Just outside the imposing Carlton Centre, at the corner of Commissioner and Von Wielligh streets, loud maskandi music can be heard blaring from the parked minibus taxis. A silver Toyota Quantum silently joins the queue of taxis waiting to load passengers for the mid-morning rush.
It stands out for looking roadworthy among the many taxis that look more like old car parts assembled in a hurry, that seem to be held together only by the drivers’ prayers and God’s grace.
On entering the silver taxi, one is welcomed by the calm voice of a Talk Radio 702 news anchor reading the top-of-the-hour news. Nomusa Ngcobo, also widely known as Gogo Ngcobo by regular commuters, taxi marshals and drivers, reveals an off-white set of teeth as she warmly greets the passengers as they fill up her taxi.
Every seat taken, the vehicle takes off but is soon slowed down by another taxi overtaking it. The passengers in Gogo’s taxi are treated to the spectacle of two taxis driving dangerously close to each other as the overtaking driver asks for loose change from the one in front of Gogo’s taxi, all this while both vehicles are in motion.
“Bheka la manyala bawenzayo! Mabeqeda bazibiza oodriver.” [Look at this nonsense they are doing! And then they call themselves drivers], says Gogo while honking at her fellow drivers.
The South African taxi industry is known for its fraught relationship with women, be they drivers or passengers. There have been a number of reports of gender-based violence in taxis and around taxi ranks.
In December 2011, there was an incident of two teenage girls being harassed by a group of over 20 taxi drivers at the Noord taxi rank. The men taunted the girls about the length of their skirts, groped them and took pictures with their mobile phones. Even though the police intervened and took the girls away to safety, to this day no arrests have been made.
In 2015, a taxi driver was filmed manhandling a female passenger just because her cellphone rang while she was in the vehicle. These are just two occurrences that were highly publicised but many more occur on a daily basis without being reported.
THOUGHTS ON WINGS: After 12 hours on the road, taxi driver Nomusa Ngcobo takes a lunch break. Photo: Olwethu BosoPIMP MY RIDE:After the family taxi business folded, Nomusa Ngcobo started her own in 1990. Photo: Olwethu Boso
Still I rise
Women taxi drivers are few and far between in this male-dominated industry, and Gogo Ngcobo is one of the few that can still be found in the various Johannesburg taxi ranks, as the majority has now retired.
The 60-year-old mother of three has been in the taxi industry for over 30 years. Her children, Vivian, Given and Lilian are not fans of her being a driver as they feel it is a dangerous enterprise, particularly for a woman.
She says Given, her son, constantly asks his mother to get a gun – as a way to protect herself – like most taxi drivers.
In response, the single parent reminds her children that it was the taxi business that put food on their table and educated them, so they should not look down on the business.
Waking up at 4am every day is no big deal for Ngcobo. When she was a young girl growing up in Orlando East, Soweto, her grandfather was an owner of several sedan taxis. She says she and her sister would wake up early every morning to help their uncle and grandfather to wash the sedans, check oil and water and warm up the vehicles. The two men would head out to the rank for the day, leaving the young girls to go about their house chores, before going to school.
COMING UP SHORT: It’s incumbent on front seat passengers to count the money for the driver. Photo: Olwethu Boso
“Growing up, I knew I wanted to be a driver, especially a truck driver, but when I found out that truck drivers get hijacked a lot I became fearful,” she says, her eyes focused on the road as she drives.
After falling pregnant in Grade 10, Ngcobo did not return to school. She found work in the Johannesburg Central Business District (CBD) as an assistant at an Indian-owned shop selling curtains and homeware, where she stayed for 12 years.
While still a shop assistant, she would spend time at the taxi rank where her grandfather worked, and her liking of cars and driving was reignited. She took the scarcity of women in the taxi industry as a challenge and got more and more involved in the family business.
In 1984, Ngcobo became a driver for her family’s taxis, however, within six years the business was no more, after the vehicles had been hijacked or stolen during turf wars. When the taxis were sedans, the industry was highly regulated and controlled, with only a few black operators being issued with permits. After the industry was deregulated in 1987, South Africa saw the emergence of the minibus taxi, and and fierce competition amongs operators for passengers and profitable routes.
Undeterred, Gogo Ngcobo decided to start her own business, and so N Ngcobo Taxis – as per inscription on her taxis – was born in 1990. This was a dangerous time for any male taxi driver or owner, let alone a woman, yet Ngcobo has never looked back.
A WOMAN’S TOUCH: Gogo Ngcobo has had a life-long love affair with cars. Photo: Olwethu Boso
As a taxi owner, Ngcobo is a member of the Witwatersrand African Taxi Association (WATA). Her four taxis collectively rake in close to R2000 per day.
Back in the taxi, Ngcobo counts the money the passengers have given her, and she realises that it is R5 short. A single trip between the city and Orlando should earn her a total of R180. Instead of getting angry, Ngcobo calmly says, “Iyekele, ayisenani ngane, angeke ibuye manje” [Leave it, it doesn’t matter my child, it’s not going to come back now.]
Male drivers do not have extend such mercy to their passengers. Not when it comes to their money. A male driver would have shouted and disrespected the passengers until someone produced the missing R5.
Driving taxis can be demanding. Road rage, accidents, taxi turf wars and even criminals pretending to be passengers are just some of the problems drivers contend with. Ngcobo says the sexism she experiences does not only come from taxi drivers; passengers are rude to her just because she is a woman.
They make sexist comments and shout at her, calling her names such as s’febe [bitch]. As the driver she has to stay calm at all times. She says when she first started out as a driver, many passengers doubted her abilities at first, but now that some are used to her they have become comfortable.
She says it is strange that some men have a problem with her being a taxi driver, and yet do not have an issue with their wives, sisters or daughters driving cars.
BEHIND THE WHEEL: Gogo Ngcobo chats to her passengers. Photo: Olwethu Boso
National call
In September 2016, the South African National Taxi Council established provincial desks to deal with some of the issues female taxi drivers and owners deal with on the job, especially discrimination from male counterparts.
Chairwoman of the Gauteng Women’s Desk, Memory Modigoe, says these steps are long overdue. “Most of the women in this industry are not informed about running the business and they are vulnerable.
We want to create a space where women can be taught how to run their business, and where they receive the necessary support,” says Modigoe, who is a taxi owner.
