A portrait of Hillbrow: 30 years of decay and spirit 

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.”

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.

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

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.

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.

FEATURE: In the ashes of Usindiso lie the ghosts of Joburg 

It has been a year since the tragic fire in Marshalltown, but for those who lost loved ones, time remains suspended in ashes of grief. 

If one drives through Joburg CBD at night, they will be met by decaying buildings, litter-strewn streets and bodies that huddle against urine-soaked walls. As eerie silence hovers above dimly lit sidewalks and the peering eyes beyond it, it feels as if hope itself fears the inner city. 

Look above and you will see buildings that tower over your miniscule body. Look closer and you will notice that many of these buildings hold no signs of life. No light peaking from the neatly stacked windows, no glass to fill their hollow frames. All that’s there is darkness, peeling coats of paint and graffiti tattooed across exposed brickwork.  

At night, when life runs for safety, these buildings stand like decrepit giants whose corpses stalk the night. But there are lives in these buildings, and swallowed by their darkness, they fade into the brutal oblivion that can be Joburg. 

Last year, the Usindiso building burnt down in August, claiming 77 lives and displacing hundreds. This year at the Khampepe Commission of Inquiry, it was found that the City of Johannesburg (CoJ) was liable for this lethal fire.  Why? Because they were aware of the dangerous living conditions in Usindiso and (as the owners of the building) failed to address them. In other words, neglect.  

But this is not about the ineptitude of local government – that tale has been told a thousand times before. Rather, this is about the consequences of that ineptitude and the scars that cannot be patched by a tin roof shack or plastic tarp.  

Survivors were relocated to a settlement named Denver, where neat rows of shiny shacks were erected to accommodate the newly displaced. Besides the myriads of struggles those accommodated there reported – including the absence of a drainage system which led to the settlement flooding in January this year- some survivors received no accommodation at all, left to their own devices after losing all that they own. “We are not the only survivors here in Denver. There are over 400 survivors and only 30 of us in Denver!” claims Sethokwakhe Zungu, a community leader in Denver. 

While the exact numbers cannot be confirmed, there is an element of truth in Zungu’s claim. Thirty-two displaced foreign nationals were detained at Lindela Repatriation Centre for not holding valid documentation- despite the possibility that it could have been lost in the fire. But it was not only foreigners that received the short end of the stick.  

Some survivors lost their children in the fire and are still grieving their loss. Photo: Kabir Jugram

Recently, a group of survivors held a meeting at a park in Jeppestown to discuss their demands for the second part of the Khampepe Commission. However, the meeting did not materialize as only ten people showed up. Instead, what followed was an intimate discussion about their shared grievances and trauma. 

Amongst the gathered crowd was a short man who stood silently with his head lowered as the others vented. His exposed skin caught the eye for the raw blotches of flesh snaking up from his arms towards his neck. 

At some point his silence became evident after a woman proclaimed, “if we don’t fight for ourselves, who else will?!” bemoaning the poor attendance of the meeting. Encouraged to speak, he turned to me with a look of dignified sorrow that only the grieving possess. A spark lit in his eye as he realized I am a journalist; a designated ear for the story entangled in his wounds. 

He introduced himself as Michael. “You’re a journalist?” he asked, pointing at the camera around my neck. Within an instant of my confirmation, he began detailing his trauma to me.  

He told me that he lost his daughter in the fire. More than that, he was unable to see her body once he was discharged from hospital. According to him, this is because her body was misidentified and given to another family. There was no rage in his voice as he said this nor any tears – just a voice filled with calm and eyes wild with bewilderment. 

But as he said this, a woman just outside the circle shed a singular tear. She simply stared at the ground and let it roll down her cheek. She too had said nothing the whole time. She too lost her child to the fire. Just like Michael, it seemed as if she had held her pain as a part of her, holding it in her eyes when unable to express it. 

