If we were to draw inspiration from spiritual books, we would learn that the hand that gives is more blessed than the hand that receives. On Louis Botha A venue, however, sometimes it is giving inspired by experience, yet without expectation, which contributes to changing lives.
Second-hand shops along Louis Botha Avenue are not uncommon, yet there is one that stands out from the rest. Situated on the west side of the avenue, the Hospice Wits shop does more than sell pre-owned items at a fraction of the price. The shop is an epitome of the saying, ‘One man’s trash is another one’s treasure’. The sales of this said treasure contribute towards sustaining an organisation that ensures that those suffering from terminal illnesses are as comfortable as possible in their final days.
Hospice Wits is a child’s paradise of fun and entertainment, a reader’s central hub of information and, judging by the rose-scented incense burning in the furniture department, a home owner’s one-stop shop for basic essentials.
The toy store within the Hospice Wits shop provides children with a sense of education as well as entertainment. Photo: Molebogeng Mokoka
Merely describing those who shop there as customers may even seem like down-play, especially considering the role they play towards giving back to the community, abiding by the motto, ‘No end to caring’ as displayed boldly on the corridors of the shop.
The Hospice Wits shop forms part of a series of charity shops in the Johannesburg region aimed at raising funds for Hospice Wits, a facility in Houghton that provides palliative care to terminally ill patients.
‘The aim is to make the lives of terminally ill people as comfortable as possible before they pass on. In some cases a patient may not want to move into the hospice itself, so there is a team of nurses that visit the patient’s home to check on them,’ said 34-year-old Lebogang Thelele, head of the furniture, toys and clothing department.
According to the Hospice Wits website, ‘The Hospice Association of the Witwatersrand was started in September 1979 by a Johannesburg couple, Stan and Sherley Henen, who first responded to a need in their community for hospice care.
‘The Gordon Waddell House on 2nd avenue was donated to Hospice Wits, and in 1983 the property on 1st Avenue was purchased. It became known as Greendale House and was converted into a six-bed in-patient unit.’
The facility has since grown to provide services to a greater number of patients, and today it has more than 125 full-time staff members including doctors, nurses, social workers and psychologists.
But how does a charity shop manage to occupy an entire block of land?
According to a document released, titled Spacial Transformations and Identities in New Immigrant Spaces, by Wits University’s School of Architecture and Planning, ‘Orange Grove and Norwood developed in the early 20th century. Economic and demographic shifts in the CBD in the 1970s and 1980s affected Louis Botha Avenue and Orange Grove experienced a decline.
‘The decline of the area around Louis Botha Avenue during the 1980s made rental affordable for black South Africans, foreign residents and business owners.’
Jeffery Shabala, who has been managing the shop for the past three years, said that the Hospice, which has been in existence on Louis Botha for about 20 years, is run independently.
BELOW: Hospice Wits shop along Louis Botha Avenue is not just a charity shop which aims to raise money for Hospice Wits itself. It has become a second-home to some of its employees. Faheema Essop, Busisiwe Mavondo and Princess Nonjijij share experiences within their own family, which inspired them to work at Hospice Wits shop.
‘We don’t pay rent because we own this block. Before moving here, the hospice was located close to where the [Inland] pharmacy was. This block was occupied by a liquor store, I think it was called Liquor Boys, a dry cleaners, and there was also a car park,’ he said.
The decline not only made it easier to purchase property in those days, it has also permeated the current state of the area around Louis Botha.
This could be seen in protests that erupted there in April this year. According to a news report by the SABC, residents of Orange Grove took to the streets of Louis Botha, demanding that outgoing Joburg Mayor Herman Mashaba address issues of poor service delivery, provide housing for poor families and convert unused government buildings into accommodation.
Despite not having to pay rent, the charity shop still needs to be able to pay creditors, employees and maintenance.
Shabalala said, ‘Besides selling the items to the public, we also engage in donor drives to generate income. We have also leased some of the space within the shops.’
One of these leased spaces is occupied by a nail bar owned by 35-year-old Xoli Nkosi.
LEFT: It’s not unfamiliar to walk inside Hospice Wits shop and be seranaded by good music. For sale is wide collection of music, movies and games for the whole family. Photo: Molebogeng Mokoka
‘I enjoy working in this space,’ she said. ‘Even though I am renting, I have a good relationship with the people who work here.’ Among those to whom Nkosi refers are Busisiwe Mavondo, Faheema Essop and Princess Nonjiji.
Collectively, these three women are described as the pillars that keep the shop running, going beyond the call of duty to ensure unity among colleagues.
Sitting inside the coffee shop at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon, Mavondo adjusts her spectacles, keeping an eye on the boutique store located directly opposite. She single-handedly manages the boutique.
‘I have been working inside the Hospice Wits shop for six years. I first heard about the shop when I came here as a customer.
‘I started out as a volunteer, since I was a housewife and had a lot of time on my hands. Since then I have been able to work in every one of these shops, except the bookstore,’ she said.
Listening to the top-of-the-hour news on 702, Mavondo says helping the less fortunate had always been something she wanted to do. She hopes to one day go to her home town of Nkandla, Kwa-Zulu Natal, to start her own charity shop there.
‘I currently stay in Bramley. Sometimes when I am here at work I see an item that may help one of my neighbours. I then buy it for them, because working here has given me the power to help.
‘I once heard about an initiative that helps young girls with dresses in time for their matric dance and thought it would be a great idea if I did this for my community back home.
‘In the past, things such as a matric dance were not that important, but they are today. If I can start a boutique similar to this one, I can help young girls enjoy their matric dance. All I need is funding,’ she said.
The boutique contains various racks on which clothes ranging from wedding dresses to formal dresses are displayed, as well as jewellery.
‘Sometimes people come here and buy from the boutique in bulk. We have filmmakers coming here to buy clothes as costumes.
‘We do not get involved in what the customer does with the items once they own them, but I believe in extending a helping hand, so it would be interesting if the items were donated after being used,’ she said.
Mavondo’s 30-year-old son also works in the retail sector.