She says her passion is to empower women operators and to create a platform where their issues are taken seriously even within the various taxi associations where women’s voices are not often listened to.
“I came into this business after my husband, a taxi owner, was shot and killed.
I was afraid, but I made a decision that I would run this business. We want women who are in the position I was in, and other situations they may have, to see we are here for them.”
In 2015, the Department of Transport compiled an action plan document in which it has given itself and the taxi industry a two-year time frame to transform the taxi industry, by allowing more female representation in its structures, especially at leadership and decision-making levels such as in associations.
As much as this initiative is great on paper, Ngcobo explains that it will be difficult especially with married women who are still suppressed by patriarchy, even in their own homes, as this job is demanding and means less time at home being a wife.
“Kukhona la kuzomosheka khona and kuzomele ukhethe,” warns Ngcobo. [There will be a time when all comes down crumbling and you must choose.]
After indulging in her cooling, yet filling, meal on this hot day, Ngcobo relaxes in the passenger seat behind the driver’s. Quickly, itis, a general feeling of lethargy experienced after eating a satisfying meal, seems to be attacking her as her eyelids struggle to fight sleep. Her phone rings.
“Uyabona nawe abathandi ma imoto imile iskhathi eside,” she says as she drops the call from her son. She explains that her children check on her once the taxi’s tracker alerts them that the vehicle has not moved in a while.
“They think something is wrong and don’t understand that sometimes when I’m done with my trips I park the taxi and sleep or eat lunch.”
Trackers were installed in Ngcobo’s four taxis when she purchased them. This was done mainly for insurance purposes as she is still paying off the fleet. She says it was also a smart business move as she is able to also keep a close eye on her drivers, to see whether their distances and routes correlate with the money they bring in at the end of the day.
CALL ME WOMAN:Gogo Ngcobo applies makeup before rejoining the queue to transport commuters. Photo: Olwethu Boso
“Hayi ukuthi angibathembi, kodwa li-business.” [Not that I don’t trust my drivers but this is business.]
“Ubaba bengekhe abuzwe kungani e-tracker abashayeli bakhe ngoba bayaqonda ukuthi uvikela imali yakhe nebusiness lakhe.” [If it were a man no one would question why he tracks his taxis and drivers because it would be understand that he’s protecting his money and business.]
Gogo jumps back to the driver’s seat, opens the overhead compartment and starts to apply foundation and lipstick, an unusual sight to witness in the driver’s seat of a taxi.
“Yebo ngishayela amatekisi kodwa ngise ngumama ozithandayo,” [Yes I drive taxis but at the end of the day I’m still a woman who cares about her appearance and loves herself], she says giggling.
It is the late afternoon rush and hordes of commuters swarm the taxi rank to make their way home, and hawkers peddling a variety of goods ranging from foodstuff to clothing, are keen to get rid of more of their stock before close of business. Gogo Ngcobo reverses her taxi from where she was resting, to join the queue, and to ferry the last load of passengers for the day, before she can make her own way home. Tomorrow, she will do it all over again, from 4am.
Zanolwazi Kunene is a student journalist for Wits Vuvuzela. He captured the Palestinian human rights protest which took the form of a motorcade starting in Marks Park on May 23, 2021.
The DJ was returning from a gig in Westonaria when police pursued him after learning that he had allegedly been driving recklessly and running red traffic lights.
Gauteng police spokesman, Captain Tsekiso Mofokeng, confirmed yesterday that the 37-year-old “was arrested in the early hours of Saturday morning on a charge of driving under the influence of alcohol and will be appearing in court on Monday.
“He was arrested on Main Reef road, near Randfontein, and was later released on R1500 bail,” said Mofokeng.
In December 2007 the former Sbu was reportedly caught driving at 257km/h on the Golden Highway, south of Johannesburg. In 2012 he allegedly collided with an ADT vehicle while driving then girlfriend Terry Pheto’s car in Sandton.
The former Metro FM DJ was last year arrested for the second time for reportedly being caught driving beyond the speed limit. In 2012, he allegedly collided with a security vehicle while driving then girlfriend, Terry Pheto’s car.
DJ Sbu came under heavy legal pressure this past year after promoting his energy drink without paying for the space on his previous job at Metro FM.
Sbu then used a fake South African Bureau of Standards approved logo on the product.
Last month, Sbu was on the Wits campus, speaking at a talk hosted by the Wits Black Lawyers Association (BLA) on west campus, promoting his “Mofaya” energy drink.
CONCERNING: Thugs have been active robbing Braamfontein locals and, in one attack, tying them up in the cemetery. Photo: Ilanit Chernick.
Wits Campus Control have warned students of an escalation in criminal activity in the area following the robbery of a man who was left tied to a grave in Braamfontein cemetery recently.
A tweet from the Campus Control account sent out on July 24 warned students that on “Enoch Sontonga [there are] thugs becoming violent”.
Security and liaison manager at Campus Control, Lucky Khumela, said the tweet followed the armed robbery of an unidentified man on July 23.
“A man was approached by three armed men. They robbed him of his valuables and then tied him up with wires to a grave in the Braamfontein cemetery,” Khumela said.
The man was left tied to the grave during the night wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. He managed to untie himself and alerted Campus Control of the attack. Campus Control then informed the South African Police Services (SAPS).
Khumela said police have promised to increase patrols in the area.
The area around the bridge outside the cemetery, across the road from Wits, has become a known crime hot-spot for thugs and students have been warned to be cautious there even during the day.
“There are guards from 6am to 6pm, but students must still be careful,” said Khumela
Campus Control also stressed on Twitter that students must not walk alone or with valuables in “isolated areas” after hours because “robberies outside campus is a real concern”.
Two female Wits students were also the victims of two separate smash and grab incidents outside the Wits Art Museum over this past week.
On Friday afternoon a student was driving along Jorissen street when a man approached her car window, smashed it and grabbed her bag.
The second robbery took place on Monday afternoon, also on Jorissen street, when another female student was waiting in traffic. A man smashed her window and grabbed her cellphone before running off into the busy street.
Campus Control posts security guards on Jorrisen street. However, Khumela said the smash and grab thieves were “opportunists” who waited until the guards were patrolling further down the street before striking. Khumela said they were investigating the recent incidents.
