“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
FNB Wits’ unbeaten run came to an end on Saturday as they were beaten 37-31 by a very physical Roodepoort team at the FNB Wits Stadium.
The home side had a slow start to the game as the visitors managed to score two unconverted tries in the same corner inside the first fifteen minutes.
It appeared as if Wits had gathered momentum as Greg Blom converted a penalty but Wits soon found themselves huddled behind the goal posts again as Roodepoort scored their third try. The opposition kicker had a poor day as he missed his third conversion, taking the score to 15-3.
The home side managed to fight back and score a try through blindside flanker, Thato Mavundla, after a good lineout on the opposition 5 meter line. Blom converted the try to give the home side a glimmer of hope of a comeback.
The Roodepoort side had other ideas and scored a bonus point try just before half time, with the kicker once again failing to convert the try, giving the visitors a 20-10 lead as they went into the break.
The second half started well for the home side as they attacked from the start. Great play between the backline saw Kenneth du Plessis finish a try set up by teammate, Wesley Roberts. Blom converted to close the gap to just three points.
Just like in the first half, the home side conceded points immediately after scoring points of their own. Roodepoort scored their fifth try which was also unconverted. This took the score to 25-17.
The home side didn’t give up, but some poor defence from Wits saw Roodepoort score a soft try. The sixth try for the visitors was eventually converted, extending their lead to 32-17. Shortly after the restart, the visitors scored a seventh try to take their score to 37-17.
Wits didn’t not give up as some people in the crowd said the game was over for the home side.
A second try from Thato Mavundla, and a try from replacement Jason Fraser gave the home side some hope of fighting back, but the spirited effort at the end was not enough as Wits eventually lost the game 37-31.
This was their first loss of the season. Wits has done enough to secure a semi-final spot, but they need to do well in the final two fixtures of the season to try and secure a home semi-final spot.
The next two games are against UJ (11 August) and Boksburg (18 August).
Bronson Lange tackles the Roodeport fullback in their loss on Saturday. Photo: Jan Bornman
Thirty years after the dawn of democracy, Johannesburg remains a city of profound contradictions.
In 1994, South Africa stood at the threshold of an era that promised equality, freedom and unity under the banner of democracy. The country’s first democratic elections saw the formal dismantling of apartheid – a system of institutionalised racial segregation that had oppressed millions of people for nearly half a century. The world watched in awe as Nelson Mandela cast his vote in South Africa’s first democratic elections, a momentous symbol of the country’s transition from apartheid to democracy.
Johannesburg, a city of gold and dreams, was at the heart of this new South Africa. It was a city meant to reflect the promise of equality, opportunity and freedom for all, including those people who sought refuge in its streets. But 30 years later, Johannesburg tells a more complex story.
Although democracy may have opened its arms to political freedom, it also incubated the rise of anti-immigrant sentiments and left economic divides not only unbridged but, in some cases, exacerbated. As the wealth gap widens, many South Africans are left asking why democracy has not resulted in fair economic distribution. This has led to socioeconomic upheaval and created fertile ground for the anti-immigrant movement in the heart of Johannesburg.
A history of migration
South Africa’s history with migration, both forced and voluntary, predates the advent of democracy. Under colonialism and apartheid, the country’s economy heavily relied on migrant labour from neighbouring countries like Mozambique, Malawi and Lesotho to fuel its mines and agricultural sectors. However, the legal framework of apartheid strictly regulated the movement of black South Africans and foreign workers, maintaining rigid social hierarchies.
With the end of apartheid in 1994, South Africa became a beacon of hope for many people across the continent. Neighbouring countries, having supported the anti-apartheid struggle, anticipated that the new South Africa would lead the charge in promoting pan-African unity and open its borders to fellow Africans seeking better opportunities. Indeed, South Africa has experienced a significant influx of immigrants, particularly from neighbouring countries in southern Africa.
The new government aimed to dismantle the socioeconomic structures that had marginalised most of the population. Economic instability, political turmoil and violence in countries like Zimbabwe, Mozambique and the Democratic Republic of the Congo have driven many of their citizens to seek refuge in South Africa, with Johannesburg being a primary destination.
The post-apartheid government embraced a more open immigration policy, reflecting its commitment to human rights. However, this liberal stance has not been without friction. Jo’burg’s urban environment has seen a rise in competition for jobs, housing and services, often leading to resentment among local communities towards immigrants.
Socioeconomic factors
Johannesburg’s skyline, dotted with high-rise buildings and cranes, suggests a city of unrelenting progress. Yet, beneath this glittering façade lies one of the most unequal cities in the world. The World Bank and various studies indicate that South Africa remains a highly unequal society. A significant portion of the population was denied access to economic possibilities because of apartheid policies and South Africa began the 1990s with already high levels of inequality. The Gini coefficient, a common measure of inequality, places South Africa among the most unequal countries globally, and nowhere is this divide more palpable than in Johannesburg. Wealthy suburbs like Sandton flourish, whereas townships and informal settlements such as Alexandra languish in poverty and neglect.Economic inequality in Johannesburg is not a new phenomenon. Still, the promise of democracy – with political freedom supposed to translate into economic opportunity – has failed many people. Thirty years later, democracy has not led to the mass reduction in inequality that so many people hoped for. South Africa’s high unemployment rate, particularly among the youth, has fuelled frustrations that are often misdirected towards immigrants. Many South Africans perceive immigrants as competitors for scarce resources and jobs. This perception is exacerbated by high levels of poverty and inequality, particularly in informal settlements.
