Bringing people together on dusty grounds and cement pavilions to hosting over 40 000 people at Orlando Stadium, the timeless tradition of soccer becomes more than a game but a way of life not only for players but for supporters too.
Alone black and yellow soccer jersey hangs on the laundry line, giving an indication this is the correct address. A man walks out of the house with a smile on his face and reaches out with a firm handshake. Sipho Nkosi, ‘Mr S’, is preparing to watch a soccer match with his brother and friends the following day.
“Tomorrow is a long day,” he says as he walked back into his house to collect a copy of the soccer newspaper, SoccerLaduma. “Look! There are five matches tomorrow. From half past three, I will be watching soccer. I am just getting my kit ready,” says the 31-year-old.
This Friday afternoon, October 27, in Orlando East is filled with people scurrying around Rathebe Street. The sense of community is amplified by greetings from both sides of the road as the ‘gents’ salute each other with handshakes and slang greetings. “Verder?” (How are you?) is constantly repeated as you walk down from JB’s liquor store.
Vegetable stalls, spaza shops and yard sales are not the only hype of the street on a Friday afternoon in the streets of Orlando. Worn with pride, soccer jerseys in all forms and colours are paraded on either side of the road. Black and white for Orlando Pirates here, Kaizer Chiefs supporters in yellow and black there, some faded and others crisply new.
Further down the road, where Herby Mdingi and Rathebe streets intersect, on the sidewalk of house number 826 sit two men on black and white wooden benches, which have been embellished with a neatly-erected wooden structure. A few steps away from the sitting area is a table with assorted sweets and cigarettes for sale. Next to the stall is a tall white board with black writing: “Orlando Park… The Happy-Peoples, 826”, flanked on either side, by an Orlando Pirates football club skull emblem.
Orlando Pirates supporter, Ace Mokoena, whiles away a Sunday afternoon in the park dedicated to his favourite football club.
Orlando Park was curated by 59-year-old Lazarus Mthe in 2016, in honour of Orlando Pirates Football Club, established in Orlando in 1937.
Offered a yellow vuvuzela by his brother, Ace Mokoena, who lives in the same yard, Mthe refuses to blow it saying he cannot be seen holding a Kaizer Chiefs vuvuzela.
Speaking in Zulu, Mthe describes his passion for Orlando Pirates as a young boy with a smile on his face. “Ngiyithanda ngenhliziyo yami yonke, (I love it [the team] with my whole heart),” he says bringing his hands closer to his heart. Mthe describes how he fell in love with soccer in the 1960s as a hobby that he was introduced to at Orlando High School when playing with friends during break times and after school matches in the streets of his hometown.
The park’s wooden structure which still needs restructuring, and another coat of paint to make it look “more attractive”, according to Mthe, is accessible not only to the community but anyone who wants to take a seat in the Orlando Pirates haven. “I made this for the people, especially for gogos who walk to and from the clinic. They can sit here and rest. People love sitting here. Pirates played at the stadium a few weeks ago and people from Vereeniging parked here and took photos and I told them it was sharp,” he says.
Mthe and Mokoena not only share a passion for soccer, but support Orlando Pirates religiously as a family. House 826 in Herbi Mringa Street is a compound filled with friendly and welcoming faces. In the yard stands a pink house, next to which are neatly corrugated shacks. Mokoena’s and Mthe’s shacks can be identified by the colours and “Up the Bucs” painted on the sides of their respective structures.
Mokoena recalls the last Orlando Pirates versus Kaizer Chiefs game he watched at Orlando Stadium a year ago, from the atmosphere before the game to how he felt afterwards. “Eish, that game! I have never experienced anything like that before in my life. It was packed outside. There was black and white everywhere,” he says, with an overjoyed smile on his face.
Before going to watch a game, Mokoena prepares by gathering his regalia. Shaking his body, he describes how he wakes up with the “spirit” for the game. “By the time I leave for the stadium, I am telling you, you will cry. I look good,” he adds.