TEXTING: Wits Vuvuzela’s Tracey Ruff illustrates the dangers of texting and driving.
The seemingly innocent and fun mobile device poses hidden dangers to students walking and driving on campus.
Wits Vuvuzela conducted a snap “car count” for about three hours on Yale Road. We found nineteen out of fifty-three drivers driving through traffic lights and pedestrian crossings without checking for pedestrians because they were using their cell phones.
According to a number of articles in The Independent Online, an increase in users of social networks such as Facebook, Twitter and Instagram has caused an alarming number of people to grow addicted to cellphone use.
People are reportedly unable to get through a few hours without texting, tweeting or accessing Facebook. One of the dangers this poses is to drivers as well as pedestrians.
[pullquote] “it is just a matter of time before a serious accident occurs as a result of driving and texting”[/pullquote]”
Campus Control Security and Liaison manager, Lucky Khumela said Yale Road is one of the busiest streets on campus and this phone obsession is “an accident waiting to happen”.
Khumela, a former police officer, said he thinks the high number of “car-related incidents are orchestrated by cell phone use while driving”.
He said cell phones are seldom reported as the cause of an incident as offenders and victims know it is against the law to drive and use a cell phone.
Khumela said most accidents on campus are relatively minor and include bumper bashings, cars reversing out of parking bays or booms closing on vehicles.
“But there have been near misses in the past and it is just a matter of time before a serious accident occurs as a result of driving and texting,” he said.
He made it clear that students crossing roads are sometimes also to blame for the near accidents on campus because they too are on their cell phones and not watching the road when crossing. He also stressed that students must not cross roads at undesignated places because this could be even more dangerous.
“Students must not just cross the road without checking because it is a pedestrian crossing. They must make sure vehicles are slowing or stopping.”
Khumela said Campus Control will propose a plan to fine people driving and texting on campus in the near future.
There are two road safety initiatives currently in place on campus. These are traffic officers who direct traffic on the main roads in the university during peak times and officers who ticket those parked illegally.
Campus Control, together with the SRC, is in the final stages of planning a safety week on campus. Road safety will be a core part of this initiative.
A Wits bus travelling at “a ridiculous speed” shot through two sets of red robots while carrying a number of Wits students back to their residences last week, according to a Witsie who was on the bus.
Nokulunga Sithole, LLB, tweeted about the event to the All Residence Council: “It is unacceptable for bus drivers to be beating red robots and driving at such a ridiculous speed so late at night.”
Sithole was on the reverse circuit bus on August 1 at 11pm when the bus driver drove through the red traffic lights near KPMG on Empire Rd, on the way to Knockando, she said. He then jumped another set of red robots between Ernest Oppenheimer residence and Knockando.
[pullquote]Honestly sometimes when I am on the bus I don’t feel safe and am thankful when I get to my destination[/pullquote].
“Not only that, but the speed he was driving at was just ridiculous.”
As an indication of how fast the bus was travelling, the LLB student told Wits Vuvuzela it took only 15 minutes to get from main campus to Esselen. In her experience, this trip had never taken so little time.
“I’ve been on the bus a number of times where the bus driver will speed up just to beat a robot and sometimes pass a robot just as it turns red.”
Last term, Wits Vuvuzela wrote about reckless driving of buses, reported by students. A student tweeted Wits Services Department, of which the bus services forms part: “Wits drivers shud revise the way they drive cz sum of em are reckless. ‘XLZ996 GP’ @ 11:45 bus to JCE! wasnt pleased.[sic]”
At the time, bus services operations manager, Sue-Ann Reid, told Wits Vuvuzela the complaints were referred to management, who then spoke to the drivers. But this week, Sithole said Wits Bus Services had not yet come back to her about her complaint.
Honestly sometimes when I am on the bus I don’t feel safe and am thankful when I get to my destination
Wits Vuvuzela contacted Wits Services, but at the time of going to print, had not received any comment.
In her first feature for Wits Vuvuzela, Lisa Golden profiles Salvatore Serio, a healer in the town of Magaliesberg for over 40 years.
In north-west Gauteng lies the sleepy town of Magaliesburg. The only visitors are tourists moving through to the various B’nB’s that lie in prettier parts in the mountain and truck drivers going towards Botswana.
And then there are the people who come from all over the country, and the world, to seek advice from Salvatore Serio.
Driving down a potholed road just past the city center, there are weather-battered petrol stations with glaring attendants, resentful to be standing outside on the rare occasion of snow in the province. After a cluster of shops advertising fairy ornaments and hot coffee, the winding road to Serio’s Healing Sanctuary begins. The trees running up the drive way look abnormally green compared to the dry cold surroundings.
This morning, Serio sits outside his consulting room, hot air rising from his mouth into the cold air as he pats the collection of dogs surrounding him.
His physicality is father-like
At the age of 75, Serio’s energy is that of a much younger man. His physicality is father-like, a large strong presence that fills the small rooms and offices that lead to his consultation room.
Although he has been in South Africa for more than six decades, his strong Italian accent and expressive hand gestures belie his heritage.
Serio holds intense eye-contact while he speaks and punctuates his speech with “You understand, hm?” and light jabs on your shoulder. He’s comfortable with placing his hand over your heart when talking about love, or running a finger across your head when explaining your thoughts.
Touch between strangers has been made taboo
His physicality is unusual in world where touch between strangers has been made taboo, however it is not invasive or uncomfortable in any way. His frequent repetition of that overused phrase “I love you” seems so genuinely heart-felt that it is difficult not smile and squeeze his hand back.
But the work Serio does in this quiet, peaceful place appears to be a lot more powerful than hugs and smiles. Serio’s reputation as a healer and psychic of sorts had kept him busy for the last 42 years, and he has consequently built a hospice in neighbouring Krugersdorp, and old age home and this healing sanctuary to advance his work.
He rejects attempts to define what he does as psychic, clairvoyant or fortune-telling.
“To me, its nature, you understand? I want to feel you, you have an aura. So I must enter your aura, your energy. When I have your energy, I know everything. Not psychic, or you feel vibrations, because we are one people, we remove the body and we love each other so much, you understand?”
How this bubbly Italian man ended up in Africa, let alone the small town of Magaliesburg is a tale in itself.