Many immigrants in Johannesburg rely on informal or small-scale businesses to earn a living, facing opportunity and vulnerability in a challenging economic climate. Photo: Sanele Sithetho
As democracy stumbled in delivering economic equality, Johannesburg also became a beacon for migrants across Africa fleeing political instability, war and economic hardship. Zimbabweans, Nigerians, Somalis and Congolese, among others, arrived in the city in search of work and safety. They brought with them their entrepreneurial spirit, opening small businesses in the informal sector and contributing to the city’s vibrant culture.
But for many native South Africans living in poverty, these migrants became convenient scapegoats. As unemployment surged to more than 30% and service-delivery failed, accusations that foreigners were “stealing jobs” or “draining public resources” took root. Anti-immigrant sentiments morphed into violent outbreaks of xenophobia, most notably in 2008 and again in 2015. Johannesburg, the city meant to embody the dreams of a democratic South Africa, became the epicentre of anti-immigrant violence.
Police officers patrolling neighbourhoods known for tensions. South African authorities play a critical role in managing tensions, with police presence aiming to prevent violence and protect communities. Photo: Sanele Sithetho
Perceptions of crime have significantly influenced anti-immigrant sentiment. A series of violent incidents involving immigrants have given rise to the stereotype that foreign nationals are responsible for crime in the city. Although studies indicate that crime is a multifaceted issue not limited to immigrant populations, these perceptions have been manipulated by politicians and media, deepening divisions.
Political rhetoric plays a crucial role in shaping public opinion on immigration. Political parties and leaders have used anti-immigrant rhetoric to galvanise support, portraying immigrants as a burden on social services and a threat to job security. This has led to waves of xenophobic violence, with Johannesburg witnessing several violent outbreaks against immigrant communities. This politicisation has further entrenched negative attitudes, undermining social cohesion.
The rise of movements like Operation Dudula – a vigilante group targeting foreign-owned businesses and calling for the mass deportation of immigrants – reflects how dangerous this scapegoating can become. Such movements frame the immigration issue in narrow, exclusionary terms, reducing it to a zero-sum game in which the presence of foreign nationals is directly correlated with the suffering of South Africans.
Politicians such as minister of sports, arts and culture Gayton McKenzie, the leader of the Patriotic Alliance, and former mayor of Johannesburg Herman Mashaba, who leads ActionSA, are among the politicians who promoted anti-immigrant rhetoric.
McKenzie has called for the enforcement of stricter immigration laws to control the influx of illegal immigrants. He believes that this would help to protect jobs for South Africans, particularly in impoverished communities. In turn, Mashaba emphasises the importance of adhering to the rule of law and has advocated for improved border security and better tracking of immigrants within the country.
Public policy specialist Dr Kagiso “TK” Pooe, says McKenzie and Mashaba have highlighted a problem that is often ignored. The South African government and some liberal-leaning publications have glossed over average South Africans discomfort with illegal migration. “What parties like Action SA, the Patriotic Alliance and the like did was address their long-ignored plea for redress on this matter,” he says.
In response to rising xenophobia, numerous civil society organisations have emerged in Johannesburg, advocating for immigrant rights and fostering dialogue between communities. Initiatives like the African Centre for Migration & Society have sought to document immigrants’ experiences and challenge negative stereotypes. These organisations play a vital role in promoting tolerance and understanding amid the ongoing challenges.
Thandi, who asked that only her first name be used, is a 28-year-old Malawian immigrant who arrived in Johannesburg two years ago, fleeing economic hardship and political instability in her home country. Lacking legal documentation, she found herself in a desperate situation, needing to support her family back home.
After weeks of searching for work, Thandi finally found a job at a local restaurant. However, the experience was far from what she had hoped. Her employer took advantage of her undocumented status, paying her significantly less than other employees and making her work long hours without breaks. “I was afraid to speak up,” Thandi recalls. “I needed the job, but I knew I was being treated unfairly.”
One day, Thandi fell ill and could not report to work. When she returned, her employer informed her that she would not be paid for the days she missed and threatened to report her to immigration authorities if she continued to cause “trouble”. Feeling powerless, she accepted the terms, enduring the harsh conditions for fear of losing her only source of income.
Thandi’s story highlights the vulnerability faced by many undocumented immigrants in Johannesburg. They often endure exploitation, fearing legal repercussions while striving for better lives. “I just wanted a chance to work and support my family,” Thandi says, emphasising the harsh reality of seeking opportunities in a challenging environment.
Democracy, capitalism and the divided city
Immigration to South Africa has been growing, with significant numbers of migrants moving for employment and education. However, there was a decline in migration during the covid-19 pandemic.
Anti-immigrant sentiment in Johannesburg is not only a fringe phenomenon: it has found resonance in political movements and everyday conversation.
