This was distinctly different from very green Uganda we remembered from four years back. And I peered at this landscape for hours and hours on this long flight, reminding me that unlike the depiction of the continent provided by those pathetically distorted Mercator projection maps that we all know from our school days, Africa is actually really really big. In Johannesburg airport, Madhavi and I were standing at a counter when behind us a female voice yelled out “Oh my God, Madhavi!” and Madh turned her head and in a shocked giggle replied “Oh my God!”. This was a really fun moment for me because I knew this would be good but I hadn’t turned my head yet and Madh hadn’t said the person’s name, so I had a second to try to imagine who this could be. Well, I drew a blank and just looked….it was Pallavi, Madh’s sister! We were all amazed. We knew that Pallavi, in the middle of two years of world travel, was somewhere in Africa, but we had been unable to contact her to coordinate a meeting. It turned out she was only transiting through Jo’berg (the more common local name for this city) but we did plan to meet again in Cape Town.
Madh and I went to the popular northern suburb of Melville to check into our hostel. Fortress might be a better term. The gate to the driveway was padlocked and the rest of the lot was walled and topped with barbed wire. After being let through the first security gate, we proceeded to pass through no less than three more locked doors to reach our sleeping quarters. We chose this hostel because its just a few blocks from lively 7th street, but when we asked the manager how to get there she looked at us funny and said “I’ll call a cab”. So we sat in the back seat for the 500 meter ride, perhaps the shortest of our lives, until we were safely deposited at a secure intersection marked by patrolling guards in neon yellow vests. Within the three block safety zone we chose a cozy French restaurant that night and a modern Thai place the next night, and both times we took taxis back and forth. Crime is devastating South Africa. In day-to-day life it seems to be more feared and discussed than HIV. It was sad to see.
On our only full day in Jo’berg we went on a walking tour of Soweto, the enormously important Black township that spearheaded the resistance to Apartheid. Our guide was Charmaine, a spunky 20 year old woman who exudes energy and cool the first second you meet her. She wants to become an entrepreneur and seeks to learn as much as possible beforehand, so though she did so much teaching our conversations were often a nice exchange as well. We started in Kliptown, the famed neighborhood where 40 years ago over a thousand Black, Indian, and “Colored” (the term still used for those of mixed background) leaders met for several days to write the progressive Freedom Charter, a landmark counter-apartheid document modeled after the U.N. Declaration of Human Rights. Standing by the Charter Monument with Charmaine we discussed race relations in contemporary South Africa. She recalls growing up being taught simply that “White people don’t like you” and as a teenager harboring hatred for Whites. Now she doesn’t think that way but she maintains that it is easy to distinguish the colder attitude of Afrikaaners (the centuries old Dutch-predominant settlers) versus that of other Whites. She commented that Indians “like to stick to themselves; I think it’s because of culture.” As we strolled down a dirt road beside tin roof markets, I commented that many shops seemed to be owned by Indians. “Not many, all of them,” she replied. This was not an isolated phenomenon. In all the African countries we visited, Indians tend to own the small businesses while Whites control the large corporations - in the former British colonies of Southern and East Africa, the Whites are often Brits living in the UK. We crossed the railroad tracks and entered the poorest neighborhood of Kliptown, where the homes are shacks mostly lacking running water and electricity. Along the first road we passed by a church group that was standing in a semi-circle and, following a woman’s lead, singing with wonderful harmony. Down the street Charmaine and Madhavi were laughing as they watched me standing there unable to stop staring and snapping my fingers. We didn’t know this was just a foreshadowing. Charmaine took us into the courtyard of a small building where dozens of elementary school-age boys and girls had gathered. We walked inside and learned about this organization called SKY (Soweto Kliptown Youth) that runs after-school programs for local children.
Suddenly our conversation with a SKY counselor was interrupted by the most beautiful sound – the children were singing! We walked out and just watched as this spontaneous chorus rang through the air. The vocal melodies were so uplifting. These were the songs of freedom that Madh and I had fallen in love with years ago through a wonderful documentary about music in the South African struggle. Charmaine had rarely seen this herself and enjoyed it as much as we did. She said very young children and some politically minded youth know this music, but post-apartheid it is slowly receding away as music such as American-style hip-hop becomes popular. A few girls took turns doing some brilliantly improvised dancing and pretty soon the whole scene was just euphoric. It had to stop, I guess, and afterwards the kids sat quietly while the SKY counselors put on a very creative 20 minute play about a conservative father and a daughter in love. Though nothing would be as dramatic, we did see much more that day. From a tower we got a view of all of Soweto, including another set of railroad tracks that divided two tribes pitted violently against each other during Apartheid days but who now live in peace. From that vantage point Charmaine quizzed us: “Can you tell which hills are natural and which are man-made?” She explained that the golden trapezoidal hills were huge dirt piles from the famous Johannesburg goldmines, the source of most of the world’s gold in the 20th century and an indirect cause of apartheid. We explored a village of huts representing many indigenous African architectural styles where statues of Mother Nature and a four-headed God were featured and a local sculptor showed us his thematic work. Charmaine taught us about the fascinating military style of African general Shaka Zulu. We walked along the streets where an uprising of high school students in 1976 sparked the irrepressible South African resistance, and we continued to Mandela’s childhood home before finishing the day at a memorial for the first child killed in the ’76 uprising.
The next day we went to the Apartheid Museum, which is a smartly designed industrial style building with over 30 sections that we wish we had had 8 hours to see. The beginning was memorable: there is one entrance for "whites" and one for "non-whites" and the one you pass through is based on a card you're given at the ticket booth. Other highlights included: history of gold in Johannesburg, how it caused rapid urbanisation, slum conditions, and eventually economic depression-induced scapegoating of Blacks; the wall of 130 Apartheid era racist laws; the sabotage phase of Black resistance in the early '60s which landed Mandela in prison for a quarter century; the sounds of crowds chanting in protest amidst police sirens that blared poignantly from TVs throughout the late '70s and '80s sections; and perhaps most especially an exhibit about a brilliant Black photographer and documentary writer named Cole, whose images of the torture of gold mines and descriptions of apartheid humiliation hit hard and true.
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