“When I was ten, I told my mother, my wife, she is in Africa”
“When I was ten, I told my mother, my wife, she is in Africa. I did come to Africa, I did meet my wife. I had never had a girl before. At the same age, hm, my wife told her friends at school that her husband was coming over from Italy.”
“We are like this, joo!” He brings his hands together and links his fingers. “You go to the right place, you meet the right person. We are 52 years married, and we are still like this,” he says, holding up his interlocked fingers.
Salvatore Serio grew up in war-torn Italy. As the only boy in his family Serio was unable to finish his schooling as he began to work to help support his family.
“He had a growth here, on his neck, and I cut it off with a blade”
“It was the best time of my life, because I remember how good it is to get some food, and now I get joy in giving other poor people food because I remember how good it is. I needed that to know.”
A turning point came when a hobo came in to his town, in need of assistance. Serio, his sister and his cousins helped wash the man with hot water. Whilst doing this, Serio saw a growth on the man’s neck.
“He had a growth here, on his neck, and I cut it off with a blade. All the rubbish came out, but then it started bleeding and the skin was hanging”
His sister and cousin told him that the old man would die and Serio would go to jail for killing the man. Serio spent the night praying that the man would be okay, and discovered in the morning that the man’s wound had completely healed.
“You have the devil inside you”
“When I showed my mother she said ‘you have the devil inside you’. From there I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know why when people were sick I wanted to help them, and I could help them.”
It was soon after this incident that Serio was given an opportunity to come to South Africa to work on the mines. Serio proved a successful builder, a skill he had never studied formally.
Marisa Serio, his daughter, grew up with her Catholic father and Afrikaans orthodox mother. She remembers stories from when her dad ran a construction business, where he could pick up faults and problems before the quantity surveyors could work out what was wrong.
“My dad has developed a wonderful mind, where he can tap into the resources of the universe. He knows what he needs to know and applies it to what he does.”
It was this intuitive understanding of the world around it, and his ability to heal that led to him opening up the sanctuary.
Like any skill, Serio explains that what he does has taken year of practice and hard work.
Reiki healing
His consulting room is the definition of cosy, with warm arm chairs lining the sides of the room, and a seat not unlike a doctor’s chair to lie down on when he performs Reiki. While Reiki traditionally is the manipulation of energy without touching the body, Serio moves his hands up and down your body, pushing and squeezing different parts as he goes. Like his affectionate jabs while he talks, it does not feel like an invasion of personal space. When he placed his large, soft hands over my forehead and eyes, it felt incredibly peaceful.
While describing the many portraits of spirit guides on his walls, Serio tells of an experiences that shows the very powerful work he does at the sanctuary.
A desperate mother brought her eight-year-old son Antonio Gras to Serio. He had cancer of the stomach
When he lifted his hand the mark had transferred onto it
“He was green. The doctors had told the mother, maybe one month, but they can’t help him.” He placed his hand over a scar from the treatment, and when he lifted his hand the mark had transferred onto it. He asked them to come back the next week to try do more healing.
Serio points to a dark portrait of a pale, sombre man with dark eyes. His name is Peter Angelou, a spirit guide of Serio’s.
When the mother returned, her son walked into the room. “The mother tells me, that one, he came. He came in the night and said ‘I want to take the goggo out of your stomach.” Serio’s smile as he tells of Antonio’s four grown children shows the extreme pleasure and joy he takes in explaining this phenomenon.
While extreme illness and depression are some of the more serious reasons people seek out Serio’s guidance, the everyday burdens of love, loss and hope for the future is the more common guidance people are seeking. Such personal and emotional information is shared with ease as Serio pick up issues.
Dominated spiritually by the Afrikaans Orthodox church
Serio is against giving negative messages to people about their past or future, but prefers to tell the people to “pull yourself together” and “think right, be positive.”
“I must see the good in you, I must see the love. I mustn’t tell you bad things, because it gets more power,” says Serio sternly.
Serio’s work natural draw criticism , especially in a town so long dominated spiritually by the Afrikaans Orthodox church, the NGK. Marissa describes growing up in such a small town where her family’s spirituality was not accepted by some parts.
“They were afraid of what my dad was doing”
“People are better now, and are more open-minded. In the beginning years, it was tough. Especially the Christian churches, and very rigid philosophies, they were very afraid of what my dad was doing. And judged it a lot without really exploring it properly. We were often rejected and judged.”
Marisa helped run the family hospice, where she came against resistance to people who were scared of her “different connection to God.”
“Our family philosophy was that this is not something we fight about, or try convince someone about. This is a way of life you find for yourself. We’d rather try to see the divinity in every body, and try to speak to that divine part.”
Christianity mixed with unconventional spirituality
Up the road from the sanctuary, I meet a woman named Tracey McMahone, whose own life has been changed by Serio and the healing sanctuary.
McMahone described her harsh divorce and loss of self that drew her to Serio in search of healing. Her eyes are bright and energised, and between them lies a Hindu bindi that covers a permanent bindi that McMahone tattoed on herself.
“He taught me that Tracey needs to be fed, Tracey needs to be clothed, Tracey needs to walk around with tattoos and shaved head if she wants to, and as long as she’s happy, she’s happy.”
Tracey embodies the mixed spirituality of many of the residents of this town who have come to Serio; Christianity mixed with unconventional spirituality.
Marisa explained the phenomenon as changing time in history where people were changing their conventional understandings of what it means too have a relationship with a higher power.
“There’s an awakening in humanity to realise, hey, wait a minute, this box is too small to fit God in.”
“You have the right to enjoy life”
Back in Serio’s warm, cosy room, it seems that in all his stories and conversations, he always comes back to one point; love.
“My sweetheart, the reality is I have a feeling. I work for this gift. I want to touch you, I want to know what you need. But not always for a cure. You have the right to enjoy life, you have the right be happy, you have the right to cry, you have the right to be poor, you have the right to be sick.”
“But you can change everything you want, by, you see,” he pulls my ribcage up with one hand on the back and one on the front, “you understand, hm”, he smiles, “Breath life.”
As he waves me goodbye I notice that his middle finger on his right hand is missing from the second knuckle down.
It seems such a strangely human disfigurement on such a spiritually complete person.
WITSIES have come up with an initiative that is going to help fellow students who cannot afford to buy textbooks.