One man, who prefers to remain anonymous, speaks honestly about his frustrations. “These foreigners come here and take what’s ours,” he says. “We don’t have enough jobs, houses or food, but they seem to have their own businesses and drive cars. Why should they get what we don’t have? This is our country.”
So, where does the blame lie? Has democracy failed Johannesburg, or has the city’s experiment with capitalism exacerbated the divide? The Human Sciences Research Council’s South African Social Attitudes survey found that only 48% South Africans were happy with democracy. Pooe believes there is a declining satisfaction with liberal democracy.
According to political analyst Dr Thandeka Dlamini, the blame should be shared. “Democracy in South Africa is a political achievement, but without economic transformation, it was never going to be enough,” she says. “The country has followed a neoliberal economic model that prioritises markets and profits, often at the expense of addressing deep-rooted inequalities. Democracy promised the people freedom, but it allowed capitalism to run rampant. The result is a divided society where the elite – both black and white – prosper, while the rest fight over scraps.”
Her words are echoed by migrant advocate and activist Musa Nkosi, who points out the irony in South Africa’s xenophobia. “Johannesburg was built on the backs of migrant labour – first from the rural parts of South Africa, and later from all over Africa,” Nkosi says. “To say that migrants are now the problem is not only false, but deeply hypocritical. The problem is the system that has failed to provide for everyone.”
A fresh wave of xenophobic tension now threatens to tear apart the fragile social fabric of South Africa’s largest city. Recently, in Soweto’s Naledi township, a tragic incident underscored how deeply these divides run. Five children, aged between 6 and 7, lost their lives after allegedly consuming snacks purchased from a local spaza shop. As news spread that the shop was operated by foreign nationals, rage and grief morphed into violence, reigniting simmering anti-immigrant sentiments.
“We’ve been complaining for a long time about the conditions in these shops,” says Zandile Tshabalala, a Naledi resident. “But no one listens. Now, children are dead. These foreign shops come here, sell us expired goods, and no one cares until something like this happens.”
For many people, the presence of foreign-owned spaza shops is symbolic of their broader economic exclusion. Many South Africans feel that migrants have cornered the informal retail market, while locals struggle to find jobs or open their own businesses. The economic frustration, coupled with poor regulation and governance, has turned foreign nationals into easy targets for displaced anger.
Amid the escalating crisis, the South African department of labour has weighed in, taking a balanced stance. The department has expressed concerns over the conditions in which many spaza shops operate, calling for stricter compliance with labour and health regulations. However, it has also emphasised that the violence and destruction of foreign-owned businesses are unlawful and counterproductive.
The tragedy in Naledi is a stark reminder of the fragile state of democracy in Johannesburg. Although the city has politically transformed over the past 30 years, it remains economically divided. Democracy in Johannesburg has undeniably brought political freedom, but it has failed to dismantle the economic disparities that plague its residents. The rise of anti-immigrant sentiments is an unfortunate byproduct of this failure, with migrants often bearing the brunt of frustration in a system that seems rigged against the poor.
FEATURE IMAGE: Immigrants residing in the informal settlement of Hillbrow gathered together. Photo: Sanele Sithetho
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.
Wits students driving their own cars to campus will be paying more for the privilege – especially those who live beyond the borders of Braamfontein.
Vuvuzela calculated the average yearly cost for students driving to Wits with an e-tag: Witsies driving from Benoni will spend R1308, R707.88 from Centurion, R777.48 from Roodepoort and R154.92 from Johannesburg North. Without the e-tag the prices would be about double.
“Well obviously it requires more money for one to get to varsity and back [home], and in the same sense you have less money to spend so it cuts down on where you can drive. Before, I could go home during lunch but now I have to think twice,” said 2nd year medical student Zain Patel.
But students who rely on public transport will not feel the effects of e-tolling immediately. Taxis and buses are exempt from e-tolling according to the recent budget speech by Pravin Gordhan.
Gordhan had also said the government would subsidise R5.8 billion of Gauteng’s e-toll fees.
“It would be better if petrol was compensated in place of e-tolling”, said Darrel Moodley, 4th year occupational therapy student.
This comes after Tuesday night’s 28c petrol price increase to a record high of R11.05 per litre.
E-tolls were a core issue raised by the Congress of South African Trade Unions (Cosatu) in a mass action protest march in Braamfontein on Wednesday.
Former Wits SRC president Bafana Nhlapo was also marching and said: “I’m here against e-tolling because it’s going to affect the poor man on the street because it’s going to cause a rise in basic commodities such as food, water and milk. As much as taxes exempt the poor it’s still going to affect the working class.”
Thousands of protesters marched along Johannesburg central business district and many wore bright red t-shirts with slogans condemning labour brokering, the other focus of Cosatu’s protest.
The crowd started to sing and dance, chanting Juju my president, at the sight of suspended ANC youth league president Julius Malema. Wits workers also joined the march to participate in the nationwide protest against what Cosatu general secretary Zwelinzima Vavi calls “labour ‘breakers’, not labour brokers”.
A memorandum was handed over outside the Gauteng provincial office where Vavi and Malema addressed the crowds.