But while some turn to silence when carrying the burden of grief, others turn to chaos. At a protest organised by the survivors in April, a middle-aged woman caught my attention for her loud and abrasive manner. She was the loudest of those chanting and hogged the centre of the circle people danced in. She was the life of the protest… and seemingly, very drunk. From flinging her top off in the middle of the street to urinating on busy sidewalks, she slowly grew more unhinged as the protest wore on.  

At first, she seemed a mere drunkard. So, when she approached me to talk, I was hesitant. But everyone deserves the right to be heard, and so we walked slightly behind the protestors barreling down Marshalltown. Most of what she told me was incoherent. But amidst her hysteria a moment of reflection arose when I asked her: “How is life in Denver?”. 

Tears began cascading down her cheeks as she murmured, “life is too hard; I miss my baby” again and again. After that, she seamlessly returned to her drunken rambling. However, while she stumbled through the streets and shouted belligerently, she also offered me food. “You must eat, others are hungry!” she scolded when I politely declined. Even in the throes of an overwhelming grief, she was still a mother in action and deed.  

In April this year, survivors protested the lack of adequate compensation received after the fire. Photo: Kabir Jugram

Just like Michael and the lady of silent tears, her scars have been left to fester from within. The Khampepe Comission recommended counselling for the survivors, but those that I have met are still waiting. “The commission recommended counselling for the victims but did not say whose responsibility that is. Maybe that’s why no one’s received any help yet,” claims General Zungu, a coordinator for the Marshalltown Fire Justice Campaign (MFJC). So, compounded by the everyday fight for survival, their trauma now stalks them from a place beyond politics.  

With barely a finger lifted by the city, they bathe in grief in one room shacks; or float through Joburg in search of life – the ones they lost in Usindiso. They scream at protests, but I am not sure whether they are truly heard. As some settle in the darkness of another abandoned building at night, haunted by grief and silenced by trauma, they become one of thousands of lost souls that lurk in the shadows of Joburg, the city of ghosts.  

Will the fifth time be the charm?

Dada Morero with Kabelo Gwamanda and Thapelo Amad. Photo: Kabir Jugram.

Almost 12 years later and still no justice for Marikana 

As the 12-year anniversary of the Marikana massacre approaches, civil bodies are still seeking accountability for the tragedy. 

To mourn the 12-year anniversary of the Marikana massacre, The Socio-Economic Rights Institute (SERI) hosted a commemorative event at the Forge in Braamfontein; where sentiments of lingering injustice and grief came to the forefront.  

On August 16, 2012, 34 miners were shot dead in Marikana by state security in what was the deadliest use of force by state security since the Soweto Uprising in 1976. While August 16 was the deadliest day, casualties linked to the strike started on August 13.

Twelve years later, SERI are reviving the call of justice for Marikana and the families haunted by the tragedy.  

The event began with performances by jazz pianist and singer Yonela Mnana, and poet Makhafula Vilakazi to mourn the lives lost on August 12.  “What is love? Is it free or is it money?” crooned Vilakazi over Mnana’s somber chords. 

This was followed by a panel discussion with a panelists Prof. Julian Brown of Wits’ political department (and author of ‘Marikana: A People’s History), activist Koketso Moeti and SERI attorney Asenati Tukela, who leads the case of the deceased miners’ families.  

In the discussion, the panelists lambasted a lack of accountability on the state’s behalf, as no one involved in the massacre has been prosecuted to date. “There are certain individuals who still need to face the music for Marikana!” said Tukela. 

“[The states response to the massacre] was abysmal in the immediate aftermath and 12 years after. They’ve done almost done nothing!” added Prof Brown.  

In the eyes of Tukela, this lack of justice has translated into unresolved grief which continues to haunt the families, who lost more than just breadwinners but fathers, brothers, sons and husbands.  

“I’d describe my reflections [on the Marikana case] through pain and suffering. Not only were fathers and husbands killed. There was significant destruction of the family [unit]”.

Tukela emphasized the importance of highlighting the emotional damage the victims’ families still live with when discussing the Marikana tragedy- they carry the scars of August 12 more than anyone else.  