The Volunteer Initiative for Students’ Textbooks (VIST) is the brainchild of Witsie Crossley Mjojo. It is aimed at assisting Wits students who struggle to obtain study material despite being able to pay for their tuition.
The team consists of Mjojo as the initiative’s coordinator, Rabia Kamdar, Palesa Molebatsi, Lesego Ndala and a number of Wits graduates who play an advisory role. They hope to not only make an academic difference but a financial one as well.
The initiative, which was only authorised by the university in September last year, will begin in the second semester because the team has focused on getting the project off the ground and finding ways to make the concept as good practically as it is theoretically.
The drive is intended as a means for “students to help other students,” because not everyone is privileged enough to afford new books or any at all, said Mjojo.
Mjojo highlighted the team’s hope to raise awareness to Witsies about the circumstances of their fellow students.
Under the Wits Volunteer Programme’s WVP) structure which is responsible for a number of social responsibility projects, VIST anticipates collaborating with well-known bookstores in making textbooks accessible to all students but more especially first years.
Major demands that have been noted are for science and commerce-related subjects because the material is generally costly and reading material can be used throughout one’s undergraduate degree.
Mjojo said, “This is an initiative that should continue here at Wits even after I have graduated and should hopefully become an independent charity that will function within multiple universities.”
Students who are interested in donating books and be part of VIST can find them at room 241 at the Matrix.
In-depth 2016: Joburg CBD Founded in a gold rush during the 1800s, the early days set Johannesburg’s character as busy and constantly on the move. Many came from all over the country, continent and the world to seek their fortunes. Some prospered, others did not. By...
To meet persistent service delivery needs, the government has proposed a VAT increase of 1% over two years, raising the rate to 16% by 2026/27.
Finance Minister Enoch Gondongwana finally delivered the 2025 Budget speech on March 12, after a shock cancellation in February. The approval process will follow, with Parliament set to review, debate, and vote on the proposal.
While much of the public debate has focused on the proposed VAT increase, Gondongwana said “the central issue is fostering economic growth for the majority. Over the past decade, South Africa’s economy has stagnated, with GDP growth averaging under two percent”.
To achieve the country’s goals of redistribution and structural transformation, a faster, more inclusive economy is essential.
The 2025 budget outlines a strategy centered on “macroeconomic stability, structural reforms, infrastructure investment, and improving state capability to unlock the country’s productive capacity,” said Gondongwana.
With fiscal stability in focus, the budget also targets reducing debt-service costs and addressing critical issues like Eskom’s debt. Stabilising the economy, enhancing job creation, and advancing social services, are all at the top of the list.
Infrastructure remains a key focus in the 2025 Budget, with over R1 trillion allocated to capital spending over the next three years. Key areas of investment include R402 billion for transport, R219.2 billion for energy, and R156.3 billion for water and sanitation.
Projects such as upgrading roads, rebuilding the Passenger Rail Agency of South Africa’s infrastructure, and expanding water systems are central to driving economic growth, creating jobs, and improving public services. Public-private partnerships and innovative financing, including an infrastructure bond and credit guarantee vehicle, will further support these efforts.
Godongwana said the VAT increase could help meet persistent service delivery needs. It is expected to generate R28 billion in 2025/26 and R14.5 billion in 2026/27. After weighing alternatives like increasing corporate or personal income taxes, the VAT increase was deemed the most viable option to avoid further spending cuts and ensure essential services continue.
In social security, R284.7 billion is allocated to grants, with increases for the elderly, disabled, and child support. The COVID-19 Social Relief of Distress (SRD) grant will continue until March 2026, with 28 million beneficiaries set to benefit.
The South African Revenue Service (SARS) receives R3.5 billion this year and an additional R4 billion for improved tax collection. Efforts to broaden the tax base and improve compliance will help fund essential government services.
For early childhood development and education, the government allocates R10 billion to increase subsidies and expand access to early education for 700,000 more children. This investment supports the foundation for a better future workforce.
In addition to these measures, funding is set aside for critical health and security services, including a R28.9 billion boost to healthcare to retain workers and ensure adequate staffing in hospitals.
But none of these measures can be implemented without a majority vote in favour, so all eyes will be on parliamentarians for what happens next.
FEATURED IMAGE: The cost of living: South African Rands may not stretch as far if proposed VAT increase takes effect. Photo: Adobe Stock
Journey through the heartbeat of Johannesburg’s theatre scene, as we trace its transformation from a tool of resistance under apartheid’s harsh censorship to a thriving space for diverse voices and stories in South Africa’s democracy.
The lights dimmed as two figures stood centre stage, gazing over at the crowd. A single spotlight cast long shadows and, for a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, the haunting notes of Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika rose, not from a choir, but from the audience itself. It was a song that once whispered defiance in theatres, now sung freely in places providing a platform for stories of pain and success.
I was a part of that audience, sitting in the intimate space of Soweto Theatre, where the walls felt close and the stage small. We had just finished watching Woza Albert! and the air felt thick with unspoken words. The crowd, usually eager to fill the space with chatter, sat in heavy silence; heads bowed slightly, eyes distant, as if each person were lost in the story they had just witnessed. You could almost feel the weight of history settling over the room, as everyone absorbed the gravity of what had just happened.
When we sang, we sang with heart and, as the final notes of the national anthem faded, Hamilton Dlamini and Thulani Mtsweni quietly left the stage. The audience rose to their feet, their applause filling the theatre in a wave of gratitude. The woman standing next to me quietly wiped away a tear, while my friend cheered at the top of his lungs. It was an electric moment – one that we all knew would stay with us. It was more than just a performance: it was a story that mattered.
These are the kinds of stories that still resonate in the democratic South Africa of today. Yet, although they remain ingrained in the nation’s cultural memory, the word “democracy” is now more often tied to thoughts of politics – elections, government promises, and the ongoing fight for basic human rights like clean water and education.
Among these vital issues, we often forget the profound role art played in winning our freedom. Art, in its many forms, challenged societal norms and empowered black people to take agency over their lives.
Through art, stories of hope and resistance blossomed on stages on which actors dared to challenge apartheid’s brutality, feeding the spirit of a nation yearning for liberation. The names of photographers like Alf Khumalo, David Goldblatt and Sam Nzima often fade from memory, their lenses once capturing the soul of a nation’s struggle, now left in the shadows of history.