“We are here to show solidarity with the workers opposing the e-tolling system and labour brokers. Leadership should listen to the masses,” said Malema.
While mainstream media often chases the sensational and the spotlight, Ishan Tankha’s lens seeks out the silenced revealing the lives and stories that slip through the cracks.
The Wits Centre for Journalism hosted independent documentary photographer, Ishan Tankha, on March 4, in a seminar about photojournalism’s preoccupation with the spectacular. Tankha is known for his compelling portrayal of the marginalised and forgotten.
His work, which spans continents, from his homeland in India to the United States, reflects his dedication to telling the stories of those often overlooked by mainstream media.
Tankha’s photographic journey is deeply rooted in his commitment to uncovering the narratives of people caught in the “in-between” — those who are typically absent from the headlines, such as minorities, displaced communities, and individuals enduring the effects of conflict. His focus is on capturing raw, untold stories that challenge perceptions and humanize complex social and political issues.
During his presentation, Tankha spoke candidly about his approach to documentary photography, emphasising that his work cannot be summed up in a single sentence.
Rather than taking a surface-level view of global conflicts, his work delves into the lives of individuals caught in the throes of war, violence, famine, and unrest. What sets him apart is his patience and dedication to his subjects.
He shared that, at times, he spends years observing and building trust with the people he captures, allowing their stories to unfold in a way that goes beyond what is immediately visible. This long-term commitment is essential to truly understanding the nuances of their lives, creating images that resonate deeply with audiences and spark conversation.
Tankha’s exploration of conflict through photography is not just about documenting the chaos but about interrogating the broader implications of these events on human lives. He aims to reveal the extraordinary situations of ordinary people living in extreme conditions. His focus is not just on the grand, often violent narratives of war or famine but on the silent struggles of individuals who are left behind by history, their stories ignored or forgotten by the world.
Having exhibited his work both in the United States and India, Tankha’s photography transcends borders. His powerful images are a call to attention — a reminder that there is always more to a story than what is immediately apparent.
Through his lens, he challenges the dominant narratives of conflict, shedding light on the quiet, complex, and often painful realities faced by individuals who live in the shadows of history. His work is a vital contribution to the world of photojournalism, ensuring that the stories of the most vulnerable are not only told but understood.
FEATURED IMAGE: Motorcyclists in India as seen through the lens of Ishan Tankha. Photo by: Ishan Tankha
2024 in-depth reporting project 30 Years of Democracy ve In 2024, South Africa marked 30 years as a democratic and free country. For all the strides made in three decades, there are many more devastating pitfalls. Wits Vuvuzela’s team of student journalists...
Thirty years since the dawn of democracy, inequality still lingers beneath Johannesburg’s surface, with township residents often marginalised from the city’s wealth. Despite systemic barriers, individuals in these communities are carving their own paths to a better life.
In Johannesburg, the city of gold, the promise of economic prosperity has long been out of reach for many people. Thirty years into democracy, inequality still lingers beneath the surface, with township residents often on the margins of the city’s wealth. But against these odds, people in the townships are making their own paths to a better life. This investigation delves into how, despite systemic barriers, township residents are creating economic opportunities and reshaping their communities from within.Under apartheid, Johannesburg’s wealth was reserved for a select few and the city’s Black population was subjected to harsh restrictions like the Native Labour Regulation Act of 1911. This law required Black workers to carry passbooks, limiting their movement and employment opportunities. As the city’s economy flourished, Black people were trapped in poverty, unable to share in the wealth that their labour helped to create.
Building a life from nothing
Beauty Mkhari, a street vendor in Orlando East. Photo: Lona Sokanyile
Olagh Thandi Shabangu (52) sits on her stoep in Daveyton, remembering her journey from Mozambique to South Africa in the late ’90s with mixed emotions. “I came to this country with nothing but the clothes on my back,” she recalls, her voice steady, yet laced with memories of struggle. “It wasn’t easy.”
Arriving in South Africa as apartheid was nearing its end, Shabangu faced overwhelming odds as a foreign national without formal documentation. “Getting a job was almost impossible,” she says. “I didn’t have papers, so no one would hire me in the city. The police would stop me, but I always managed to escape. It was hard to be both a woman and a foreigner in those days.”
Shabangu found work on a secluded farm, far from the prying eyes of law enforcement. “The farmer didn’t care where we came from, as long as we did the work. We worked in the meat department, making sure it didn’t spoil. That was my life for a while. We were away from the city, hidden from the police, but also far from any real opportunities.”
The arrival of democracy brought a chance for change. When Shabangu finally gained her South African citizenship, she describes it as “a breath of fresh air”. But her struggles to find sustainable employment continued. “I had no formal education and it was difficult to compete,” she says. “While many men went to work in the mines, township women had few opportunities.”
With her new documentation, Shabangu used her experience in the meat industry to secure a job at a store called Meat and More, which has since become OBC, in Daveyton. “I thought I had made it,” she laughs, shaking her head. “But even when I was promoted, the salary wasn’t enough. I was raising two kids as the breadwinner, and I realised I needed more.”