Building the Pirates Park was an idea supported by Mokoena from the moment he knew that the park was dedicated to Orlando Pirates.
“My brother put everything together bit by bit. He got some stuff from people in the community and made it happen. When I saw them working with the paint and I saw that it was black and white, I was very happy. But what makes me unhappy is that people come at night and damage what he has made, as you can see it is open to the public and that is not nice. Yes it is attractive, but not like before because people damaged it,” says Mokoena.
A family tradition preserved for future generations
Julius Sono keeps the Sono home well maintained with hopes that it will be declared as a heritage site in memory of his father, Eric “Scarra” Sono.
Just two blocks away from the Pirates Park is a house with “SONO” written boldly on golden plates on the face brick wall. On the window facing the street is the reflection of a faded Orlando Pirates flag.
“Ekse bra KK” shouts a man walking past, avoiding stepping on the lawn as the son of soccer legend Eric ‘Scara’ Sono drills more golden plated letters onto the brick wall.
Eric ‘Scara’ Sono captained Orlando Pirates in 1957 and used football as a way of disrupting the apartheid system by bringing multiracial players to join Orlando Pirates despite segregation laws.
According to the official Orlando Pirates history, players Bernard ‘Dancing Shoes’ Hartze and Mannie ‘Al die Hoekies’ Davids were some of the players that Sono was instrumental in bringing to Orlando Pirates.
The left-footed soccer player died in a car accident in 1964 leaving a legacy of soccer through his family.
His sons, Jomo “Black Prince” Sono and Julius “KK” Sono, continued the family tradition of soccer.
The Sono home has been transformed and is managed by Julius as a business park that seeks to uplift and enable soccer talent within the Orlando community.
“I am following the tradition of my family of dealing and growing the community through the religion of soccer,” he says.
Affectionately known in the community as “KK”, Julius joined Orlando Pirates in the 1980s where he continued to play for five years.
He wears the Orlando Pirates jersey with pride as he walks around the home mowing the lawn and making sure that the Sono name stands firmly on the wall.
IN ACTION: Julius “KK” Sono playing for Orlando Pirates in 1980.
From his room, Sono brings out a collection of black and white photocopies of his family’s history in soccer. “Soccer was very political at the time my father was playing. I don’t remember much, but he had many friends of different races and the authorities did not like it,” he says.
The official Orlando Pirates history says that, “During apartheid, the black majority were withheld from public gatherings in fear of political discussions. Church and soccer were the only way to get together.”
Articles dated between 1963 and 1980 tell a story on their own, mixed with black and white photographs, spread on the glass table in the Sono living room as “KK” describes how fans adored his skills on the field.
“The supporters loved me,” says the 53-year-old. “They used to shout at the coach to put me on the field. I was dangerous because I played with feeling,” he adds, as he points at a picture of himself scoring a goal when he played for his brother’s soccer club, Jomo Cosmos in 1986.
Born and bred in Orlando East, self-employed soccer enthusiast Sizwe Nkosi sells clothes to support his wife and three-year-old son. Nkosi grew up playing township soccer before playing for the under-19 Orlando Pirates team. He recalls how on his wedding day one of his guests made a joke about how he joined the team. “The speaker told the people at my wedding that he met me at Pirates. He told everyone about how they bought me for R250 and they laughed,” he says, laughing.
Nkosi says that he played with Kaizer Chiefs goalkeeper Itumeleng Khune when he was younger, but people always question the truth of this because of his age. He stopped playing soccer professionally when his parents refused for him to lie about his age. “My wife did not believe me when I told her. I showed her some pictures but she still doubted. We bumped into Khune at the mall and we spoke, I could see she believed me then,” he says.