Writers like Steve Biko and Es’kia Mphahlele are often lost to time, their words once carrying the weight of a nation’s sorrow and hope, now drifting quietly through the corridors of memory.
Protest plays like Sarafina, once powerful voices against the injustices of apartheid, are now watched on Youth Day by parents and their teens – a fleeting moment of reflection before life carries on, as if the struggles they portray are distant echoes, easily set aside.
Protest theatre is a genre that emerged as a powerful force, distinct in its provocative and participatory nature. It stirred the soul, turning audiences from silent onlookers into fierce participants, igniting in them a fire for change and the will to fight for this.
As plays like Sophiatown unfolded on stage, it echoed to the streets of Soweto which erupted in flames when the young voices of the Soweto Uprising rose in defiance a decade prior. It was a gut-wrenching, yet beautiful moment of art and protest intertwining. As the screams echoed through the streets, voices rose from the stage. Though different in sound, they spoke the same language – delivering the same message. Theatre continues to serve as a mirror to society, reflecting its tensions and truths. But is its impact as powerful now as it was in the fight against apartheid? Does the taste of freedom still hold the same promise for South Africa’s people today? And how has the significance of theatre during apartheid evolved in contemporary times?
Theatre’s significance under apartheid
For Malcolm Purkey, renowned playwright of Randlords and Rotgut (1980), Sophiatown (1988), and Love, Crime and Johannesburg (2000), the significance of theatre as a vehicle for social change has always been undeniable. Sitting quietly among the vacant seats of the Wits Theatre, the founder of the Nunnery Theatre at Wits and its iconic box theatre recalled how his landmark play Sophiatown first found its voice at Junction Avenue Theatre.
The play draws from a poignant reality during apartheid. Based on the unique history of Sophiatown, a township where black people were allowed to own land, the play tells the true story of two Black writers who boldly advertised for a Jewish girl to live with them. This move challenged societal norms and the segregation laws of that time.
The opening scene creates the atmosphere with a soulful adaptation of Kofifi Sophia by the cast, with Mingus, one of the characters, sitting front and centre, his hat pulled low. His voice blends into the rising chorus as he states his claim: “We are staying here in Sophiatown.”
The other character, Jakes, a Drum magazine journalist, rises to speak, painting a picture of the heart of Sophiatown. He calls out its streets, the jazz legends and the political icons that walked on them, recalling the emotional energy and soul of a place both revered and targeted by the apartheid regime. It’s a declaration of identity, a memory of the township’s heart, and a warning of its looming erasure.
It is in moments like this – when theatre becomes a voice for the silence – that its role in history and today’s times is undeniable. When asked about theatre’s place in such crises, a quiet moment lingers before Purkey speaks. “I still believe that theatre has a right and a need to continue working, no matter what the state of the play is. And actually, if there are uprisings or, you know, revolutionary processes, theatre can play a part in that.”
Reflecting on theatre’s role in revolutionary processes brings to mind prominent venues like the Market Theatre. The theatre, originally built in 1913 in Johannesburg’s bustling Indian Fruit Market, took its name from this trading hub. In its transformation, it became known for something greater – internationally recognised as “The Theatre of Struggle”, a symbol of resistance against apartheid. The theatre defied the segregation laws of that time and dared to imagine a different South Africa.
Purkey recalls how the Market Theatre’s audience evolved, becoming a representation of the future the theatre-makers hoped to see – a diverse, non-racial crowd, hungry to see stories that represented their complex world. Who were these people? Where had they come from? What was it about their hunger that pushed them to seek storytelling?
“These people came to have their realities explained back to them,” Purkey remembers. They weren’t just entertained: they were challenged and enlightened by beautifully woven narratives, layered with wit and humour, despite the gravity of those times.
Long after the curtain call, these audience members would linger around in bars, filling the space with the clutter of glasses and the murmur of voices, sometimes slurred with drink, but always lively. It was more than just a bar – it was a forum, where political dreams, frustrations and a vision for a new future were debated into the early hours. Over the clinking of glasses and rising cigarette smoke, those conversations sparked with the same fire that lit the stage, painting futures that had not yet been written.
Although these conversations have long faded, the energy and ideas they birthed continue to ripple through time. The spirited debates and ideas of a new tomorrow may exist as echoes, but the desire for transformation has not been dimmed.
Instead, it has been passed down to a new generation – Gen Z – who find themselves at the start of their own defining moments. With their unique challenges, desires and visions, they stand prepared to rescript the narratives of the past and create new stories for the stage.
Gen Z: Rescripting the stage of change
Today, Generation Z, the digital natives, step into theatres, not to escape their world, but to transform it. In the 30 years since freedom was won, their stories grapple with modern struggles like LGBTQ+ rights, the #FeesMustFall movement, unemployment and the many challenges shaping young lives.
However, this generation, although present in the theatre world, does not make up a large percentage of the audience. In a Mail & Guardian article, titled ‘Theatre can return to grassroots’, several critical issues are highlighted about why theatre today may seem like it’s either facing a crisis or slowly fading away.
According to the article, one of the biggest problems is the lack of early exposure to theatre. Inside these theatres, seats once filled with different faces are now occupied by only a few people, many of them older, affluent individuals. The stories on stage are powerful, relevant – but something feels missing.
The kids from township schools aren’t there. The teachers didn’t bring them, because no school trips were arranged. The reason? Tight budgets and bus fares they can’t afford. Theatre, they believe, is for the elite. And so, the gap widens. Residents who live mere blocks away from the theatre see it as distant, unreachable. The stories might be theirs, but the stage feels foreign, inaccessible, built for others.
This is the growing silence that Gen Z has come accustomed to. Unlike the audience of the 1980s, who, as described by Purkey, needed theatre to reflect the struggles of their external world, today’s generation craves something more intimate. Rather than having the world explained to them, they seek an understanding of themselves.
A recent report in The Guardian found that one in three young people aged 18 to 24 are grappling with mental health challenges like depression and anxiety. As these numbers rise, so do questions of identity, purpose and belonging. This generation, confronted by a digital age that blurs the line between the real and the virtual, increasingly faces identity crises that deepen their desires for stories that speak directly to their internal struggles.
