Following Nelson Mandela's death in 2013, and the resulting attention on South Africa, and in particular the township of Soweto, I thought a lot about the time I spent out in South Africa in 2012 and I remembered this piece I wrote about my visit to Soweto, which never got published at the time.
We pulled up at the side of a road on a busy flyover, the
driver seemingly oblivious to the speed of the other traffic – just another
example of the reckless South African driving that we had become accustomed to
and fearing of in equal proportions. None of us wanted to be the first out of
the minibus; even with the doors closed, the extent of the poverty could be
seen. For miles ahead, row upon row of tumbledown shacks stood precariously, as
if the lightest wind would bring the whole settlement down, and with it, the
lives of the thousands of residents.
However,step outside the minibus we did – with our expensive cameras, nice clothes and
full stomachs, we owed it to these people to, at the very least, bear witness
to the trials and tribulations of their everyday lives. Looking at the traffic
going past on the flyover, thousands upon thousands of people must drive past
the shanty town every day, rushing between the centre of Johannesburg and the
wealthier parts of Soweto, or beyond, too busy to care about what is going on
around them.
Whilst the extent of the shanty town was shocking – not only
did it reach far into the distance, but it continued the other side of the
bridge, close to railway lines, and up into the hills, all the while watched
over by the iconic Soweto towers – the most shocking part was looking directly
below us. This allowed us to look into the lives of real people, individuals,
rather than a vast number of people. We saw children playing, women hanging out
washing on a makeshift line, people putting their lives at risk crossing the
lethal railway tracks. If anyone had
ever doubted the reality of the scenes shown to us on Oxfam appeal adverts, had
thought they were staged, or exaggerated, this alone was proof that they were
not.
As we spent a few minutes taking in the scene, an elderly
woman and her granddaughter approached us and engaged us in conversation,
asking our names and where we were from, before telling us they lived in one of
the homes below. The genuine interest they showed in our lives was humbling. We
bid them farewell as they continued their journey, and as we turned around, we
were faced with a wall of children, around 15 of them, all keen to talk to us.
Shouting below alerted us to the arrival of more children – word was being
spread around the settlement about the visitors up at the road, and groups of
children were scrambling up the grass bank and climbing over the railings to
see us. Sadly, their interest stemmed
from their need to beg – we were later told that their families send them up to
the road to get food or money from tourists.
Within seconds we were surrounded entirely by the children,
some as young as 3 or 4 years old, and our guide decided it was best for us to
get back on the minibus. Even as we climbed back in, the children were still
following us, until the minibus driver- who had grown up in Soweto
himself- intercepted, and spoke to the
children in a language we didn’t understand. We later asked what he had said,
and he had explained to them that those who had not been lucky enough to
receive food or money from visitors today would have to hope that tomorrow was
a better day for them.
We then drove to another area of Soweto –
getting a sense of how large it is was astonishing – where we were to have a
tour of one of the settlements with one of the residents. On arriving, a couple
of people decided to stay in the minibus, too upset by what they had already
seen. Those of us who did venture out were blown away by the friendliness of
the people. As we walked down the dirt track past their houses – some of them
smaller than our bedrooms at home- they waved, smiled, said hello, welcomed us
to their township. One elderly lady even invited us into her house, insisting
that we come in and look around. We tried to politely decline, but she was very
insistent, and our local guide, Sam, said that it was an honour for her to be
able to show us her home – a matter of pride, if you will. So in we went, the
house barely big enough for the ten of us. It consisted of three tiny rooms – a
kitchen, a living area and a bedroom. Decor was non-existent. The walls were
lined with tarpaulin in an attempt at insulation. It was small, but she was
proud of it, chattering away to us all, enquiring about where we were from,
telling us about her life, laughing and smiling the whole time. As we left the
house, a group of children were waiting for us in the garden – the news of our
arrival had quickly spread around the settlement, and as at our previous stop,
parents sent their children out to try to elicit food or money from visitors.
The children latched onto us, one on one, in a well
rehearsed routine, asking our names, where we were from, if we had any
siblings, before asking “do you have anything for me?” We had been told to leave
our belongings in the minibus and not to give them anything. As harsh as this
sounds, giving them money teaches them that begging is a sustainable way of
life and offers them no motivation to search for employment when they are
older. They walked with us for a while, until we headed back to the minibus,
and even as we got on and closed the door behind us, they could still be heard
asking “Do you have anything for me?”
An overwhelming
sense of guilt hit us knowing that these children would have to go back to
their parents, some with 10 or 12 mouths to feed, and tell them that they had
not managed to get any money today. Yet the thing that stuck with me most about
the experience was the attitude of the people we met. They all had next to
nothing, lived in conditions that most people are lucky enough never to
encounter, and have to fight just to survive every day, yet they were some of
the most joyful and welcoming people I have ever met. Always laughing, smiling,
greeting strangers and inviting them in to their homes. There’s a lesson to be
learned from these people!