‘I raised my children to help others when they can. My son collects second-hand clothing and sells it for a living.
‘Sometimes he comes here and donates the items he collected. He even comes to buy clothes for himself,’ she said.
Busisiwe Mavondo shows off her outfit, comprised entirely of items she bought inside Hospice Wits shop. Photo: Molebogeng Mokoka
According to an article by Susan Horne titled The Charity Shop: Purpose and Change, General William Booth, founder of the Salvation Army, wrote in his book, ‘There was a large amount of wastage of goods in “well-to-do” homes that could be channeled into supplying the “submerged” with employment.
‘Category 1 covers those charity shops that sell only donated goods. Category 2 comprises shops that, in addition to selling donated goods, sell a percentage of new bought-in goods. Category 3 shops sell only bought-in, new goods’.
Situated west of Louis Botha, the Hospice Wits shop could be classified as category 2, since some of the items sold inside are new.
Before it hits the shelves
Everything that comes through to the shop has to first pass by the eyes of Faheema Essop.
Essop, 34, has been working at the shop for the past nine years.
‘I came to know about the hospice itself when my grandmother was ill. During her last days, nurses from the hospice came to our house to check on her and make sure she was as comfortable as possible.‘
Seeing the nurses care for my grandmother made me see that there are people out there who are willing to help others, even during the final chapters of their lives. That is what inspired me to come here,’ she said.
Essop works in the donations section of the shop, where people drop off goods or where the goods are delivered after being collected from donors.
‘We have different people coming in regularly to donate clothes. Not everything we get is usable, but we never turn people away because they have good intentions.
‘I would describe this place [the hospice] as my first home. I spend more time with my colleagues than I do with my family. I am here from eight o’ clock in the morning until around five in the afternoon, from Monday to Saturday.
‘Our work goes beyond collecting items. If one of our colleagues needs help with something, we try to assist them in the best possible way. We not only make it easy for strangers to give to our organisation, we also help each other out as colleagues,’ said Essop.
The force being long-standing relations
Nonjiji has been employed at Hospice Wits for 13 years and is one of the employees who have been there longest.
The 53-year-old retail assistant is described as peaceful, straightforward and respectful by her colleague, Trevor Makwesa, who is one of the heads of department.
RIGHT: All donated items are first brought to the attention of Faheema before they are sorted and displayd in the different shops. Photo: Molebogeng Mokoka
‘I know everyone who works in this shop because I have been here for so long. It’s not easy when everyone comes to you asking for help.
‘Sometimes my colleagues have disagreements and come to me for advice,’ said Nonjiji. ‘The toughest thing is that people have different personalities, so I have to solve the problem and make sure that the two work well together in the future.’
Despite this, she said these were not the only challenges.
‘Over the years, the amount of donations we have been receiving has gone down. In the past this whole corridor [pointing outside] used to be filled with clothes and toys, but it’s not the same anymore.
‘We also used to get donations from big companies, but not anymore. I think that maybe people are selling their things on the internet and getting money for them instead of donating them for free, I can’t say for sure. But I can tell you that it is not the same as it was,’ she said.
Despite Nonjiji’s concern that the shop is not generating enough donations and support as it did in the past, there are some customers that frequently visit and have formed relationships with the staff.
ABOVE: Hospice Wits shop sells a wide variety of antique items, books, jewellery and clothing and furniture. Photos: Molebogeng Mokoka
One of them is Lydia Daka, a 46-year-old woman from Berea who has been visiting the shop since 2005.
‘In the beginning I used to come here to buy chairs and tables,’ says Daka, ‘but these days I either come here to read or buy books when I have money. ‘I know most of the people who work here and they are always willing to help. At least when I am buying from this shop I know I am contributing to a good cause,’ she says, holding up a copy of Right Body For Your Health.
The library feel of the bookstore lies not only in the setup, but also in the musty scent of old pieces of paper piled up together. Hospice Wits on Louis Botha tells a story that goes beyond donations and fundraising.
It tells the story of people who witnessed transformation and decay over the years, where factors such as poverty lurk in the corners.
Mavondo, Nonjiji and Essop’s involvement is not only inspired by previous experience within the family, but the three women also instill in their colleagues the notion of healthy working relationships that benefit the greater community, proving that the concept of family may sometimes go beyond blood relations.
FEATURED IMAGE: A graphic showing people and the word Charity, Photo: Supplied
Fourth-year Wits fine arts student uses Afro-futurism to engage issues of migration and feelings of displacement in an award-winning mixed media installation
Rumbo Mercy was named this year’s winner of the Wits Young Artist Awards, for her work titled, platform Omega: awaiting the twilight train — which uses mixed media in an afro-futuristic installation of a space traveler, looking to belong.
In the exhibition, the space traveler, named Space Kid is suspended in the air, with a green suit and an astronaut’s helmet, floating about with fish moving all around her. It looks like she is floating in a fishbowl. There is a pair of shackles beneath her feet and in front of her, there is an old suitcase with her belongings.
Part of Rumbo Mercy’s art installation is this old briefcase carrying Space Kid’s belongings. Photo: Moronga Masebe.
The show also used video and narration to tell the story of Space Kid waiting at a train station, on her way to a planet of outcasts, leaving behind Alcyone, a star on which she never really felt at home.
In the exhibition the narrator explains that Space Kid was born with the inability to be held down by gravity, in a world where belonging is legitimised by being weighted. However, Space Kid had to wear metallic chains around her ankles that added humiliation to the pain of not being weighted – like others.
On why it looks like she is floating in a fishbowl, Mercy said that because fish live in water, they are probably unaware of the water, like we are not aware of the air we breathe. But if we were to flip that around, fish will start grasping for air which will make them aware of their surroundings.
The work was inspired by Mercy’s background of being a daughter of Malawian parents, who came to South Africa, for greener pastures, before she was born. “I have always felt disconnected from South African cultures because I don’t know them, but also, I didn’t know my Malawian side because we didn’t live there”, she said.
She refers to this as being in a state of “liminality,” which is a psychology term that describes the feeling of being in between two states but not quite belonging to either.