That’s when Olagh decided to take her future into her own hands. Drawing from her family’s entrepreneurial spirit, she became a street vendor, selling fruits and vegetables. “I grew up in a business-minded family,” she says. “So, I knew that was the path for me, and I need to think of ways to survive to raise my children.”
Her two children are now the pride of her life. “My son is a postgraduate and my daughter just started her first year of university this year. When I look at them, I see the change democracy has brought. Back then, Black people couldn’t even dream of becoming professionals like doctors or engineers, but now, we have broken those barriers.”
As Shabangu reflects on the years gone by, she recognises the progress, but remains grounded in the reality of the struggle. “There’s change, yes. But we must fight for our place in this world. I built my life with my own hand, and that’s something I’m proud of.”
From the apartheid years to the promise of democracy Shabangu has seen it all. Her story is a testament to the power of perseverance and the importance of taking control of one’s destiny. “We’ve come far,” she says, “but the journey is far from over.”
Street of Olando East in Soweto. Photo: Lona Sokanyile
The democratic promise: 30 years later
When democracy arrived in 1994, it brought with it a wave of optimism. The ANC, under Nelson Mandela’s leadership, promised to dismantle the economic and social injustices that had defined Johannesburg’s past. Job creation was one of the golden promises. Johannesburg’s role as an economic hub has remained central to the country’s development. The ANC’s manifesto was clear: building a dynamic and growing economy that would prioritise employment, housing and education.
Today, 30 years into democracy, Johannesburg still holds its place as South Africa’s financial capital. The city is home to high buildings that pierce the sky and bustling markets line the streets, but for many of its residents the dream of economic equality remains distant.The latest Quarterly Labour Force Survey from Statistics South Africa shows that unemployment in Gauteng, where Johannesburg is located, has risen to 39.2% in the second quarter of 2024, up from 38.9% earlier in the year.
Unemployment is particularly severe, with nearly half of the city’s labour force struggling to find work. This paints a grim picture, as Johannesburg’s reputation as an economic hub contrasts sharply with the lived reality of its residents. In the city’s sprawling townships and inner-city neighborhoods, job seekers are faced with limited opportunities. The unemployment rate represents more than just statistics: it tells the stories of skilled graduates unable to secure work and families left without a breadwinner. Despite the wealth that still flows through the city, many people feel that the promise of democracy has not been fully achieved.
Township entrepreneurs: Struggle and resilience
Growing up in Mabopane, north of Pretoria, Thabang Mothibe (26) experienced the challenges that many young people face today. Raised by parents determined to make ends meet, he witnessed the weight of economic strain from a young age. After completing his mechanical engineering studies at Tshwane South College, Mothibe was confronted by the harsh reality of South Africa’s job market. Like many Black graduates, he found himself without opportunities, staring down the same hardships that democracy had promised to overcome.
Yet, Mothibe’s story is one of resilience and reinvention. During his studies, he realised that there was more to life than chasing a paycheck. Acknowledging his disadvantaged background, he knew he would have to make his own way. In 2020, during the height of the covid-19 pandemic, Mothibe took his first steps into the world of entrepreneurship – an ambitious leap into the insurance industry. But the pandemic brought immense challenges, particularly for young entrepreneurs like him.
The pandemic forced Mothibe to go back to the drawing board. Undeterred by setbacks, he began another venture, selling meat to stokvels in Mamelodi and Orange Farm. “I knew I had to make sure my dreams as an entrepreneur didn’t die,” he said. However, the learning curve in this industry was exceptionally steep. He had to buy equipment to ensure that the meat was transported safely in refrigerated coolers. In addition, load-shedding exacerbated his challenges. “My customers started complaining about the smell of the meat,” Mothibe says, leading him to make the difficult decision to stop this hustle.
Mothibe’s experience mirrors the broader struggles of many young people in Johannesburg, where high unemployment and daily economic challenges persist. Despite his efforts and the resilience shown by many people like him, the dream of economic equality promised by democracy remains elusive. For many people, the high-rises and stock exchange of Johannesburg are symbols of an economy they are yet to fully participate in.
Thirty years later, the democratic promise feels like a distant memory. For entrepreneurs like Mothibe, it’s not only about navigating the pressures of running a business, but surviving in a system where opportunities are unevenly distributed. Yet, like many of his peers, Mothibe continues to hold onto hope. His journey may not have gone as planned, but his determination reflects the spirit of a generation that refuses to let the promise of democracy die. After several of his entrepreneurial ventures failed, Mothibe faced a critical moment, one in which many people might have lost hope. But instead of surrendering to defeat, he reached out to Aubrey Maphata, a seasoned business owner in the construction industry.
Maphata took Mothibe under his wing, offering mentorship and guidance. With time, Thabang not only found his footing in the construction sector but thrived. Today, he runs his own company, Gree and Meca, in Johannesburg, a testament to his resilience and unwavering determination to succeed. Mothibe’s voice carries the weight of both frustration and hope as he reflects on his journey as a young entrepreneur. “I wish the government could fund local businesses,” he says, his tone a mix of passion and weariness. “As young entrepreneurs, it’s difficult to get funding from commercial banks.” His words reveal a harsh truth that many people like him face – a dream that feels just out of reach, hindered by the lack of financial support.