The panel concluded with a discussion of the lessons learnt from Marikana and why it is important to keep the memory of Marikana alive. The tragedy symbolizes the repercussions of when private capital and state security collude and the failures of policing in South Africa.

“We cannot allow private wealth and state security to collude for nothing but profit. We’ve seen the danger of this in Marikana,” said Tukela. 

Moeti further added that Marikana is a testament to the reality of labour exploitation in South Africa. “Marikana is not just a call for justice for Marikana but all worker exploitation in South Africa. It is also a reminder of that exploitation.”  

However, she does not feel as if any lesson has been learnt from Marikana in this regard, “In 2024 we saw an opposition party [The DA], now part of the coalition government, call for the scrapping of minimum wage. The lesson has not been learnt.”  

Friday will mark 12 years since the Marikana massacre. SERI plan to hold further commemorative events.

Applicants seek legal reform to fight GBV 

Three applicants were in court seeking to reform the legal definition of rape and consent in South Africa in a bid to bolster GBV conviction rates. 

From July 22-23, 2024, ‘The Embrace Project’ (an NGO combatting GBV) alongside a GBV survivor appeared before the Gauteng Division of the High Court in Pretoria to present a Constitutional Challenge to the Sexual Offences Act, Act No 32 of 2007. 

They are challenging what they believe to be a regressive definition of consent within the act. As it currently stands, consent does not simply refer to a victim’s willingness (or lack of) to participate in sexual activity when determining whether to convict potential offenders.  

Rather, the intent of the accused is also considered through what is referred to as a ‘subjective test’. Here, the accused’s understanding of consent is factored in when determining whether to convict them. 

This means that even if an accused person has objectively raped someone, they can claim to have misjudged the situation and assumed there was consent on behalf of the victim.  

According to Lee-Anne Germanos Manuel, the director of the Embrace Project: “Continuing to use the subjective test is regressive since the accused can claim to hold regressive views, which makes it easier to prove that they didn’t have bad intentions. This is harmful for victims”.  

Since the use of a subjective test relies on the views and beliefs of the accused, this gives them increased leverage in their defence. “The law is skewed in favour of the accused,” says Manuel.  

Thus, the Empowerment Project is calling for the application of uniform laws and procedures (an objective test) which would require the accused to prove that reasonable steps were taken in establishing consent. 

Essentially, the onus would now be on the accused to prove consent was established (rather than on the prosecution to prove that there was bad intent). 

Present in court as a third applicant was the Wits Centre for Applied Legal Studies (CALS) presenting a further argument. They argued that the base issue is the inclusion of consent in the definition of sexual offences.  

The inclusion of consent in the legal definitions of sexual offences implies that the prosecution must prove that the victim did not consent, and that the accused did not mistakenly assume consent. 

This means that the obligation is on the prosecution and the victim to prove a lack of consent. Thus, the burden of proof on the prosecution is very high, which lowers the chances of conviction.  

The CALS is calling for consent to be removed from the legal definition of Sexual Offences so that the burden of proof lies with the accused who now must prove that there was consent. 

“If a man punches another man in a club, the person who got punched is not put on the stand and asked if they consented to being punched, that would be ludicrous! What we’re saying is that you [the court] do that with sexual offences,” explains Dr. Sheena Swemmer, the head of Gender Justice at CALS.  

The matter is currently being deliberated and if successful will be taken to the Constitutional Court. Regardless, both CALS and the Empowerment Project’s argument expose legislative gaps and problems with legislative interpretation that are possible contributors to the low conviction rates of GBV in South Africa.  

‘Take the residents of Johannesburg seriously!’ warn protesters 

Residents of Joburg are fed up with the decay of their communities and the unresponsiveness of their municipalities. 

On Saturday, July 27, a melting pot of residents across Johannesburg gathered outside Johannesburg Metropolitan Centre calling for the resignation of Mayor Kabelo Gwamanda. 