Mercy’s work grapples with ideas and feelings of displacement, migration and belonging in an imaginative way, without the usual political connotations that sometimes muddle the conversation.
However, Mercy recognises that her choice of topics is not easy to tell in ways that does not trigger xenophobic sentiments; and she is using her art, to express her experiences in a way that lends itself to more objective interpretations.
Reshma Chhiba, the curator of the exhibition at The Point of Order – an art gallery that is part of the Wits fine art department told Wits Vuvuzela that Mercy’s art installation was picked from a list of 10 finalists at a ceremony held at the gallery.
“It did come down to Rumbo in a very clear manner,” she said, while explaining that her work plays on a “African futurism that allows for a fictionalization and imagination,” which was exciting to see.
She said that this year, they had 113 students who submitted their work, and the selector, Same Mdluli, who is the curator and manager of the Standard Bank Gallery, shortlisted the ten finalists, and 3 independent adjudicators named Mercy’s installation as this year’s winner on July 20, 2023.
Chhiba said that the purpose of the Wits Young Artist Awards is to “recognise artistic excellence within the undergrad cohort…open [only] to third and fourth-year undergraduates of the fine art programme.”
Space Kid’s story is being exhibited online, via the WYAA website.
FEATURED IMAGE: Rumbo Mercy, winner of the Wits Young Artist Awards 2023, looking up at her Space Kid sculpture. Photo: Morongoa Masebe
“So then, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of God’s household.” – Ephesians 2:19
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” screams the congregation after the man of God tells them to curse the demons out to get them.
“No altar having my name, having my picture, created to ruin me shall prosper!”
The exterior of Christ the Solution Ministries International with flags of various African states flying high. Photo: Anathi Madubela
The three-story structure trembles with the shrill sounds of praise, and the creaking of wooden floors is audible as the pastor urges the congregation to stamp on the devil on a serene Sunday morning.
Nestled in industrial Wynberg, just a stone’s throw from the township of Alexandra, the words “Christ the Solution Ministries International”, written in bold blue letters against a white background, can be seen from miles away.
“The way to the church is through that door and up the stairs. It’s a bit dark, but do not be scared: this is the house of the Lord,” said the man in a navy blue uniform with his ‘SECURITY’ cap cocked to one side.
As I entered through the narrow door I saw my reflection to my right, a shock at first, but the mirror commands you to look at yourself, to practise introspection. A gentle pat on my shoulder urged me to continue into the blood-walled foyer and up the stairs. The steep climb to the church on the third floor evoked the imagery of climbing up to Heaven, and a mix of Igbo hymnals and the singing of “Jesus loves me, this I know” filled the narrow stairway.
The second floor houses the Sunday school, which doubles up as a crèche on week days. The third floor, a brightly coloured room with high windows almost the antithesis of the route to the church, is where the service is held.
Migrant Hub
“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in” – Matthew 25:35
“Let us pray together-oo [Asithandaze ndawonye], everyone say your own prayer [wonke umuntu asho umthandazo wakhe]. The battles you are fighting-oo [lezimpi uzilwayo], you will overcome [uzozinqoba].
“Think of today’s scripture [cabanga isifundo sanamuhla]. You are Lazarus [nguwena uLazaru] and you shall rise again [uzovuka futhi],” preached the pastor, who was dressed in a navy three-piece suit with a red tie and brown shoes. The mixture of Nigerian pidgin and Igbo seemed so befitting that the isiZulu translation stood out.
Churches or places of worship have been known to create a home and a sense of community, belonging and family for migrant communities. The mushrooming of migrant churches on Louis Botha Avenue is testament to the cosmopolitan nature of the areas surrounding the road. This video tells a story of a Congolese community who have created a sense of family for themselves through the church.Video by Anathi Madubela
Since the late 1980s there has been a global wave of Nigerian migration, with an estimated 100 000 currently living in South Africa. It is therefore not uncommon to find a Nigerian church at the migrant hub of Johannesburg’s Louis Botha Avenue. The uniqueness of this particular church, however, is that in this migrant hub there exists a church that shows the cosmopolitan nature of the road. The church not only resembles a cauldron of melting, interconnecting and morphing culture, it is also a microcosm of the greater Johannesburg area.
A slight metallic swoosh could be heard in the tightly packed, 100-person place of worship. Now and again I could feel a cool breeze fan my face as the congregant next to me was kneeling and praying intently.
“My father! My God! I exalt you! Please deliver me from my situation,” she murmured, seemingly aware that I was listening.
To my left, a man dressed in a matching green isiagu top and trousers, with the vigour of a lion, had his eyes tightly shut, his hands balled into fists while he walked up and down muttering unintelligible sounds.
At the back were three women whose knees seemed to graciously kiss the carpeted floor, who were praying silently as if to keep the prayer in their circle.
This free display of religion, faith and praise created an air of oneness and understanding and this was of course aided by the occasional “Tell your neighbour that God is good” and “He will work out everything in your favour.”
A programme launched by the National Council of Provinces and Gauteng Provincial Legislature in 2018 looking at the effects of migration on service delivery in Gauteng found that 47% of international migrants settle in the Johannesburg Metropolitan Municipal area.
According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, Nigerians are a population with a high record of migration.
Most migrations in Africa are intra-continental; that is why countries that have stronger economies, such as South Africa and Egypt, have a high number of immigrants.
Church as family
“How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity!” – Psalm 133:1
The cry of a hungry child signalled the length of the four-hour long service. The pastor prayed quickly over the offering basket before closing the service.
After the service the pastor led me to a door on which was written “Pastor’s Office”. I sank into the couch that took up most of the space in the bijou office. Behind the couch was a mountain of bags of rice.
“We donate these to church members who are less fortunate. Congregants contribute what they can and we divide it among those in need,” said Pastor Pascal Nwachukwu.
“As much as this church has heavy Nigerian influence, we do not see ourselves as a Nigerian church; instead we put emphasis on community, especially when someone comes into a new environment without having next of kin. They often find themselves in the church and that becomes their new family. We have some church members who are from and live in Alex but choose to worship with us.