Mothibe acknowledges that the government has made efforts to create policies aimed at job creation, but he believes there is more to be done. “They’ve tried to instill policies to support local businesses,” he says, “but it is not enough. There is more to be done than just hosting business workshops for young entrepreneurs. Workshops are not helping: businesses need funding.”
Meanwhile, Nyasha Simelane (26) is also a beacon of inspiration. Simelane, the founder and chief executive of the social app Safe Space, recalls the moments that shaped his path. “What has inspired me to start a business is my ability to lead,” he says, with determination in his eyes. “Being placed in positions where I can lead and seeing people respond positively – that’s what gave me the confidence to take the leap into entrepreneurship.” His words reflect a deep-seated belief in the power of influence and responsibility, particularly as a Black person navigating the complexities of a changing society.
“I have so many ideas I want to share with the world,” Simelane continues, a smile spreading across his face. “I thought, why not start a business? I really trust myself.” His enthusiasm is infectious, and you can sense the fire that drives him. Simelane’s journey hasn’t been without its challenges, but he embraces them wholeheartedly. “I love rejection. I love failure because I’ve always managed to bounce back,” he says, emphasising the resilience that has become a cornerstone of his entrepreneurial spirit.
Simelane’s vision for Safe Space is rooted in creating a platform through which individuals can connect, share and find support in a safe environment.
Creating jobs: who’s responsible?
To address the city’s unemployment crisis, the Gauteng provincial government has introduced programmes like Nasi Ispani, designed to help young, unemployed people find jobs. Although this initiative has offered hope, it remains limited in scope. Gauteng premier Panyaza Lesufi recently acknowledged these limitations, saying, “This is the nature of these programmes – they are not long term. And why they are not long term is because we do not have the financial muscle to absorb everyone.”
The debate over job creation in Johannesburg extends beyond government programmes. In a recent national assembly discussion, Dr Michael Cardo of the Democratic Alliance (DA) argued that the government cannot create jobs on a large scale. “The government itself cannot create jobs at scale – that’s the private sector’s role,” Cardo said. He emphasised that for the private sector to thrive and generate employment, the government needs to focus on providing a stable fiscal framework, improving infrastructure, ensuring safety and security, and enhancing the education system to produce a skilled workforce.
Johannesburg’s future, then, may depend not only on government intervention, but also on creating an environment in which the private sector can thrive. However, this also requires tackling systemic issues such as corruption, poor governance, and the inefficiency of public services – issues that have hindered the city’s potential for decades.
Despite its challenges, Johannesburg remains central to South Africa’s economy. The city still generates a significant portion of the country’s gross domestic product and its industries – from mining and finance to manufacturing and IT – continue to provide opportunities.
As Johannesburg moves forward, its success will depend on finding a balance between government policies, private-sector investment, and addressing the structural issues that continue to hold back its residents. The city’s future remains bright, but the journey toward fulfilling the promises of 1994 is far from complete.
Johannesburg’s future is delicately balanced. The city’s towering skyline symbolises potential, but for many people, the ground beneath their feet remains shaky. As the government grapples with unemployment and inequality, the private sector’s role becomes ever more critical. Yet, until systemic issues like corruption and poor governance are addressed, the dream of true economic equality remains just that.
FEATURED IMAGE: Woman coming from a stokvel meeting. Photo: Lona Sokanyile
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.
Hillbrow has gained a reputation over the years for its diversity, violence and decay. But although its streets lie in disarray, some residents have created sanctuaries from the dysfunction.
I sit quietly in the passenger seat of the Uber. We pass a cement monolith along the steep hill; its walls charred to coal. The midday sun hesitantly peeks beyond the hollow sockets where windows should be, vaguely outlining scattered rubble in the meek light. A bright pink top drifts across my eyeline as I peer into the darkness. Glancing up, I see a line of clothes dangling over the edge of a third-floor windowsill with an array of blankets draped across the bare building – weary eyelids over an emaciated face.
Reaching the bottom of the hill, we turn into Abel Road, which connects Berea to Hillbrow. The Uber driver breaks the silence that had so far prevailed. “But why are you going to Hillbrow my friend?!” Last month, in that same area, a clip went viral of an e-hailing driver being murdered in an attack that provoked MMC for public safety Mgcini Tshwaku to vow in a media statement that: “High-density operations are coming in Hillbrow that has been a den of drug dealers and thugs.” As I reach my destination the driver warns: “Be careful, here they’ll kill you for fun.”
The Hillbrow of old: cocktails and cafes
Hillbrow was once a buzzing cosmopolitan area, known as a cultural hub during the apartheid era. It was iconic for its vibrant nightlife, array of hotels and restaurants, progressive attitudes and popularity among the youth. With manicured parks, spotless streets and modern high-rise buildings, Hillbrow resembled an African Manhattan. As pass laws and the Group Areas Act were relaxed thanks to growing civil unrest in the 1980s, Hillbrow became one of Johannesburg’s first deracialised zones.