United under the umbrella movement, ‘Joburg Crisis Alliance’, foundations like the Ahmed Kathrada Foundation and the Organization Undoing Tax Abuse (OUTA), came together to air their grievances with the city and local municipalities. . 

Specifically, residents are frustrated with the poor infrastructure and lack of service delivery experienced in their areas, citing experiences of consistent water shortages, power outages and increased levels of crime.  

“We don’t have streetlights; we don’t have robots in our street. People are being mugged and robbed, and children have been kidnapped. When we call the police, they don’t come with immediate effect, they come after two, three hours!” claims Riselle Davids, a resident of Ennerdale.  

Citizens are further calling for the scrapping of the recent R230 tariff that has been implemented for prepaid electricity users. The tariff was implemented at the beginning of July as a service-and-capacity charge and is effective on all prepaid electricity users regardless of how much electricity they use.  

“Some of our elderly people cannot afford the water and electricity bill [as is], it’s so much. The new prepaid meter [tariffs], we don’t want it!” said Davids. 

Citizens were protesting poor service delivery under the moniker the Joburg Crisis Alliance. Photo: Kabir Jugram

With these issues in mind, the Joburg Crisis Alliance is demanding for mayor Gwamanda and his council to resign due to their unresponsiveness to citizens’ concerns regarding the decline in their living conditions. Beyond that, they implore ward councillors to start engaging with their communities. 

“What we absolutely need is a plan of action, an urgent turnaround plan, around water, electricity, housing and safety in this city. If they [mayoral committee] cannot step up to that challenge, they must go. The mayor must step down with his entire mayoral committee, and that council must provide for us leadership that is accountable to them and the residents” says Tessa Dooms, a member of the Joburg Crisis Alliance and co-ordinator of Saturday’s protest.  

Speaker of the City of Johannesburg, Margaret Arnolds was present to receive the memorandum, being welcomed by constant jeers. ‘Where’s the mayor?’ mocked numerous protestors in the crowd. 

“I am here today to receive the memorandum and say that I will come back within 14-30 days or speak to the authors of the memorandum as to their demands” says Arnolds to a disgruntled audience.  

The alliance shall wait for response from the mayor’s office and determine their course of action from there. 

REVIEW: Kwa’Mnyamandawo comes to light at Market Theatre 

The inner-city housing crisis and the plight of the marginalized was in the spotlight in a powerful tale of humor and tragedy. 

‘Kwa’Mnyamandawo’ is the seventh play by ‘Kwasha! Theatre Company’ which ran at Market Theatre from July 18-21, 2024. 

It follows an investigative journalist named Penelope seeking to uncover the truth behind the housing crisis in Hillbrow through the help of a local tour guide. Her findings reveal a story of corruption and human neglect indicative of life in the inner city. 

As one walked into the theatre, they were met by two walls with faded paint and exposed brick, one bearing the words ‘kwa’mnyamandawo’ or ‘the dark place’ spray-painted across it. Below, litter was scattered across the floor and a projector played real Eyewitness News coverage of a building fire in the background. This set the tone for what was expected to be a bleak telling of inner-city trauma.  

Speaking to cast member Wenziyweyinkhosi Myeni, she says: “It’s about time that we start seeing stories we’ve never seen before. You may look at the buildings and the people that come from there and think their stories don’t need to be told, but those are the exact stories that need to be told!” 

However, the hour that followed was anything but. As the lights dimmed and the projector cut, the audience’s silence was met by the harmonizing of the four-cast ensemble as the tour guide delivers a dispassionate sales pitch of Hillbrow. “Brothels and strip clubs make perfect for first dates!’” he proclaims to a snickering audience.  

Dance and humour was a feature throughout Kwa’Mnyamandawo. Photo: Kabir Jugram

But the laughs would not end there. From the exaggeration of the swaggered walk of boys that don sporties  (bucket hats) and studded earrings to the impersonation of rude yet clueless cops, the characters on display were caricatures of people we all know and see daily. Pair this with continuous choreography and melodies backing even the most mundane scene of daily routines of those in hijacked buildings, and daily life in the inner-city was splashed with colour.  

