nyanga. All the minibus taxis headed that way are full because they have just left the Bellville terminus, so we conclude that the only way to get where we are going is to take a taxi back to Bellville and then get one in the direction of Nyanga. It's a bit expensive; I still don't know how a lot of people from the townships can afford to take the minibus taxis, which are actually more expensive than taking the train. In the end, we end up with a taxi to Nyanga that's on the verge of collapse; I'm convinced that the door next to me is going to fly open at each bend in the road, but we finally arrive safely.

It's time for another stop at Andile's house, which seems even smaller in daylight. We watch part of today's Comrades 2000 South African marathon, and decide to go on to visit some more people. A walk across town takes us to Thobani's brother's house. Thobani's brother isn't home, but Thobani has a key and we take a look at the house. It is a backyard shack, one of the many results of South Africa's housing shortage. The shack has been shoddily built onto the back of a real home and rented out to Thobani's brother. It truly fits the universal definition of a bachelor's house; things are strewn everywhere. The shack falls well short of being a decent home, but at least it serves its purpose.

Across the street is Thobani's wife Tholisa's house. Thobani spends much of his time at the university while his wife spends more time in the township. The house is well built, with a sizeable front yard and comfortable rooms. We stay briefly before heading out to visit yet another one of Thobani's friends; we'll be back later for a longer visit.

Township economy

Back down on NY1, we catch a local township taxi. These taxis are not minibuses, but instead old, beat up cars, almost all Toyota Cressidas. However, they operate more like buses, following a certain route and taking however many passengers can be jammed inside, just as the minibus taxis do. We get out near the home of Thobani's friend Zozo and head up to his apartment. Zozo has just moved into the apartment and is planning on renovating it soon. He's a gregarious guy and we talk with him for a while on his third floor balcony overlooking much of the township. He is

Some here might say Zozo, an intelligent young man, is irresponsible to go into business rather than politics, but Zozo feels that economic development is just as important as political development for black South Africans.

aspiring to start a business; some here might say Zozo, an intelligent young man, is irresponsible to go into business rather than politics, but Zozo feels that economic development is just as important as political development for black South Africans. They have succeeded at progressing politically but lag far behind economically, and more people starting their own businesses will help change that.

Another walk around the neighborhood brings us to a local shabeen. Shabeens have historically been places of illicit drinking, gambling, and prostitution in the townships, but today many operate "above ground," just providing a place for local people to drink, socialize, and maybe watch a football game or play a few rounds of billiards. Russell is at the shabeen, so I get a chance to say goodbye to him before leaving the townships. The other people in the shabeen are quite friendly, saying hello and shaking my hand in the local manner; many people are surprised I know the complex handshaking ritual of black South Africans.

We only have time to stop briefly, and then head back to Tholisa's house. Now running out of money, we're truly operating on a township budget, and we still haven't been able to find a township Youth Day rally. Deciding another cross-township taxi ride back to our origin is beyond our means, so we go for a long walk down NY1.

"One settler, one bullet"

During our lenghty walk, we discuss local politics and Thobani brings up the subject of Amy Biehl. Amy was an American Fulbright scholar working to help the people of South Africa, killed here on the NY1 in Guguletu while giving some black friends a ride in her car. Some residents returning from a rally with the theme "one settler, one bullet" saw the white woman in her car and acted on their rally cry, dragging Amy Biehl from her car and killing her.

Today, things are much more stable, but many here still remember the killing. Violence now is generally not against foreigners. The only high-profile killings of late have been of many local bus drivers and even passengers caught in the ongoing taxi vs. bus wars in the area; taxis generally function outside the law in most aspects of their operation, and even killing the competition and its customers is not out of the question. Negotiations are ongoing, but the taxi drivers lack any sort of unified association so negotiating with them is next to impossible.

Departure

The townships, like most other poor communities in the world, are filled with good, friendly people who are simultaneously victimized and given a bad name by the actions of a few thugs who know they can take advantage of local conditions.

Over at Thobani's wife's house, we come across the marathon again; people are still stumbling across the finish line ten hours into the race. Men and women of all races run by; only a few years ago, this simply wouldn't have been possible here, but today it isn't a problem. Tholisa serves us some chicken as we've been walking quite a long way. Fresh bread is baking in the oven in the well-equipped kitchen; the smell is tempting but we're going to have to leave pretty soon. It's time for me to go back to town; we go to the local taxi terminus and eventually find a taxi with space headed for Wynberg, where I'll be able to catch the train to my Heathfield home. Thobani comes along, as he needs to get some money out of the bank and ATM machines are few and far between in the townships.

It has been an enlightening 24 hours in the township area for me. The townships, like most other poor communities in the world, are filled with good, friendly people who are simultaneously victimized and given a bad name by the actions of a few thugs who know they can take advantage of local conditions. Everybody I met today has been friendly and generous, dispelling all of the negative myths about township life. I hope I will get a chance to return someday soon and help the people of the townships build upon the strong communities they have started against great odds. Most importantly, the people of Guguletu and Nyanga may be materially poor but most are very rich spiritually; there are many lessons to be learned from them and I hope more people will get a chance to hear their stories and join in township life.