Turning his passion for soccer into fandom has given Nkosi the freedom to mentor, coach and host celebratory gatherings at his home. “You know, when you run away from a thing and it follows you, I don’t know if it is passion or what. I still play indoors and train some guys from here,” Nkosi says, as he explains how soccer remains close to his heart.
Nkosi’s contact list has a couple of popular soccer players. During the interview he received several phone calls from local football stars. Apologetically he says, “Everything is soccer. Sometimes I go to the grounds to watch soccer, but I always find myself analysing the game. If I feel that the coach must put a player in, I go behind the bench and I call the coach.”
Nkosi believes that “spirit” from both the players and supporters makes an enjoyable match. He keeps this spirit alive by hosting people at his home for post-match braais. “When I coached a team, and we were leading two nil, I called my wife and told her to take R2000 from my money for meat at the butchery. She told my brother to make the fire. We came back to my house to chill and celebrate after we won the game,” he says.
STAY GROUNDED: Soccer helps to keep children in the Orlando East community off the streets and out of trouble.
The soccer player at heart remains nostalgic for the days when Jomo Somo entertained supporters with “tricks” on the field. “If you watch the old DVDs of Jomo Sono, you’ll see a big difference. There was no money then, but people enjoyed football and the rules. Jomo used to stand on the ball but if a player was to do it now it is a yellow card,” he says.
For Nkosi, local soccer traditions have changed drastically because of the continuous upgrades of soccer rules set by the International Federation of Association Football (FIFA), the international governing body of football.
He adds that he does not have anything against international football, but wants the township culture of soccer, particularly in Orlando to be upheld because it is what the fans want and enjoy. “Skill. Our strength is in the skill. Our players are creative. When a team is good with skills, you can tell by the supporters. Orlando stadium used to be full because Jomo Sono was doing his thing. People came because they wanted to see the skill,” Nkosi says.
Despite the ever-changing rules of football locally and internationally, die-hard fans like Nkosi still flock in numbers to watch their favourite players battle to win the hearts of the supporters. “All people want to do is enjoy the game. If you tell someone Soweto All Stars is playing at four o’clock, the grounds will be full because people know which players are going to play flair and freestyle,” he says.
With hopes to carry the tradition over to his four-year-old son, Nkosi is already grooming him. “I want my boy to play soccer. I guide him. I want him to start at an early age, even now I started telling him not to hold the ball in his hands. I won’t force him to play if he does not want to, but it would make me happy,” he says.
WATER IS LIFE: Orlando Sweepers Football Club players quench their thirst after an intense training session.
From giving up your yard in the name of fandom, to opening your home to celebrate with the community and preserve family tradition, soccer in Orlando East goes beyond the 90 minutes on the soccer field for enthusiasts.
As it remains a religion in Orlando, the loyal supporters make sacrifices by coming together to share the joy whether it is through providing space for rest after a long walk from the clinic, or an internet café to apply for a job, or just a braai after a soccer match.
Giving up something for the love of the game does not take away from supporters, but makes them feel like they belong to a team long after the 90-minute whistle at the end of the match.
FEATURED IMAGE: A football match between two clubs. Photo: Files.
This short film turns the age-old question of “Does my partner really love me?” into a brutal survival metric that punishes emotional failure with deadly consequences.
I entered Love Economy blind, save for its AFDA Film School origins and a tantalising premise: a 12-minute Afrofuturist jolt set in a self-sustaining 2040 South Africa, where love isn’t just currency, it’s survival. The title hinted at romance’s commodification, but the poster, a couple in blissful union in vibrant traditional wear, the shine of their rings matching their smiles, juxtaposed by them facing away from each other against a white and pink backdrop, gave little away.
Love Economy grabs you in seconds, subverting expectations of another earnest indie tale of marital strife or rural drudgery. No slog through poverty porn here; instead, a Wakanda-esque utopia pulses with reclaimed luxury—padel balls sheathed in traditional prints, aerodynamic Xibelani skirts whipping on courts, flying Gusheshe taxis slicing neon skies and holographic dogs for the allergic. The heart of the film, The Love Meter, a digital tool, implanted at 21 in this futuristic South Africa amid mandatory marriage, tracks spousal affection: dip below viable, and you die.
