True world-class status depends not just on infrastructure, but on equitable access and resilience for all residents. Johannesburg’s water crisis exposes this gap, as affluent areas enjoy reliable supply while many townships face frequent outages.
Johannesburg’s reputation as a “world-class African city” is under pressure as residents continue to face severe water shortages and broken infrastructure.
In areas like Alexandra, dry taps, burst pipes, and overflowing sewage reveal deep failures in basic service delivery.
The ongoing water crisis exposes how far the city still is from achieving the standards it claims where access to something as simple as water remains uncertain.
Refuse spills from torn plastic bags, burst pipes and overflow water in Alexandra township Picture: Lindelwa Khanyile
The smell hits first. Rotting refuse spills from torn plastic bags beside a cracked pavement in Alexandra, Johannesburg’s oldest township. Dirty bins overflow under the heat, attracting flies that circle lazily before landing on empty plastic bottles and wilting cabbage leaves. A group of boys sit nearby, passing around a joint and talking loudly.
Men stand on corners, bayashela (courting) whistling softly and calling out to passing girls with easy charm. “Eh, sisi, ungahambi kanjalo, uyangichaza!” (Eh sister when you walk like that, I get smitten) one shouts, and laughter spills across the road. Children chase each other through puddles formed by a burst pipe, their feet slapping against the mud and tar. They play freely, unaware that the water soaking their shoes is both a luxury and a warning.
As we walk deeper into the area, my classmate Nomfundo and I hold hands, not out of affection, but instinct. The atmosphere does not scream free or safe. Every corner feels like it is watching you. The streets buzz with music from taxis, the smell of fried chips and oil thick in the air. After circling the area, we buy a kota from a spaza near the corner: polony, cheese, atchar, and a slice of russian squeezed into white bread. We sit on an upturned crate, eating quietly, just taking it all in. Around us, life continues children play, someone fixes a tire, another washes cars with buckets of stored water.
This is not the Johannesburg of brochures and billboards. This is the other side of the city – the one that exposes how the rhetoric of world-class collapses under the weight of broken pipes, empty taps, and forgotten promises.
A city divided by class
The City of Johannesburg brands itself as a “World-Class African City,” a phrase meant to signal progress, innovation, and global competitiveness. But what does that mean in a city where water, the most basic human right, cannot be guaranteed?
To call Johannesburg world-class suggests it meets the standards of sustainable urban governance, equitable service delivery, and modern infrastructure. Yet, the ongoing water crisis reveals a more complicated truth. In practice, the city’s ambitions are deeply disconnected from the lived realities of millions who call its informal settlements and townships home. The contrast between vision and reality makes Johannesburg not a world-class African city, but a divided one.
“Water is an essential urban service in any context,” says Mike Muller, Adjunct Professor of Water, Governance, and Climate Change at Wits University. He explains that Johannesburg’s regional water schemes particularly the Integrated Vaal River System are technically advanced and, in theory, sufficient.
“If water use is properly managed and infrastructure built when scheduled, water availability should not be a constraint,” he says. The issue, therefore, is not scarcity but management. Muller warns that the municipal governance of water in Johannesburg “shares many of the weaknesses of other unequal, middle-income countries.” In other words: the pipes are world-class, but the politics are not.
When planning fails
According to water and sanitation utility Johannesburg Water, the city’s supply chain depends on a multi-layered system. The Department of Water and Sanitation (DWS) allocates water from the Vaal Dam to bulk water utility company Rand Water, which purifies it before selling it to Johannesburg Water the municipal entity responsible for distribution.
But cracks have long been appearing in this system. A combination of aging infrastructure, delayed projects, and population growth has placed unbearable pressure on supply. Gauteng’s population grew from 12 million in 2010 to over 15 million in 2023, yet the region’s water infrastructure hasn’t kept pace.
The Lesotho Highlands Water Project, designed to increase Johannesburg’s water capacity, has been delayed until 2028 precisely during a period when demand has surged. That delay, as experts warn, has “cost the city its water sovereignty.”
Flowing from the wealth of Sandton into the overcrowded streets of Alexandra, the Jukskei river, [Ed1][LK2] which flows north to the Crocodile River eventually reaching the Hartbeespoort Dam, is a constant carrier of waste, choked with sewage, plastics, and chemical run-off. For years, residents have lived with the stench and the danger, while city officials promise solutions that rarely last. Clean-up drives by community groups like the Alexandra Water Warriors and initiatives such as SUNCAS “Turning Trash into Treasures” project show courage and commitment, but they are temporary fixes in a system built on inequality.
Each time there’s an attempt at cleaning the river, it fills with waste again a reminder that the problem is deeper than pollution, it’s about neglect, broken infrastructure, and the uneven delivery of public services. If Johannesburg is to be a truly world-class African city, its greatness must flow through every street, every tap, and every river not just the ones near its wealthy centres.
The Lesotho Highlands Water Project, designed to increase Johannesburg’s water capacity, has been delayed until 2028 precisely during a period when demand has surged. That delay, as experts warn, has “cost the city its water sovereignty.”