As Gen Z continues to search for stories that resonate with their internal struggles, the future of theatre must evolve to meet their unique needs.
Reimagining theatre: A path forward for a new generation
Lesedi Job (40) an award-winning theatre director, actress and voiceover artist is sitting in the drum room of the 10th floor of the University Corner Building. Job is also known for mentoring emerging artists and her advice to young creatives has always been simple: “Don’t chase the title. Society, especially with the rise of social media, pushes people to seek validation.”
Being in theatre is about doing the work: you will know if it’s truly for you before anyone tells you, Job emphasises. It is this wisdom, rooted in years of experience, that has shaped her approach to storytelling and mentorship alike.
Reflecting on the challenges theatre faces today, Job offered a compelling perspective. Ticket prices do not need to be lowered so theatre can become more accessible to people of all socioeconomic backgrounds; in her eyes, theatre is already affordable.
Job emphasises that reducing prices is not a solution, because at its core, theatre must still operate as a business and account for operational costs. Instead, what truly needs to be changed is how theatre is marketed – how it introduces itself to the public and how it calls to those people who have yet to experience its magic.
As she says this, a memory slips into my head. In the playwriting classes I attended during my undergraduate years, theatre’s lack of adequate advertising was often highlighted. One thinks of moments of driving along highways and seeing billboards dominated by banners promoting the latest Netflix series or adverts for consumer products. In contrast, a new play – particularly one that isn’t an adaptation of an apartheid-era classic or written and directed by a well-known figure – faces a far steeper climb to gain recognition. This highlights how much effort it takes for a fresh production to break through the noise and capture public attention.
Even without the widespread visibility of mainstream media, theatre’s role as a mirror to society remains as essential today as it was during apartheid. Although the world is no longer as deeply in touch with the medium as it once was, I believe theatre still holds the same powerful impact. It is finding its new voice in democracy, just as it decoded South Africa in a time of struggle.
Today, theatre aims to reflect who we are and seeks to explain the complexities of modern life back to ourselves. Although the taste of freedom may have shifted, the core, intention and heart of theatre remains the same.
FEATURED IMAGE: Joburg Theatre’s Instruments. Photo: Ofentse Tladi.
Nearly 30 years into democracy, the city of gold’s residents face the harsh reality of a broken service delivery system.
Imagine living in a city that was once hailed as the economic titan of Africa but is now subject to the daily indignity of deteriorating infrastructure. Even after 30 years of democratic governance, persistent power cuts, erratic water supplies, roads riddled with potholes, and uncollected garbage have become unfortunate realities for many Johannesburg residents. The aspirational goals of equality, liberty and socioeconomic progress appear increasingly unattainable to some people.
For individuals like Maureen Ncube, this is the hard truth. “We are struggling, we do not have electricity,” Ncube says. “We are stranded in the informal settlements.” In Kanana Extension Four – an informal settlement located northeast of central Johannesburg in Rabie Ridge – Ncube, a mother of eight, lives in a humble home where poor service delivery makes it challenging for her to manage her daily tasks. Her home – built from discarded materials and sheets of corrugated iron – sits just a few feet away from a stream of sewage.
It’s a typical Saturday morning in the settlement, alive with the sounds and colours of township life. The scene is both vibrant and unsettling. Outside Ncube’s home, the stench of sewage is overpowering: a mix of decaying waste, stagnant water and rotting refuse, with dead rats occasionally floating by. The communal tap stands right next to the sewage, forcing residents to fetch water while the smell lingers heavily in the air. Children run around barefoot, oblivious to the health risks that lie in the murky water they splash through.
Residents are left in the dark on certain days when the electricity is totally cut off. In addition, they must frequently go without water on days when the supply runs out due to leaking communal taps. Like millions of other Jo’burg residents, Ncube and her children rely on these basic services to survive. With every dry tap, power outage and pile of uncollected garbage, she is reminded of just how much Johannesburg’s service delivery has failed its people.
Numerous locals such as Ncube face a daily dilemma: either deal with water scarcity or spend money on expensive private water supplies. Their physical health is negatively affected by the unreliability of critical services, and their everyday lives are overshadowed by the emotional toll of living in uncertainty. As they negotiate a system that has repeatedly let them down, families are left anxious by the constant fear of upcoming power outages or water problems.
The establishment of municipal state-owned entities
The Municipal Systems Act gave rise to organisations like City Power and Johannesburg Water in the early 2000s. Section 73(1)(c) of the Act emphasises that municipalities must ensure “universal access to essential services that are affordable to all” and move progressively toward “the provision of basic services to all our people, specifically the poor and disadvantaged”. The Act saw Johannesburg Water and City Power as essential providers of reliable and reasonably priced services that supported the constitutional goal of fostering equitable development.
City Power and Johannesburg Water were expected to adhere to the Act’s mandates for financial sustainability and community engagement. Section 73(2)(b) requires that municipalities provide services “in a financially and environmentally sustainable manner”. Despite their mandates to offer affordable services, City Power and Johannesburg Water have encountered both financial and operational challenges. Mismanagement and rising expenses have made it more difficult for these organisations to achieve their initial objectives.
A Kanana resident tries to navigate through the uncollected waste. Picture: Rivaldo Jantjies.
What went wrong?
City Power and Johannesburg Water were established to improve service delivery in Johannesburg; however, they have not met their objectives. The Municipal Systems Act, section 95(c), mandates municipalities to maintain sound financial management to ensure sustainable services. However, these state-owned entities have been embroiled in corruption and mismanagement.
An August City Press article reported that auditor-general Tsakani Maluleke’s 2022-23 report raised significant concerns about financial mismanagement in the City of Johannesburg. The City retained its previous year’s unqualified audit opinion with findings, yet issues of poor financial management persisted, according to City Press. In addition, a July Mail & Guardian report highlighted allegations that City Power and Pikitup have been heavily tainted by corruption and political interference. Prominent ANC leaders are accused of compromising public services by capturing the city-owned companies for their own benefit. Investigations into the entities are under way for anomalies in tenders that led to poor service delivery. Patronage networks have allegedly been strengthened by these actions, which are believed to have enriched certain politicians at the expense of taxpayers and the construction of vital infrastructure.