Protagonist Rudzani (Ntokozo Nkambule) pours devotion into her cold husband Zak (Asande Zulu), but his learned infidelity and inability to emotionally care for her send her meter plummeting as she wrestles with “Makoti Must” edicts. Meanwhile, AI Thori—a Siri on steroids, house-bound monument—chimes warnings about his dangerously low love and suggests ways for her to fix it.
The film portrays gender and masculinity in 2040 as deeply intertwined with societal expectations and technological control, revealing the high stakes and emotional damage these norms inflict. Zak embodies the pressure to be the “perfect husband” within a rigid system controlled by the Love Meter. His attempt to fulfill prescribed roles despite emotional disconnect results in personal crumbling, highlighting the destructive nature of idealized masculinity that demands performance over authentic connection. And oh, does he perform. He loves Rudzani’s utility over her soul, and his masculinity’s high stakes crumble everyone involved: her social death is literalized through the plummeting Meter, while his escape is impossible.
The film critiques such masculinity as harmful not only to women but to men as well — both trapped in damaging roles. By making love a quantifiable survival metric that disproportionately affects women like Rudzani, it exposes how patriarchal and transactional aspects of love and marriage are enforced through technology. The story highlights women’s coercion to conform (“makoti must”) while navigating limited agency in relationships dictated by societal and state control.
Moreover, these dynamics link to ongoing South African realities, such as gender-based violence, showing how traditional masculinity and cultural expectations create festering harm technology aims to manage but ultimately cannot resolve. It calls for reflection on gender, care, and respect beyond social contracts measured by fear or obligation, advocating for love that transcends duty.
Directors Azwikonisaho Ramavhuya and Jaclynn Meintjes, alongside production designer Heebah Raji, infuse every frame with cultural colour theory, turning underrepresented Tsonga-Venda motifs into high-tech finery that screams African opulence, not capitulation. Visual effects artists Nkosisphile Ngubeni and Oamogetswe Tshenkeng craft seamless touches like wrist-bound meters, transforming Western imports into proudly African artifacts. The film’s feverish poetry in motion earned it nominations for Best Third Year Film, Screen Design Team, and Production Team at the 31st AFDA Graduation Awards.
Love Economy lands as South African Afrofuturism’s urgent milestone. Homegrown ambition proves we don’t need expatriate voices to conjure these visions. The plot doesn’t hand you answers — it shoves you into the meter’s glare and dares you: what’s love worth when it’s tallied like rations? In this kaleidoscopic 2040, does tech liberate hearts or merely ledger them? Watch, and ask yourself: are we already plugged in, or is true affection still off the grid?
Rating: 8.5/10
FEATURED IMAGE: LoveEconomy Poster. Image: Supplied/AFDA
When boy problems or heartbreak have you on shaky ground, Shekhinah’s Less Trouble comes in like a wave, and it’s strong enough to drown you in your feelings.
Crowned as one of South Africa’s most celebrated voices, Shekhinah is back to prove that her music still hits where it hurts. Four years since the last album, Trouble in Paradise, her return is a reminder of just how good she is at what she does.
Shekinah’s album Less Trouble features several artists including Lordkez, Moliy, Young Stunna and Mars Baby.
A year ago, she released two singles, “Steady” and “Risk”, offering listeners a preview of the upcoming album’s direction.
“Devil in disguise, trouble in your eyes, every single time all we do is fight.” With these lyrics, Shekhinah sets the tone from the very start. The opening track, “Break up season”, lays the foundation, hinting that the album will centre on the highs and lows of relationships.
From her album Rose Gold to now, she’s stayed true to her signature sound, rarely chasing trends or charts, and instead focuses on making music that ages like fine wine.