Yet the consistent humour would not belittle the gravity of the play’s theme. As the play ends- after the police burn down an occupied hijacked building to conceal evidence of a syndicate – the lights dim, the actors turn to the projector and footage of real interviews with fire survivors plays, a reminder that the themes illustrated in the play are in fact a reality for many.  

The play ends with real footage of a building fire being projected in the background. Photo: Kabir Jugram

Cast member Xhamla Samsam stated: “humour (is) the way of nursing the real wound that lies behind”. And that is exactly what this play is all about- using humour to make sense of trauma, the only way us South Africans know how. The result of this is a play that is complex yet digestible, relatable and unapologetic in its messaging.  

Vuvu rating: 9/10 

Wits calls for ceasefire in Palestine, following pressure from students 

Wits University students became the first in South Africa to take a clear stance regarding the Israel and Palestine conflict, through their weeklong encampment.   

On Monday 13 May, a small collective of students (unaffiliated to the Palestinian Solidarity Committee) set up tents on Wits’ Library Lawns, in a show of visible solidarity at the self-named ‘Wits Liberation Zone’

The group wants Wits to take a clear, pro-Palestine stance in the ongoing Israeli assault of Palestinian land. Something students have been doing at universities across the world in recent weeks.  

Students set up camp in solidarity with Palestine and all victims of oppression. Photo: Kabir Jugram

Part of their demands was a call for Wits to provide full transparency regarding their ties to Israeli-aligned companies and divest from oppressive regimes worldwide. In addition, an end to what they felt was targeted harassment and censorship of pro-Palestinian activism on campus. 

The liberation zone extended support to students affected by the recent water and electricity outages in Braamfontein that saw students go without these amenities for over two weeks, as well as students facing mid-year financial exclusion. Thus, free food for students was a feature throughout the past week.  

And while a noble cause, the movement was not without its difficulties. In the week Wits Vuvuzela spent observing the encampment, issues ranging from students sleeping in tents soaked by rain on Monday to campus security taking down a marquee designated for reading sala on Tuesday were observed.  

Physical and academic safety were also top of mind, students told Wits Vuvuzela they feared persecution for their participation.   

On Thursday morning, the group marched to the Great Hall alongside the Wits SRC (who advocated against mid-year exclusions) to bring their demands to the Wits senate.  

The Liberation Zone marched to Great Hall alongside the SRC on Thursday. Photos: Kabir Jugram

In a written reply after the senate meeting seen by Wits Vuvuzela, Wits condemned Israel’s actions in Palestine and called for an immediate ceasefire.  

“As members of the Senate we believe that the actions of the Israeli Defense Force constitute a form of collective punishment globally… which is inhumane and ethically indefensible,” further adding that “we support an immediate humanitarian ceasefire to stop the deaths of civilians and to ensure that food, medical and all forms of needed aid are urgently provided to the civilians in Palestine”.  

Absent from the response was information about disclosures and mid-year exclusions. A disappointed student said, “Long story short, Wits did the bare minimum and only answered one of our demands”.  

Now, the encampment is at a crossroads, as they were only permitted to be on the Library Lawns until Friday, May 17, but many in the group want to prolong their stay until all their demands are met.  

“We remain resolute in our pursuit of full divestment. It is important to note that we are not calling for the dissolution of the camp, but rather advising students to be mindful of the safety implications involved” said a representative of the Liberation Zone. 

This story is still developing as students plan to camp beyond their permitted period. 

Note* some names and quotes have been omitted from this article to protect students involved in the ongoing protest.  

EDITORIAL: The stench of Joburg lingers in the ashes of Usindiso 

The City of Johannesburg has been found liable for the Usindiso building fire, and this finding should anger all residents of Johannesburg. 

On Monday 05 May 2024, the commission of inquiry into the Usindiso building fire found the City of Johannesburg (CoJ) and its entity Johannesburg Property Company (JPC) to be liable for the tragedy.  