But as more black residents flocked to the suburb, its white residents fled, blaming an increase of crime and the area’s deterioration on the growing black residency. As more buildings emptied, landlords exploited the situation by allowing scores of people to move in at low rates, paving the way for overcrowding and the further decay of infrastructure and resulting in an exodus of the remaining middle-class population. With the prospect of cheap accommodation in the city centre, Hillbrow became a preferred port of entry for foreign nationals and economic migrants from across South Africa. By the late 1990s Hillbrow was in a state of severe decline, noted for a lack of basic service delivery, decaying infrastructure and overcrowded living conditions. Crime and prostitution became lucrative in this densely populated suburb. This set the stage for the Hillbrow of today.
Hillbrow today: violence and decay
The streets of Hillbrow are filled with idle youth. Photo: Kabir Jugram
“If these guys [the municipality] did clean-up operations maybe 20 to 30 years ago this place would be Manhattan… town was a beautiful place!” bemoans Faizel Khan, a shop owner who has been in Hillbrow for 35 years. He leans on the entrance to his clothing store, smoking a cigarette. “The whole infrastructure is rotten!” he yells, stabbing his cigarette towards a puddle of green sludge across the street. “Broken drains, missing manhole covers and stealing of metal… every structure that had metal in the street is gone!” This leads to a rant about theft and drugs plaguing the streets.
Overhearing our conversation, Khan’s mother approaches and cuts him off mid-sentence: “They murdered my son here, right in front of my eyes! The police didn’t even take a statement from me.” A silence grows as Khan finishes his cigarette. He flicks it into the street, takes a deep breath and stares off into the distance. “When I was a youngster here, I could smell the Milky Lane in Esselen Street. That’s how smart this place was.” He lights another cigarette as I leave.
According to the South African Police Service’s first-quarter report for the 2024-25 financial year, Hillbrow ranks 26th nationally and fourth in Gauteng for reported murders as of June 2024. It also has the sixth-highest number of common robberies and the 18th-highest number of armed robberies reported in the country.
“Community members don’t trust the police. They work with syndicates in the area. Even when you give information to them, they arrest you to collect money and later disclose to the criminals who gave them the information…” claims Berea ward counsellor Phineas Madisha. “Those who serve on community policing forums only protect their personal interests.” Attempts to reach the Hillbrow counsellor were unsuccessful.
It is the middle of the day and groups of boys no older than 20 lurk on every other street corner. “They are staring you down to see if they can rob you. If you look away, that’s how they know you’re scared,” says Delron Buthelezi as we walk down Pretoria Street. He works in Hillbrow and has frequented the suburb since the early 2000s. “They have nothing else to do – no job, no school, nothing”.
As we walk up the street, cars edge forward from all four directions of an intersection, dipping into crater-like potholes peppering the road. There is not a stop sign or robot in sight. “I used to come watch movies here,” Buthelezi says, pointing at a faded billboard protruding from a block of flats. In chipped paint across a grid of Perspex it reads: ‘Movie World: always better on our big reen’. A sheet of Perspex is missing from the centre. A woman stares at me from the cracked window behind it, her child pressed tightly to her chest.
In the wake of the Usindiso building fire, which claimed 77 lives in August last year, the City of Johannesburg launched a series of inspections into “hijacked” buildings across the city. One of the buildings inspected was Vannin Court, on the corner of Pietersen and Quartz streets. The City declared it a disaster waiting to happen.
The building was initially raided in 2019. A City of Johannesburg media statement issued at the time read: “More than 300 people live in overcrowded conditions in the decaying building, which smells of urine and animal carcasses and has over time turned into a health hazard, unfit for human habitation.” Its residents simply moved back in a few days after their evictions.
“Most hijacked properties are owned by the government and sectional-title schemes which collapsed because a majority of body corporate members have left those properties. The government is also sitting with the problem of providing alternative accommodation in order to evict people,” Madisha claims.
“It’s no longer the Hillbrow of ’96 – now they don’t respect human life!” vents Johr Thouhakali, swatting wildly at a fly nestled on his stack of glistening red tomatoes. The air is a stifling cocktail filled with the sounds of whistling vendors and wailing taxis. The aroma of fresh produce tussles with the stench of raw sewage.
Thouhakali has been living in Hillbrow since 1996. He remembers days gone by, when he played soccer with other youths and walked carefree in the early hours of the morning.
“Maybe in the kasi [there’s community], but not here… when you suffer, you suffer on your own.” He peers at me as he rants, squeezing my shoulder. “In one unit [of a flat] there’s four rooms… In the lounge there’s two families staying there, separated by a curtain.” He speaks about a man in his building who cooks fresh food every day to lure hungry children into his apartment. He then mutters something about a pregnant 13-year-old. “‘I cannot be giving without receiving’… That’s the mentality here.” Thouhakali is staring at the sun now, his grip on my shoulder loosened. A fly squats comfortably on his shiny red tomatoes.
Vice, chaos, business and youth intermingle in the streets of Hillbrow on a daily basis. Photo: Kabir Jugram
No place for kids
Eyes lock on me on every block I pass on Pretoria Street. “Ey Boy! Show me that camera,” shouts a man sitting on a plastic chair. As Buthelezi and I march through the street, he comes across a friend just off the main road. Trolleys holding big pots of rice line the one side of the road; the other is coated in a colourful layer of rubbish. Four teenagers huddle over a rolling paper on the curb.