Shekhinah’s album cover. Photo: Shekhina’s IG
On track 3, “Bare minimum”, Shekhinah strikes a chord with anyone who’s ever been given the bare minimum in a relationship. She reflects on asking for little yet receiving even less and ultimately reaching the point where letting go becomes inevitable.
The playlist opens with a sense of tension and frustration but soon transforms into bursts of pure joy. By the time you reach track 7, “Spoonky”, it feels like freedom itself, like cruising down the freeway with the windows rolled all the way down, warm wind rushing against your face, palm trees swaying past in a blur. You’re singing off-key, laughing uncontrollably with the love of your life in the passenger seat, every worry dissolving into the sunset. It’s a moment of pure happiness bottled in sound.
“Less trouble” isn’t just an album; it’s a celebration of love, happiness, and the freedom to finally feel complete, just as she says on “Spoonky”, “you’re the one that I want”.
Rating: 8/10
FEATURED IMAGE: Shekhina’s album cover. Photo: Shekhina’s IG
When degrading women is the punchline, what does that reveal about the audience laughing along?
“Minnie’s pretty bro. Why can’t she keep a man?”
“Bro, I’m telling you man. There’s got to be something wrong with her. Maybe her coochie smells or something. You know this happens, bro, it happens, especially with the hot girls.”
“Mac, what if she can’t cook?”
That’s not an out-of-character quote or a harmless joke gone too far. It’s yet another example of the routine misogyny that fuels Podcast and Chill, the cult-like podcast and online show that’s been trading integrity for views since 2018.
On April 24, Podcast and Chill co-hosts Macgyver Mukwevho “MacG” and Sol Phenduka once again crossed the line between edgy commentary and outright misogyny. While discussing media personality Minnie Dlamini’s recent breakup with businessman Brian Monaisa, the conversation quickly spiralled into provocative territory as the pair speculated on the reasons for their split.
This is not new or surprising. This is exactly what a large amount of South African entertainment has become – a breeding ground for lazy, degrading speech against women dressed up as unfiltered commentary.
The irony came fast and loud when, on April 28, Moja Love condemned MacG’s remarks. Yes, that Moja Love. The channel that built its brand on exploiting poor, vulnerable and black South Africans, suddenly wants to be the voice of reason.
The same Moja Love that the Broadcasting Complaints Commission of South Africa (BCCSA) fined in 2023 for airing scenes of domestic violence on Isencane Lengane without trigger warnings or adequate support for the abused being filmed. The same broadcaster that aired Uyajola 9/9, a show that turns toxic relationships into Sunday night entertainment.
Spare us the moral high ground.
Where are the gatekeepers? Unfazed, it seems. By carrying Moja Love and MacG’s content, broadcasters like DStv fail to uphold the principles of the BCCSA’s code of conduct.
This code protects viewers from harmful content and ensures fair and balanced programming. It states that broadcasting licensees must “exercise exceptional care and consideration in matters involving the privacy, dignity and reputation of individuals.”
The code goes on to expressly state that licensees “must not broadcast material which […] sanctions, promotes or glamorises violence or unlawful conduct based on race, national or ethnic origin, colour, religion, [or] gender.”
Let’s be honest. Podcast and Chill isn’t the disease, it’s the symptom. The South African entertainment industry has fallen in love with controversy because outrage pays. Misogyny and vulgarity are now marketed as “being real.” The uglier the take, the better the numbers.
Podcast and Chill is one of the most consumed shows in the country, with 1.57 million subscribers on YouTube. Moja Love still pulls audiences despite constant public backlash.
So what does this say about us? Is our appetite for entertainment so bottomless that we’ll swallow anything, even casual violence or gender-based humiliation?
We’re not just bystanders. We’re complicit.
If the South African entertainment industry won’t change, then maybe the public should change the channel.
Or at the very least, ask ourselves, “why are we still watching?”