Section 73(2)(c) of the Municipal Systems Act requires services to be financially and environmentally sustainable, but the deteriorating infrastructure suggests otherwise. For instance, Coronationville has faced weeks without water, leading to protests as frustrated residents demand their basic rights. A recent Daily Maverick report found that Coronationville depends on the Hursthill 1 Reservoir, which is facing severe operational challenges and structural decay, resulting in major water losses. Similar issues plague Kanana, where residents endure recurring blackouts and broken water-supply systems, despite the initial goal outlined by these state-owned entities to provide equitable service delivery. The common thread for these failures is a lack of transparency and accountability.
Political analyst Ebrahim Harvey argues that service-delivery issues in Johannesburg stem from external pressures placed on local leadership. According to Harvey, the World Bank played a role in pushing ANC councillors and officials toward restructuring municipal services in the early ’90s. He adds, “The World Bank is the place that put pressure on the ANC councilors and leadership to go the route to collapse all the services in the municipalities.” The foundation for future initiatives and economic changes in South Africa was established by the World Bank as early as the 1990s. To prepare South African officials for the Bank’s possible participation in local projects, should an interim government request this, the Bank held policy seminars and capacity-building workshops, as well as conducting informal economic research.
The consequences for Johannesburg residents
Two Kanana residents, Moitheri Tau and Tembi Elizabeth Mokwele, publicly voice their dissatisfaction and disenchantment with the city’s inadequate services.
Tau, who has lived in the area since 1993, describes a daily struggle for electricity and safety. She explains that residents connect power cables to a nearby transformer. “We don’t have electricity and the service delivery is poor. We connected ourselves illegally after City Power disconnected us,” she admits, pointing out the dangers of living without basic services. “Our children use candlelight to study, but when they fall asleep, the candles set the shacks on fire. One burning shack can cause 14 more to catch fire,” she says.
Mokwele emphasises the unsanitary conditions in which they live. “There’s dirty water everywhere and it makes our children sick,” she says, sitting outside her home. She is enjoying a lively conversation with her neighbors, laughing and cracking jokes, despite the dire situation. Mokwele speaks of her frustration with the government’s repeated promises during election cycles, only for these promises to be forgotten afterwards. “We vote and every time they promise us better living conditions, but nothing happens,” she says.
Both Tau and Mokwele, like many other residents, are desperate for change, pleading for electricity, RDP housing and basic services to ensure their safety and dignity.
The frustration with Johannesburg Water and City Power is not limited to informal settlements, but extends across the city. On Johannesburg Water’s X page, complaints are rampant. One resident expressed outrage after being left without water for days, saying, “We have no water for two days! You just shut off the water without any plan. It’s ridiculous and unacceptable.” Another user echoed this sentiment, frustrated by the repeated failures: “You clearly don’t serve Jo’burg… Why is it taking so long? Why can you never get it fixed correctly the first time?”
The alarming decay of Johannesburg’s water infrastructure is driving the city toward a potential ‘Day Zero’. This raises serious concerns about management and upkeep. In June News24 reported that Rand Water’s maintenance problems make it difficult for Johannesburg Water to satisfy demand, which leads to frequent supply interruptions. The prolonged timescale for these upgrades raises concerns, even while efforts are being made to enhance and modernise water infrastructure to mitigate these problems. Why has it taken so long to fix and improve vital water infrastructure that millions of people depend on every day after more than 30 years of democracy?
Similarly, the City Power X page is filled with complaints from residents affected by constant power outages. One exasperated user shared their frustration, saying, “Every week it’s the same story… whenever Kanana has no power, we are also affected – this is ridiculous! Matriculants are writing exams, how are they supposed to study?” Another commenter highlighted the effect on their livelihood: “Getting fired for always making the same electricity excuse. Working from home is a nightmare.” These posts reflect the widespread discontent across Johannesburg, as both water and electricity services fail to meet residents’ most basic needs.
Kanana household’s illegal electricity connections hang over an informal pathway. Picture: Rivaldo Jantjies
Rising frustration and economic effects
In vulnerable communities like Kanana, the breakdown of service delivery in Johannesburg has aggravated socioeconomic disparities. Dr Morné Oosthuizen, chief research officer at the Development Policy Research Unit of the University of Cape Town, explains that whereas wealthier households can adapt by installing solar panels or purchasing bottled water, poorer households are left with no such alternatives. “Poor households are much more constrained than better-off households in their ability to insulate themselves from poor service delivery,” Oosthuizen notes. This inability to access basic services not only deepens inequality, but also compromises efforts to reduce multidimensional poverty. As Oosthuizen puts it: “Basic services typically serve to reduce inequalities – if you look at multidimensional poverty [and] inequality measures, which include these kinds of services, you will see relatively low rates of multidimensional poverty and lower inequality levels.”
The collapse of infrastructure also raises operating costs for businesses. Oosthuizen says, “There is real potential for this phenomenon to raise costs for employers – for example, they need to install solar panels, or they need to repair vehicles more frequently because of higher wear and tear – putting pressure on their ability to remain competitive.” This added burden weakens local economies, further limiting employment opportunities and driving up costs for businesses already struggling to cope with unreliable services.
In the long term, Johannesburg’s infrastructure problems are discouraging business investment and pushing skilled labour out of the city. The South African Chamber of Commerce and Industry business confidence index for July 2024 reflects this sentiment, showing only a marginal improvement of 1.8 index points from the previous year – a gain too modest to counteract the ongoing concerns about local infrastructure and utility reliability. Oosthuizen emphasises that service-delivery failures can serve as a “push factor”, driving businesses to relocate. “Where businesses do not need to be located in Johannesburg, poor service delivery encourages businesses to relocate elsewhere,” he says. This potential exodus of both businesses and workers threatens to further erode Johannesburg’s economic stability, affecting not only established companies, but also informal businesses reliant on formal-sector earnings. Oosthuizen says, “This can undermine local economies, also through the impact of a weakened formal sector (and earnings from the formal sector) on the informal sector.”
Ncube and other Johannesburg residents deserve better. The city’s inability to supply basic utilities like safe power and clean water is a catastrophe that has to be addressed immediately. It’s time to invest in this city’s future and end the cycle of neglect.
Residents of Kanana share their daily struggles of service delivery. Video: Rivaldo Jantjies
FEATURED IMAGE: A visual representation of a dripping communial tap in Kanana. Photo: Rivaldo Jantjies.
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