This finding comes after Gauteng premier Panyaza Lesufi established a commission of inquiry, chaired by Justice Sisi Khampepe, in September last year to investigate the circumstances surrounding the fire at the Usindiso building in August 2023, which claimed 76 lives. 

In short, the reasoning behind the findings of the commission boils down to severe neglect. According to the commission report, the building was declared a “problem property” as far back as 2019. 

Why was the building declared a problem property? Well, the building had violated numerous municipal by-laws relating to water, electricity, public safety, waste management and emergency services. Occupants detailed the presence of numerous illegal electricity connections, overcrowding of rooms and the usage of water from firefighting installations as domestic water supply.  

These are a mere snapshot of the conditions that made Usindiso unlivable- others included violent crime, a lack of waste management and the blocking of emergency exits by shacks – things CoJ was made aware of over four years ago.  

The building was initially abandoned in 2017 by Usindiso Ministries and was never zoned for residential purposes. By 2019, the CoJ and JPC were aware of this. Moreover, they were aware of the decaying state of the building, with the commission report stating the building was liable to be demolished back then. This did not occur, however, and the building was soon hijacked and illegally occupied. 

As the property owners, the CoJ and JPC were then responsible for ensuring compliance with these by-laws designed to ensure building safety. If this had been done, the fire would arguably not have had the devastating consequences it did. According to the commission report, “Law enforcement at Usindiso building was virtually absent and there was no political accountability taken by the officials of the City for the condition of the building both at the time and in the aftermath of the fire.” 

In essence, the severity of the fire could have been prevented had the CoJ simply done its job. While yes, the fire was caused by an isolated incident (a man setting someone on fire on the ground floor), did the fire have to reach the levels it did? In the commission report, survivors detail how they could not access escape routes and had to jump from the fourth floor to survive. If the CoJ had addressed the fact that shacks had been blocking emergency passages, would more people have been able to escape?  

This is just an example of how neglect exacerbated the fire, and there’s more that could be said to illustrate the point. If water had been supplied to the building, residents would probably not have tampered with firefighting instalments. If the municipality had disconnected the illegal electricity connections in the building, perhaps the flame would not have spread as quickly as it did. The list could go on. 

In other words, if the municipality had taken accountability, the commission would not be recommending a plaque to commemorate 76 lives.  

As South Africans and residents of Joburg, this should enrage us. The Usindiso fire is not just a random tragedy, it is a product of governmental incompetence and complicity. In the rubble and ashes, the stench of Johannesburg’s corrupt government lingers – a stench that has proven to be fatal now. 

SLICE: The egomania of Hip-Hop 

Have we overlooked the corpses left behind in this battle of the Hip-Hop Gods? 

Conflict (or ‘beef’) is an inevitable product of Hip-Hop culture. In a genre where egoism, braggadocio and constant one-upping form an essential component of the rap identity, it is only natural that heads will clash from time to time. 

After all, Hip-Hop is somewhat like a competitive sport where being in the top spot guarantees access to money, acclaim, and power. It is essentially a fight for a pedestal, and in this context the ongoing beef between Drake (Aubrey Graham) and Kendrick Lamar – two of the genre’s biggest names – is a heavyweight showdown for the crown of modern Hip-Hop. 

The conflict began when Lamar featured on Future and Metro Boomin’s track ‘Like That’ where he laid his claim to the crown of hip-hop in the now viral line “motherf**k the big three, n***a it’s just big me” in reference to J. Cole labelling himself, Drake, and Lamar as the three biggest names in Hip-Hop on the track ‘First Person Shooter’.  

Lamar’s feature quickly sparked rumours of possible tensions between himself and Drake. Since, the rumours have escalated into a full-on war of words between the two. On April 30, Lamar released a six-minute diss track ‘euphoria’ attacking Drake for appropriating black culture and being a neglectful father amidst a series of pointed insults.  