“My friend wants to ask you about Hillbrow, he’s a journalist” says Buthelezi to a Rastafarian standing over one of the trolleys. “He must put that camera away then,” the Rasta replies. As I do, one of the boys from across the streets heads towards me. “What are you shooting?!” he yells, not even checking for cars. Within seconds he reaches for my neck, pulling the camera. “Go take pictures of the white man, he’s a model!” Buthelezi tries to prize him off me. “I’m not that model!”
I elbow the boy in the stomach and break free. Buthelezi and his friend now stand between us. He glares at me with bloodshot eyes and raw flesh flaring from his lips. As I meet his glare, he quickly averts his eyes. A hand taps my shoulder from behind: “Just go man. You’ll die for nothing.”
John Dube sits under a tent in a plaza, promoting funeral coverage. He has been living in Hillbrow for more than 10 years, but has sent his children to live with their grandparents outside the city. For him, the crime, alienation and trauma of life in Hillbrow is overwhelming. “You will fail them [your kids]. It’s better you take them somewhere else so they can see a life different from this one – it’s not favourable for growing kids,” Dube says.
Raising Champions
But children do live here. As I walk down Ockerse Street, a schoolgirl waddles up the road holding her little sister’s hand, both in uniform. The smaller girl trips and lands on her face. She begins to wail and a lady selling sweets on the sidewalk gives her a packet of chips to calm her tears.
In a research paper on the importance of social cohesion, Gillian Eagle, professor of psychology at the University of the Witwatersrand, speaks about continuous traumatic stress. This refers to environments in which trauma (in the form of physical and structural violence) is part of daily life. In such environments, the source of trauma is unknown, because anyone in the area is a possible threat. As a result, constant paranoia fosters either social withdrawal or aggressive personas as a defence mechanism.
Violence can be repurposed towards positive growth through communal spaces such as sports clubs. Photo: Kabir Jugram
Both Eagle and popular research on urban violence enshrine community spaces as crucial in combating the negative effects of marginal conditions. Communal spaces encourage common goals that deter people from criminality and offer a form of empowerment in conditions that do not allow self-realisation.
Not surprisingly, social cohesion features prominently in South Africa’s policy discourse. The national development plan of 2030 was drafted during the Zuma administration, with the aim of eliminating poverty and inequality by 2030. One of its target areas is the creation of a safe, socially cohesive society in which citizens aspire towards a common goal of upliftment. Thus, it promotes the development of community safety centres to counteract violence and alienation.
George Khosi’s Hillbrow Boxing Club sits at the bottom of Ockerse Street. Across the street lies a freshly trimmed action soccer pitch brimming with children’s laughter. Thanks to the aid of the non-profit organisation Bambisanani Hands of Hope and numerous sponsors in the Hillbrow community, Khosi was able to repurpose an abandoned petrol station into a boxing gym.
George built his gym thanks to the support of non-profit organizations and local sponsors within the Hillbrow community. Photo: Kabir Jugram
As I enter the gym’s courtyard, I am greeted by a line of sniggering children doing jumping jacks. A row of punching bags swings wildly as grown men jab at them. In the boxing ring, a woman shouts instructions at a teenage boy: “Jab, cross, hook!” Khosi is at the entrance sweeping the floor.
George Khosi (pictured on the right) does not just aim to keep kids off the streets. He believes he can breed future champions. Photo: Kabir Jugram
“Welcome home!” he greets me. Khosi was once an aspiring boxer, but his boxing dream died after he was critically injured in a home invasion. He now spends his days coaching local youth in boxing, his goal not just to keep youth off the streets, but also to breed future champions. “In the streets it’s easier to be a gangster… But we give them [the children] a place to be one, to have joy and enjoy boxing,” he says.
For Khosi, sport is the greatest way to resist the dysfunction in the streets. “Sports changes people. If someone can do what I’m doing, it can change people. It’s not about money or [the] government. It’s about ourselves… It’s about love.
George Khosi’s Boxing Gym is a safe space not reserved for boxers alone. Photo: Kabir Jugram
As children giggle and swing at boxing bags, an old man sleeps on a couch. Beside him a schoolboy hunches over his textbook. Two young boys enter the boxing ring and swing wildly at each other until the one knocks the other’s headgear off. He begins to cry, and the other boy embraces him tightly. An older boy arrives and pats him on the shoulders. “You’ll be all right, my boy.”
Discipline, order and respect are a key component of the stability and refuge George’s gym provides. Photos: Kabir Jugram
“Hillbrow’s not only for crime. Champions can come from here”. Photos: Kabir Jugram
A crayon drawing of Khosi’s face is etched into a corner post of the ring. Above it reads: “George is dad.”
“Hillbrow’s not only for crime. Champions can come out of here!” Khosi tells me in his gruff voice. The twinkle in his one good eye shimmers against the sun.
FEATURED IMAGE: Hillbrow has become notorious as a zone of vice, violence and decay. Photo: Kabir Jugram
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