“It was also these members who defended us during the [xenophobic] attacks, in as much as this church was not heavily affected,” said the 45-year-old preacher.
Nthabiseng Mooko a 27-year-old choir member who lives in Alex, said although her father is a pastor of a Catholic church, she still prefers to worship at Christ the Solution Ministries International.
“The vibe here is different,” she said. “We call it club church because it gives us the space to praise the way in which we want to, as the youth. My father’s church is very traditional and I had to be put together, but here I feel more at home than I have ever felt anywhere else.
“The fact that this church is a walk away from my house is a bonus. I really feel at home here. I feel included. I am even learning a bit of Igbo because of the songs,” Nthabiseng said.
Wednesdays are jam-packed, the pews filled with churchgoers waiting to consult the pastor on a first come, first served basis.
RIGHT: Nthabiseng Mooko and Siziphiwe Mbokazi wait to see Prophet Ekene for counselling. Photo: Anathi Madubela
“A family that prays together, stays together”
Wednesdays are jam-packed, the pews filled with churchgoers waiting to consult the pastor on a first come, first served basis.
“I need to hurry back to work, please put me in na,” said a panting churchgoer to the caretaker, Sunday Solomon, who was monitoring who went next in seeing the revered prophet.
“These people annoy me. They take leave for everything else but cannot prioritise seeing a man who will help them with their life. Now they come in here and want to jump in,” said the caretaker.
He is a tall man of a towering structure. He looks almost like a bouncer of the church.
“I joined this church back in 2009 and I have been an active member ever since,” says Sunday.
“See, I had come to one of these counselling sessions and the prophet shared something with me. I had just moved to South Africa and my brother passed away back home, leaving children that I financially had to take care of, and for reasons I wish not to disclose I could not go back home. I was drinking and very depressed. This church saved me. At a time I was feeling at my lowest, Christ the Solution became my support system,” said the 36-year-old.
As we were conversing, sitting on plastic chairs in the crèche and with children singing their ABCs in the background, facing the door so that Sunday could regulate who went next for counselling, a woman with a baby on her back walked in and handed him a R100 note. He excused himself and went into the pastor’s office, then walked out again holding a small 100ml spray bottle with golden liquid inside.
“Do you not have a bigger bottle? This small one runs out quickly,” the woman asked.
In an earlier conversation, Sunday told me that besides being a caretaker he sold perfume imported from Dubai for a living, so I assumed the exchange was for that scented product.
“You can buy your own and bring it here and we bless it for you,” Sunday replied to the woman.
Then I realised it was not perfume they were talking about.
“It is anointing oil. R50 a bottle,” he announced proudly after seeing the puzzled look on my face.
He went on to explain the uses of the oil, while quoting an unfamiliar Bible verse. He said it could be added to bath water for a proper cleansing, sprayed over pillows to ward off bad dreams and sprayed on door and window frames to repel evil spirits.
ABOVE: Sunday Solomon, caretaker of Christ the Solution Ministries, sits in the creche so he can have full view and moniter people going in for counselling with the prophet. Photo: Anathi MadubelaABOVE: Anointing oil bought at the church and blessed by the prophet. Photo: Anathi Madubela
The unwilling prophet
It was finally my turn to meet the much talked-about prophet, Amope Ekene. I was met with an unwelcoming reception. Perhaps the soothsayer sensed something I was not aware of. The muscular man, of short stature, seemed weary and unrelenting, but eased up once the conversation became more about him.
“As a young boy growing up in Nigeria, Lagos, I always knew I had the calling but I did not know what to do with it,” he said. “My father was a builder and my earliest memory was of when I was playing with cement and I built a cross and hung it on a tree. I was about six years old then.
“I moved to South Africa in 2002 and I used to gather the men at the commune I lived in to pray every night. Those are my brothers, and from there my congregation grew and now we are here,” said the 45-year-old, apparently chuffed with himself.
He proceeded to tell me more about the church and its different outreach programmes.
“People are important to us in this church,” he said. “We try to help out in any way we can. The point of moving to this space in 2009 from Berea was to realise all of the goals we have reached.
“Take the crèche as an example: Many of our congregants are unemployed or have informal employment, so need a safe place to ensure the safety of their children. We offer not only a safe but a godly environment that parents can trust. Most of the children you see in that room do not pay fees,” said the prophet.
Religious text stacked on an ottoman at the church. Photo: Anathi Madubela
I could hear the growing agitation outside, as I was taking longer than the average person would during counselling.
“We try to help out people as much as we can in this church. We are a family in Christ. For example, with family counselling: The family I just saw before you walked in are in trouble. The husband was on the streets and the wife is upset and cannot forgive him. She is now even withholding things a wife should give to a husband. I had to advise her not to do this because that will further drive him away, because what a man cannot get at home he finds on the streets,” he said.
“The anointing oil is honestly to build confidence and faith in our congregants. When people have a ritual they tend to be unwavering in their faith. Manifestation works and that is what we believe in,” he concluded.
Meanwhile, the children at the crèche continued to sing their lungs out, with their parents coming in to consult the prophet.
“A for apple, B for banana, C for cat,” could be heard from across the street.
FEATURED IMAGE: The exterior of a church. Photo: Supplied
In a land foreign to your own, where do you turn? Who do you call? Where do you belong?
HURRYING across the streets to assemble inside various buildings and shop-like structures on Louis Botha Avenue on a Sunday morning are families of African migrants. They are making their way to their respective houses of worship. There is something distinctive about the way they navigate their way on the street; a magnetic pulling that makes the movement routine, effortless, easy and natural. Almost as if they are instinctively being called… home.
Belonging: A woman and her two children linger outside, waiting for their church service to begin. Photo: Sisanda Mbolekwa
The men are in crisply ironed buttoned up shirts and the women are adorned in long, layered dresses that just about sweep the pavement as they sashay by. Behind them are children frantically trying to keep up with the pace of the adults, as fast as their little legs can carry them. With a quick glance to left and right they hurry past speeding Toyota minibuses and overloaded taxis in the road, and with a brisk walk they step onto the pavement.