FEATURED IMAGE: Podcast and Chill co-hosts MacG and Sol Phenduka have ignited another sexism scandal, this time taking aim at actress Minnie Dlamini. Graphic: Mbali Khumalo.
Wits University extends its data services for the third year running, to support students with blended learning model.
In a walk back from an announcement made at the beginning of the 2023 academic year, Wits University has asked service providers to continue supplying monthly data allowances to registered students.
The beginning of April 2023 saw students on the Cell C, MTN, Telkom Mobile and Vodacom networks access 20GB’s of AnyTime and NightTime data, a combined 40GB’s a month.
This comes after protests in March 2023 led by the student representative council (SRC), the #WitsShutdown was centered on financial exclusion and the ongoing accommodation crisis. An additional demand made by protesting students included the continuation of a data allowance.
Wits student applying for the 2023 data packages. Photo: Lesedi Maako
Rachel Selogiloe from Wits Information Communication Technology (ICT) said, “It will not be easy like last year 2022 where every registered Wits student received data packages. There will be systems put in place to check eligibility such as where a student stays and their area of affordability.”
For instance, students residing at all Wits residences will not be eligible to receive the data packages as they have access to the internet connection provided by the university. Along with those students have to apply.
Wits Master’s degree student in International Relations, Sbabalo Ntloko, has already put in his application and said, “I don’t feel safe as I always leave campus late at night doing my schoolwork so this data will be helpful should I get approved”.
Second-year student doing a Bachelor of Arts in Music, Andrew Brunsden, told Wits Vuvuzela “I stay in Noordheuwel, Krugersdorp which is 26km away from Wits and I can only come to campus when I have classes. I am not able to access the Wits Wi-Fi constantly and so getting this data will benefit me and my schoolwork.”
A genre-bending play reflects on how our past influences our present when it comes to gender-based violence and the objectification of black bodies.(more…)
VOICE of Wits (VoW FM) programming manager, Matthew Malcolm, has stepped down from his position to be a presenter at YFM, a commercial youth radio station in Johannesburg.
The Wits graduate, formerly known as Matthew Law but now rebranding himself as DJ Flax, started at VoW FM as a presenter during his first year of study in 2014.
“Until September 2015 I did every show under the sun, and it was just to get experience,” DJ Flax said.
Thereafter he presented the breakfast show for three years, while completing a Bachelor of Arts and furthering his training at the Wits Radio Academy. “The most difficult thing is resilience,” said DJ Flax. VoW FM radio presenter, Tshepo Thaela, echoed these sentiments, saying “Anyone can have a good idea, but putting in the work to bring it to life – that’s something special.”
The 23-year-old presenter added, “I really enjoyed working with Matthew because he always had cool ideas and made things happen.”
YFM programming manager, Tumelo Diaho-Monaheng, told Wits Vuvuzela, “VoW FM is a good platform for aspiring radio journalists to gain work experience. It has structure and great people managing the station.”
“I would suggest anyone hoping to go into radio should do it through the campus space because it forces you to do everything and think creatively,” said DJ Flax.
“Matthew’ understanding of the medium and its impact on the listener was very impressive.
“He has worked very hard at earning his stripes at VoW FM and he is a keen learner. That’s what I am looking for,” said Diaho-Monaheng.
Although VoW FM has a high turnover rate, DJ Flax assured Wits Vuvuzela that, “VoW FM has a phenomenal set of volunteers who have taken on roles where they can to ensure that this hasn’t affected the station.”
Since DJ Flax started at VoW FM, he says, “The station hasn’t really changed all that much. There’s such a culture of pride for the station that it gets passed down to every new intake.”
Johannesburg's underground punk rock scene has always been about more than simply music. From the beginning, it's been a site of rebellion against injustice and a community for those who dare to go against the norm. In this episode of We Should Be Writing, Mbali Khumalo takes you into this world, with guests from the […]