As a Hip-Hop lover and Lamar fan, this diss track excited me. It was to me a masterful display of what a Hip-Hop beef is all about: using lyrical prowess to attack your enemy’s character. The creativity and wordplay used to insult Drake reminded me of why I fell in love with rap in the first place. But the developments since then have been disheartening and exposed the ugly truth behind Hip-Hop and the music industry at large. 

Since ‘euphoria’, both have released further diss tracks aimed at one another. Whilst at first glance this should excite fans of Hip-Hop and lovers of scandal, one listen to any of the diss tracks on offer makes it abundantly clear that what’s at play is deeper than Hip-Hop or petty conflict. 

Both parties have made serious allegations against one another. Drake has accused Lamar of domestic abuse and Lamar has accused Drake of paedophilia and associating with sex traffickers. While all allegations deserve exposure, the way it has been done is questionable. 

Instead of acknowledging the gravity of the allegations, both seem to be using them to simply hurt each other. It appears as if accusations of serious crimes have been reduced to schoolyard insults.  

In ‘Family Matters’ Drake says: “When you put your hands on your girl, is it self-defence ‘cause she bigger than you?”. While accusing Lamar of abuse, this is a mere set up for the punchline that Lamar is short. Furthermore, on ‘Not Like Us’ Lamar states: “Tryna strike a chord and it’s probably A minor”, using wordplay to refer to Drake’s alleged paedophilia.  

Should matters as serious as woman and child abuse be reduced to punchlines and wordplay? It’s one thing to attack your competitor, but it’s completely different when other people have been potentially hurt by their actions, especially women and young girls. To have their potential trauma reduced to tools to attack your competitor appears selfish and insensitive, particularly in a genre notoriously accused of misogyny.  

The important question is whether these alleged crimes have been exposed in the name of justice or vanity. Based on the lyrics on display, I would think the latter. It appears as if the ego essential to the rap identity has consumed the two to the point that they have become blind to the world around them – all they see is each other. And for artists as influential as Drake and Kendrick Lamar, undermining abuse and molestation sends a harmful message to their fanbase. 

This beef is a warning to fans of music. We tend to mystify and glorify the artists we love. I have made the mistake of attaching a prophet’s status to Lamar. But this has showed that they are no less broken than we are – the only difference is that they have power and a platform. 

As the audience, the question should no longer be about who is beating who in a petty beef. Rather, the question should be: are the allegations true or not and if so, will justice be delivered to the women and children affected? 

‘Long live Usindiso!’ chant fire survivors 

Protestors gathered in Marshalltown to highlight the plight and neglect of survivors from the 2023 tragedy. 

Almost six months after a devastating fire, survivors say they have been left worse off. Now, the ‘Marshalltown Fire Justice Campaign’ (MFJC) has made a demand for adequate housing for the group.  

The MFCJ organized a march to demand adequate housing for fire survivors. Photo: Kabir Jugram

Residents of the Denver settlement, just outside of the Johannesburg CBD, were led by the MFJC on April 26, 2024, as they approached the doorsteps of provincial power.  

No one met the group at Mayor Kabelo Gwamanda’s office, but a representative, Puleng Chabane who is the deputy director of rapid responses accepted the memorandum of demands at Gauteng Premier, Panyaza Lesufi’s office. 

The MFJC was initially established to give support to victims of the Usindiso building fire on August 31, 2023, that claimed 77 lives and displaced hundreds.  

According to General Moyo, a co-ordinator of the MFJC, those displaced by the fire have been made to live in poorer conditions.  

A Denver settlement resident holds up a sign which reads: “Eliminate housing backlogs with decent houses”. Photo: Kabir Jugram
Protestors marching through the streets of Marshalltown.
Photo: Kabir Jugram

 “[The shacks] can collapse at any time because there’s heavy underground mining activity, and when there’s flooding the people cannot sleep!…  Those one-room shacks are built with cheap materials,” he said.  

The lack of security and overcrowding in the settlement has also made women more vulnerable to Gender-Based Violence according to Moyo.  