Just a metre or two from where the pavement meets the two-door entrance are four elderly men in suits. They stand arranged, pamphlets in hand, interacting with the passers-by on Louis Botha. Almost in sync, they monotonously mutter the words “come in my sister”, “join us my brother” to the pedestrians walking past, and their wrinkled faces light up with a “God bless you” as soon as their invitations to join the service are accepted.
Pastor Blessing Oggini of Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries ushers congregants inside the makeshift room he has converted into a church, into what he calls a session of blessing and salvation. Bible in hand, he hands out purple flyers detailing information about the church and its daily services, while casually having conversations with members of the church and hugging them as they enter.
As the congregants make their way to the neatly placed rows of plastic chairs, from two of the four corners of the room come the sounds of a euphoric melody carried by a commanding voice booming from the speakers. As the singer jolts from side to side in sync with the rhythm, microphone in hand, he continues to lead the worship and praise from behind the glass podium stationed in front of the room.
Pastor Oggini (second from left) stands with church elders outside the Mountain of Fire and Miracle Ministries branch in Louis Botha Avenue. Photo: Sisanda MbolekwaAn elderly woman stands outside the New Eternal Covenant Church after the Sunday service has ended.Photo: Sisanda Mbolekwa
Brother Jonathan, as he is fondly referred to, belts out the phrase, “This is the day of joy, the day of joy, that the Lord has made”, and the congregation responds in harmony. As the pastor ascends onto the stage from the front row, Jonathan Jise hands over the microphone to symbolise that the time for song has come to an end and he has prepared the congregation for the sermon.
“My role in the church is an important one, and everyone has a space in the house of the Lord,” says Jise. With a look around the room, he adds that everyone is here because of some reason or other.
“We did not come because we simply love the church. When you face difficulty in a foreign country you have no option but to turn to what feels normal: what you grew up with and were raised on from a young age, and that is the church and faith in God,” he says with glistening eyes and a piercing stare, so as to relay his heartfelt relationship with the institution enclosed by the four walls that make up the room we sit in.
Stretched across approximately 9km of tar, is Louis Botha Avenue – one of the city of Johannesburg’s major streets. Known as an area where immigrants and migrants have settled in, historically the neighbourhood had been populated by people of Italian descent, and as a result had been dubbed “Little Italy”. Now that is but a distant past commemorated only by the remnants of an Italian deli called Super Sconto and an abandoned building that used to be an Italian machinery shop. Looking at the pedestrians on the street and the bodies that have made Orange Grove their home, it is evident that the area continues to be an immigrant hub, however, but now of African descent.
The simplified narration of African migration is ordinarily one that sees desperate and vulnerable refugees fleeing from conflict, war and collapsing economies to try to make a living in a country foreign to their own. This industrial narrative exists and is vividly visual on the street, with the avenue being overpopulated by not so adequately spaced out corner shops, congested fruit and vegetable stores, tailoring services, upholstery businesses and – surprisingly – a high number of Christian religious places of worship. In this street alone, one will come across more than 15 boards of bright and colourful signage advertising church branches and services behind doors that seem abandoned on any odd day during the week, but that definitely comes alive on a Sunday morning.
The decision to open a branch of Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministries in Louis Botha was one that was necessary, as Pastor Oginni describes it: “The people of Orange Grove are suffering, living under undesirable circumstances, and are in need of healing. Our ministry is here by virtue of calling, to help the despondent people of God in this area and restore their faith in times of adversity,” says the pastor.
“We opened this specific branch this year, but our church has existed on the African continent and in South Africa for years,” he says.
With the first branch having been opened in Nigeria in 1975 by Dr Daniel Olukoya, their mission statement of “propagating the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ all over the world” is one that is evident through their expansion to regions such as Europe, the United States, Canada, Africa and Asia – boasting visibility on every continent.
Adewumni Eze, a young man in a black leather jacket who walked in through the gates of the church, says he did so seeking deliverance and a spiritual breakthrough. Initially hesitant to open up to a relative stranger like myself, he reveals that he owes his life to the church.
“When I first came to South Africa, things were very hard for me. I was hopeless and helpless. I did not know how to survive all by myself and I was becoming more desperate by the day.”
This feeling was brought about by the fact that even as a master of science graduate he struggled to find employment in this country, subjecting him to survival in poverty stricken circumstances, sleeping on the streets and not knowing where his next meal was going to come from as every door he knocked on asking for employment was shut in his face.
“When I was homeless in Orange Grove, I was at my lowest. The church opened its doors for me, gave me a mattress to sleep on and food to eat. I was scared that I would always be treated like a stranger, because I am a foreigner. I lived in fear. I was then prayed for by the pastor, who gave me hope that by placing my trust in God, He would help me overcome my challenges.”
Through his journey with the church, he developed a relationship and fellowship and now not only lives at the church, but is an active participant and assistant in the mission.
“Nothing can harm me now in the house of the Lord,” Adewumni says as he looks around the room, smiling as he reflects on the impact the church has had on his life.
Pastor Blessing Oginni stands next to his podium, where he delivers a sermon every Sunday at Mountain of Fire and Miracle Ministries. Photo: Sisanda Mbolekwa
Adewumni’s testimony provides a glimpse into the level of hostility directed at foreign nationals. A competitive city such as Johannesburg exposes migrants to vulnerability, as would any unfamiliar surroundings. Among migrants there is an air of desperation, eagerly seeking opportunities to make the means of survival for one more day. And there is wariness of the potential threat of intolerance and violence that their presence may bring about. It is as almost as though one can capture the change in dynamic simply from watching the transition from the brisk and hurried walk on the pavement to the gentle settling into seats once they are inside the church. There is a sense of feeling comfortable when they collectively come into the presence of fellow believers in the house of God, where there is “space” for them.