Siphiwe Ncobo, a street vendor originally from Newcastle, lost her husband and child in the fire and has since been relocated to Denver. Despite a monthly R1 500 rental, she said there is no water, electricity and cooking facilities.  

Ncobo also claims she has seen up to seven people share a one-room shack. “It’s a squatter camp, not a hostel” she said.  

Speaking to those gathered, Mametlwe Sebei, president of the General Industries Workers Union and co-ordinator for MFJC, accused the government of ‘constitutional delinquency’ for failing to provide fire victims with their constitutional right to adequate housing.  

Sebei claims the government uses foreign nationals as scapegoats for a lack of resources, despite the numerous dilapidated buildings in Joburg CBD that could be repurposed for the displaced.  

“The black working class in particular get to bare the scapegoating, blaming and bashing of the elite that is incapable of resolving the many crises of their system!” proclaimed Sebei. 

In that sense, the march was more than a demand for adequate housing. It was a collective voice of frustration aimed at a government that continues to neglect its poor.  

Despite that, spirits were high as the crowd marched through the streets of Joburg CBD. The young and elderly alike could be seen dancing and whistling in the blazing sun, giving meaning to their chant as they proclaimed: “long live the spirit of Usindiso, long live!” 

Co-ordinators of the protest explain the purpose of the march. Video/YouTube: Kabir Jugram

Rise Mzansi plans to dig deep to tackle crime in Gauteng 

Rise Mzansi hosted a panel discussion to inform citizens on their plan to tackle crime in Gauteng. 

Newcomer to national politics, Rise Mzansi plans to tackle crime through addressing structural issues head on, instead of narrowly focusing on policing alone.

On April 9, 2024, Rise Mzansi hosted a panel discussion at Workshop 17 in Rosebank Mall to address their proposed policies on safety and security in South Africa, with emphasis on the need to address the root causes of crime. 

This discussion was the second instalment of a weekly event hosted by Rise labelled the “Citizens Assembly’. A public forum to deliberate proposed policies and electoral issues, allowing input from both a panel of experts and citizens in attendance. The idea is to incorporate feedback to improve policies and build a genuine ‘people’s manifesto’. 

Monday’s assembly was hosted by human rights activist, Mark Heywood and Rise’s Gauteng Premier candidate, Vuyiswa Ramokgopa. Heywood said the format would “pioneer the practice of participatory democracy”, and the two hours that followed proved his point.  

The panel of experts included Head of Justice and Violence Prevention at the Institute for Security Studies Gareth Newham, founder of the NGO ‘Nirvana’ Jennifer Matibi, lawyer and human rights activist Nicole Fritz, and founding member of ‘Guns Free South Africa’, Adele Kirsten. 

The assembly began with Ramokgopa outlining Rise’s objectives regarding safety and security in Gauteng. The panel then scrutinised the plan and offered suggestions on possible ways to improve the proposed policies. 

Rise Mzansi’s plan to address safety and security in Gauteng. Infographic: Kabir Jugram

Gareth Newham spoke of the importance of addressing the root causes of crime and suggested the possibility of hiring more social workers instead of police officers so the trauma behind criminality can be addressed. 

Once all experts had offered their input, the discussion was then opened to the floor for citizen input, critique and query. It was here that possible policy blind spots were pointed out – such as their neglect of the LGBTQIA+ community as pointed out by a member of the floor.

In response, Ramokgopa said profit-driven incentives contribute to the culture of corruption in the police force and that heteronormative values allow impunity in addressing rape and crimes against the LGBTQI+ community.

“We are a traumatized nation that uses violence to solve problems. (So) we need to rebuild the South African family,” she said. 

Furthermore, the event intended to illustrate what sets Rise apart from other parties in the run-up to the national elections in May. The party has built its brand off promising a new style of leadership to the current government- with their campaign slogan being “#WeNeed NewLeaders”. 

Rise claims to offer transparent leadership that is actively involved in the communities they represent. The citizen’s assembly will resume weekly in the run-up to the election and recorded sessions are available here.