There are three observed trends of behaviour in relation to migrants and religion, according to a scholar by the name of Orobator, in a journal titled ‘Refugees and Poverty’ (2005). Firstly there are migrants who have persevered in their faith in the midst of trials and tribulation; secondly there are those who have abandoned their faith; and thirdly there are those who have newly identified God as their only comfort and solace in exile. The latter is the interweaving theme along Louis Botha Avenue and its many churches, clustered not so far from each other.
The flaking paint on the walls that enclose the buildings where the religious gatherings are held sheds a little light on the deterioration of the avenue. Despite the many hubs of worship and upliftment in the churches located on the pavements of Louis Botha, the tale of the once highly revered avenue is now a sad one. What was once conceptualised in 2014 to serve as a game changer in the transport sector as a prominent transit corridor is seen as many to have been affected by urban decay that characterises many other neighbourhoods in the city.
There have been issues that have been sites of contention over the intended nature and current state of the avenue. There are the alleged driving of unroadworthy taxis overflowing with unsuspecting commuters, coupled with the non-completion of the Rea Vaya project, to mention just two. Following recent protest action in April 2019 when the residents of suburbs surrounding Louis Botha ordered the mayor of the city to conduct a clean-up of all the alleged illegal businesses and hijacked buildings, it seems there is yet to appear a consolidated view of migrants, their livelihoods and incorporation into the area.
“When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Lev. 19:33-34).
The Bible says that one day the divisions between citizen and stranger will be erased, when the Promised Land will be assigned for ourselves and the strangers who dwell among us. Some deem the efforts at supposed restoration to be xenophobic-related, as a result of placing the blame for decay on foreign nationals. Some view it as law enforcement. What it fundamentally means is that Louis Botha is yet to get rid of the underlying tension among locals and migrants.
Despite the intricate dynamic between the migrants and the locals, the church remains a place to turn to. Not only for those who have found solace within its doors, but in the community as well. Stacked in the corner of Pastor Oginni’s office is a heap of groceries and non-perishable food items and snacks. He explains that the tinned cans, boxes of milk and rice, among other items, are the church’s monthly collection of donations in the form of food and clothing towards its outreach program – for an orphanage in Orange Grove supported by the church.
“Our mission is to not only help those who come through our doors looking for a breakthrough, but also to share our blessings with the community and people of Orange Grove,” the pastor says. The congregants visibly do not have much, but are committed to sharing the little that they do have. “Both in the spiritual and physical realm, this call to unity in the face of division is what brings the community together,” The pastor says.
Pastor Oggini ascends the podium yet again to convene everyone to kneel for the closing prayer. The booming voice emerges yet again from the speakers to reassure the congregants that “all will be well”. The men pick up their Bibles and stand up tall, while the women hoist their children onto their backs and secure them with a towel.
He raises his arms and the congregants close their eyes to signal the end of the prayer. Everyone in the room shakes hands and exchanges goodbyes as they leave the house of the Lord. As the doors open for their exit, the sound of the hooting taxis rushing by remind them of their return to reality.
The atmosphere is one of hope: hope for survival, hope for restoration. Hope that their lives will take a turn for the better. Hope that their prayers will be heard. Bible in hand, like soldiers, they are armed. Ready to face the hustle and bustle of Louis Botha Avenue.
FEATURED IMAGE: Men of God: Pastor Oggini (second from left) stands with church elders outside the Mountain of Fire and Miracle Ministries branch in Louis Botha Avenue.
In-depth 2019: Louis Botha Louis Botha Avenue’s ‘Little Italy’: What is left of la dolce vita? By: Gemma Gatticchi Amid Louis Botha Avenue’s shift in demographics, a few businesses stand out as relics of the former Italian migrant community that made the area home....
South Africa is clearly unwell, and it is our duty as her citizens to demand treatment before it’s too late.
As of April 2025, the new South Africa is officially 31 years old. She is the answer to our forebearers’ prayers, the jewel in Africa’s crown and home to the genesis of humanity. However, it would be nearly impossible to expect her to be fine when her daughters are dying on the regular, the multicultural colours of her rainbow are dull and her leaders decide to pimp her out.
In a perfect world, we as citizens elect leaders we believe are best suited to take care of our country’s health and wellbeing – and in turn our own. Unfortunately, we do not live in a perfect world, and we are impacted by bad decisions made behind closed doors. Decisions that often compound the symptoms of our 31-year-old’s health. Nursing our patient cannot be left to those with access to power alone, we need to be active caretakers too.
Here’s how to tell when your country is under the weather:
In mid June 2025, the Hawks raided South African comedian and Tiktoker Anton Taylor’s home with the signoff of judge C.A Erasmus and the instruction of suspended police minister Senzo Mchunu. This raid was a result of a satirical video Taylor posted in March 2025. Taylor pretended to be a Czech criminal in cahoots with Minister Senzo Mchunu and the police department as a means to continue with his various criminal dealings with no legal repercussions. Taylor’s case was eventually dismissed, however this is a prime example of authoritarianism. The right to freedom of expression is guaranteed under Section 16 of the Constitution. This incident is an alarming symptom because it reflects a government ministers willingness to infringe of the rights of South African citizens because his feelings were hurt by a satirical video.
When she was 11 in 2005, the rand to dollar exchange rate was approximately R6,35 to the dollar. During that time, she had an unemployment rate of 26,5%. Ten years later at 21 in 2015, the rand sat at approximately R12,73 to the dollar. She recorded unemployment rates of 24.5% by the end of the fourth quarter that year. Now at 31, the rand to the dollar exchange rate sits at R 17,87 to the dollar, with an unemployment rate of 33.2% by the second quarter of 2025. The progression of all these figures demonstrate that South Africa is not a strong as she used to be. She is unable to interact with her peers in ways she previously could. She is further weakened by our government officials and entrepreneurs who use her resources to build personal compounds in Nkandla, procure palatial mansions in Constantia and build R12million homes in Waterfall. She is at the mercy of pimps who travel in blue light convoys and routinely sell her to the highest bidder for their gain.
4. She’s a shell of her former self
She does not look or behave like a country that has gold, diamonds, chromium, coal, iron ore, rodium, platinum, palladium and manganese. She does not shine like the stars she’s produced globally in sports, art, fashion and academia. She’s lost her shine and her leaders have no answers for her children.
Through rising unemployment, gender-based violence and poverty statistic we’ve become desensitised to the reality of our situation. In the words of Sir Francis Bacon, “knowledge is power”. Now that you’ve been alerted to the signs of an unhealthy nation, it’s time we act and plan ways to bring her back to vitality like our lives depend on it, because they do.
Wasteful expenditure on emergency ambulance transport is on the rise, and the university is now drawing a financial line in the sand.
Wits University attempts to manage the high cost of emergency services for residence students who refuse ambulance transport.
Almost R300 000 is spent annually on ambulance services.
The trend of transport refusals has been happening for years.
The frantic dance of red and blue lights shatters the silence of a Wits residence hall, pulsing through the window blinds. For a student without medical aid, this sudden flashing arrival is reassuring; a lifeline of professional care provided by the university.
But what happens when the student’s condition improves, or they have a change of heart and the ambulance leaves without a patient?
This frequent scenario is what the university views as a financially wasteful trend, prompting it to inform students they could be liable for a minimum of R3,000 for refusing transport for medical emergencies.
The communication, forwarded via email by the respective wardens to students living in Wits residences, begs the question of what exactly constitutes a “wasted call,” and how does this apparent misuse of emergency services translate into a significant financial burden for the university?
The financial burden and wasted calls
The Wits Campus Housing and Residence Life (CHRL) department has been absorbing costs related to student medical emergencies.
ER24, the private emergency service provider for students not on medical aid, expressed its concern to the university about students’ refusal to be transported.
Basil Mugwena, CHRL director, explained that if a student is not on medical aid, the university calls ER24 and covers the cost, opting for private services like ER24 over slower government ambulances.
The CHRL financial manager, Tabrez Jooman, stated, “Contractually, if a student refuses to be further assisted, the University still pays for the ambulance service.”
The university’s annual contract with private ambulance provider, ER24 amounts to approximately R300,000.
Mugwena notes that a single ambulance that is dispatched and leaves without a patient can cost the university almost R1,000.
It’s important to note that the R300,000 contract with ER24 does not cover the most severe cases. Mugwena, talking about the intensive care unit (ICU), clarified, “There are cases that we’ve had where we’ve had students in ICU.”
He emphasised that for these serious incidents, the university often has to cover much larger expenses. For example, he recounted one incident where a student was in the ICU for an extended period: “The default position is if you are not on medical aid after 72 hours, if you are still sick, you must be transferred to government [hospital]. Which will not happen. [So], we paid.”
These more critical situations fall outside the scope of the regular ambulance contract, placing a greater financial strain on the university.
The frustration, Mugwena noted, stems from situations where an ambulance is called, but the student either no longer needs or refuses the transport or those who call to “see whether these fellows will respond”.
“This [transport refusals] has been going on for the past few years,” he said.
Email correspondence to Wits residence students on ambulance transport refusals.
A paramedic’s perspective on refusals
Campus Health paramedic, Tebogo Sibilanga, whose team works closely with ER24 to provide rapid emergency care for students, confirmed that they have seen numerous cases of refusals for hospital transportation (RHT).
When asked how they determine if a student is fit to refuse transport, Sibilanga explained, “We’ve got what we call a Glasgow Coma Score. It has a score out of 15 which we use to determine your level of consciousness. And also, your body coordination.”
Sibilanga explained that they are legally prohibited from forcing a patient into an ambulance unless a mental health professional determines the student is a danger to themselves or others.
A common scene is set by Sibilanga: an asthmatic student who, after being found and stabilised by the team, refuses transport upon feeling better because they found their pump.
While the patient may have the resources to manage their condition, the paramedic’s protocol requires them to assess the situation thoroughly before leaving a patient to their own devices.
“We’ve had cases… when the paramedics arrived, they found that no, this particular student simply did not take their own medication,” Mugwena stated.
Sibilanga also shed light on the reason for the reliance on private services. “Due to delays with provincial ambulances—which can sometimes take hours—the university outsources the service to ER24 to ensure a rapid response time, ideally within a six-minute window.”
This partnership, alongside a deal with Milpark Hospital, Charlotte Maxeke and Hillbrow Hospital, is designed to bridge the gap in emergency care for students, particularly those who do not have medical aid.
“Actually, there are two paramedics on campus for the whole university, which is very disturbing. But we are working on hiring more people,” he said.
The challenge of mental health crises
A portion of the “wasted” calls stems from students experiencing anxiety attacks, particularly those who are directed to Akeso, a private psychiatric hospital.
Mugwena described this arrangement as a “headache,” noting a frustrating trend where students will often refuse to go to the on-campus Counselling and Careers Development Unit (CCDU), but then insist on being taken to Akeso. However, according to protocol, a student must first be seen by CCDU to get a referral.
Mugwena pointed to stigmatisation as a major reason for students’ hesitation to be taken by an Akeso vehicle, fearing they will be perceived as “mad.”
While the university does have the authority to authorise an “involuntary admission” if a psychiatrist determines a student is a danger to themselves, Mugwena believes the issue is more complex than simple abuse of the system.
He stated, “I will not say this person is doing this deliberately… I’m saying something may be underlying.” He added that he would not penalise a student for refusing transport due to a mental health issue, calling it “inhumane.”
So, are students actually liable for payment?
The short answer is no.
Contrary to the email, both Mugwena and Jooman indicated that the R3,000 charge mentioned in the email is a deterrent, not a rigid fee that has been implemented.
Jooman said, “I am not aware of any minimum charge of R3000 being set and none has been levied to any student to date.” Mugwena confirmed, “We have never done any penalty on any student.”
Despite the threat, it was revealed that their main strategy is education.
“The best thing that we can do is to educate because time and again we say to wardens, talk to students, particularly about calling ambulance services,” clarified Mugwena.
When asked if thereis ongoing communication with students about emergency procedures, Zethu Lubisi, warden for the all-female residence, Sunnyside Hall of Residence, said, “Yes, during quarterly PGM meetings, wardens share information and encourage students to use university health services like Campus Health to get timely assistance and reduce reliance on ambulance services.”
For now, Wits is walking a fine line, using a financial threat to manage a behavioural trend, while internally acknowledging the ethical and human complexities of the situation.
The central message to students is clear: “Stop abusing this,” while the internal conversation among staff is focused on the best way to educate students and reduce financial waste without compromising their wellbeing.
FEATURED IMAGE: ER24 ambulance vehicle parked outside on the piazza at the Great Hall at Wits University. Photo: Lukholo Mazibuko
For some, adding the environment to the laundry list of concerns about the future is too much to handle.
More immediate concerns like unemployment make it hard for young people to prioritise fighting climate change.
Global warming is impacting mental health, causing eco-anxiety and ecological grief.
Young people are at a crossroads, unsure if they have it in them to take up this cause.
It’s 2018 and Ayakha Melithafa is a teenage girl like any other. Her school days consist of laughing with friends and teasing each other about their latest crushes, trying to pay attention as teachers drone on about Shakespeare and trigonometry. Occasionally, her mind will wander to her mother, still in the Eastern Cape.
On the phone, Ayakha tells her about Day Zero, and how Cape Town has worked itself into a frenzy. The taps are still running, even if the water is a little dodgy. She asks her mother how she’s doing back home. “Oh, I’m fine, everything here is fine,” she tells her daughter. The drought there has spread, but they’re managing, she shouldn’t worry.
For Ayakha, the end of term can’t come soon enough. She says goodbye to Cape Town, and travels east, back to the small farm that is her childhood home. Over the phone, her mother had put her mind at ease. In person, though, Ayakha can see that the worry in her eyes betrays her words of reassurance. The extent of the drought can’t be ignored. Fields that should be green are cracked and brittle. Livestock, once healthy, look thinner as they meander slowly on sparse grazing land. Her mind is full of questions for which she has no answers.
She returns to Cape Town, her heart heavy with the fear that things are changing for the worst. Just two weeks later, her life sciences teacher would hand out pamphlets for the YouLead initiative, a youth programme by climate justice organisation Project 90 by 2030. That would be the moment her climate activism is born.
Young activists, like Ayakha Melithafa, have taken the challenge of fighting climate change head-on. Photo: Afribeing.
The fight feels too big
Today, the feeling of despair that Ayakha felt is what experts are calling eco-anxiety. For her, it lit a fire to act. But for others her age, it is breeding a quieter response: tuning out or convincing themselves that the climate crisis is someone else’s problem. Young people are caught in the tension between fear and indifference, searching for ways to reconcile that their inheritance is a burning planet.
For South African youth in particular, climate change is just one of many looming threats to their futures, and caring about them all can be too much to shoulder.
“I’m not big on worrying about things that I can’t control. If I think of all the things that are happening in this country that are scary and that I know are going to affect me in the future, I ask myself what am I going to do about that? I see climate change the same way,” said Ntokozo Seoka, a first-year engineering student.
“Am I going to stop the rain, am I going to stop the floods? I could start an organisation or something but it’s going to take a much bigger collective action to change anything, so I don’t even bother,” she candidly shared.
For Ayakha, this disillusionment is understandable, but still disappointing. “That mindset is a little bit scary. As young people, there’s always going to be something else that we’re focusing on and prioritising. But if we don’t look towards the future, then we will always be in survival mode,” she said.
Rather than allowing the climate crisis to demoralise her, Ayakha insists that the solution is to tackle this issue head on and try to find the opportunities in it, as others have. “In the global north, these young people have clocked it. […] They’re developing climate tech and coming up with advanced ideas, while in the global south we’re still trying to understand what climate change even means,” she said. “It’s not about trying to be them, it’s about being in a state of readiness.”
Research shows that young South Africans have several climate-related concerns. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo.
The human toll of a warming world
Humans often forget that we’re of the earth, not just on it. Climate change is not something we’re seeing happen around us, it is also happening to us, on a physiological level. Plastic pollution is a clear example. “People on the frontlines, scientists, have found microplastics in blood, air, even human placentas,” said Hellen Dena, Project Lead for the Pan-African Plastics Project at Greenpeace Africa. She insists that environmental crises are also human health crises.
Darshnika Lakhoo, clinical researcher at the Wits Planetary Health Research Division, has found that the impact on the mind is far more nuanced than just a passing concern about dry rivers or melting ice caps. “Psychoterratic syndrome is a term that encompasses a lot of ecological related mental health impacts of climate change,” she explains. “The terms under this umbrella are eco-anxiety, ecological grief, which is the mourning related to the change in your environment and the loss of the natural world. There is also solastalgia, which is stress caused by environmental changes.”
Environmental justice organisations see this within their ranks. “Eco-anxiety is very real among young people. There’s a lot of fear and frustration, and also just grief about nature as a whole,” said Keletso Malepe, co-founder of the South African Youth Biodiversity Network. “We’re experiencing drought, floods, heatwaves, even wildfires. […] These climate risks don’t exist in isolation. They interact with all the other vulnerabilities that young people face like poverty and high unemployment,” Malepe said.
A generation at a crossroads
The youth are left in a climate catch-22. The task of reversing the damage done by older generations is so daunting that some would rather avoid it altogether. However, to do nothing only increases the risk of worsening their physical and mental health, as this crisis continues to destroy livelihoods and displace communities.
For those like Ayakha, there was no choice. Climate change didn’t knock on her door, it kicked it down. Stories like hers mark the test the youth face today. “Each generation had a great challenge,” said LLB student Aiden Chetty. “Ours is the environment, and to avoid it would make us the first generation too cowardly to embrace its cause.”
Students at Wits University had their say on how the climate crisis is impacting their wellbeing. Video: Mbali Khumalo
FEATURED IMAGE: Climate change has become a generation-defining fight for the youth. Image: Chris de Beer-Procter.
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