Flowing from the wealth of Sandton into the overcrowded streets of Alexandra, the Jukskei river is no longer a source of life, but a carrier of waste choked with sewage, plastics, and chemical run-off. For years, residents have lived with the stench and the danger, while city officials promise solutions that rarely last. Clean-up drives by community groups like the Alexandra Water Warriors and initiatives such as SUNCAS Turning Trash into Treasures” project show courage and commitment, but they are temporary fixes in a system built on inequality.
Each time the river is cleared, it fills with waste again a reminder that the problem is deeper than pollution, it’s about neglect, broken infrastructure, and the uneven delivery of public services. If Johannesburg is to be a truly world-class African city, its greatness must flow through every street, every tap, and every river not just the ones near its wealthy centres.
A “scarily predictable” boiling point
By September 2025, Johannesburg’s water crisis reached what the Daily Maverick called a “scarily predictable” breaking point. Protests erupted across Alexandra, Soweto, and parts of the West Rand. Tyres burned, and police fired rubber bullets as residents demanded answers and water.
The South African Institute of International Affairs (SAIIA) observed that the crisis reveals the state’s failure to deliver on socio-economic rights enshrined in the Constitution. Chapter 2 of the South African Constitution guarantees that “everyone has the right to have access to sufficient food and water.” Yet, in practice, this right depends on where you live.
The residents’ reality
For small business owners like Fanas Monaise, who runs a car wash in Alexandra, water scarcity is not just an inconvenience, it’s economic ruin. “Yoh, my sister, I started this business last year,” he says, wiping sweat from his forehead. “When there is no water, I cannot wash cars, I can’t earn. Sometimes I lose so much I can’t even buy food, never mind take my girl out.”
Nearby, Thabo Maseko, a frustrated resident, points toward a municipal water truck. “We wait for that thing like it’s a miracle, neh?” he says. “They say we must pay for water, but what are we paying for? In Sandton, they never close the taps[Ed1] . Here, they treat us like we don’t count.”
In recent months, even areas like Sandton and its surrounding suburbs have faced water outages and supply cuts, though never as prolonged or severe as those in Alexandra. Yet the moment the shortages began affecting affluent neighbourhoods, public concern and political urgency suddenly intensified. For many residents in Alex, this contrast is a painful reminder that Johannesburg’s response to crisis still depends on who is suffering, and where.
When a camera appears, veyes follow it closely. “Eish, how much is that camera, sisi?” Thabo shouts, half-joking, half-threatening. Another adds, “Haai, wena, careful these phara’s (thieves) will steal it fast- fast!” The tone is mixed curiosity laced with warning, the street talk of survival. For many in Alex, visibility means vulnerability as their stories are captured, but their suffering ignored.
Governance and the politics of water
According to Sipho Mthembu, former board chair of Johannesburg Water, three key issues plague the system: infrastructure decay, non-revenue water, and illegal connections.
“People don’t want to pay for water,” he admits, “but the city also shuts off water when they can’t pay. It’s a vicious cycle.” The city loses up to 40% of its water to leaks and theft, losses that could otherwise serve entire communities.
A dry tap, Ntokozo (In picture) walks back in disappointment with an empty black bucket Picture: Lindelwa Khanyile
According to Sipho Mthembu, former board chair of Johannesburg Water, three key issues plague the system: infrastructure decay, non-revenue water, and illegal connections.
“People don’t want to pay for water,” he admits, “but the city also shuts off water when they can’t pay. It’s a vicious cycle.” The city loses up to 40% of its water to leaks and theft, losses that could otherwise serve entire communities.
This is not merely a technical problem, it is political. Years of underinvestment, corruption, and bureaucratic mismanagement have hollowed out municipal institutions. Each administration blames the last, but residents continue to suffer. According to Business Tech, the management of Johannesburg’s water crisis has come under scrutiny, particularly about the city’s ability to restore supply promptly. Reports show that earlier promises to resolve outages quickly were not met, and delays in maintenance, partly linked to R4-billion being removed from Joburg Water’s budget, have contributed to the problem
As Prof. Ian Jandrell, Wits Deputy Vice-Chancellor for Systems and Operations, notes, “It’s fair to say we are facing a crisis in terms of water and service delivery in general. Without a doubt, this is a serious situation.”
The crisis, Jandrell argues, reveals a fundamental flaw in Johannesburg’s governance mode, it aspires to be globally competitive before ensuring basic local functionality.
Bridging Academia and Action
Projects like Wits Water (recently relaunched as Wits:H20), led by Professor Craig Sheridan, attempt to address this. “We want to think as a society about the water challenges we face,” he says. “How do we keep water in our pipes? How do we ensure there’s water not just in Joburg but in Gauteng as a whole”.
“South Africa is currently grappling with a substantial skills shortage in the water sector,” says Sheridan. “Years of limited investment in training and capacity development have resulted in too few qualified engineers, hydrologists, water managers, and sanitation specialists. Wits: H₂O seeks not only to advance research but also to rebuild this critical skills base, while training and mentoring the next generation of professionals who will tackle the growing water challenges facing our country and continent.”
Andrew Hope-Jones, CEO of Wits Enterprise, adds: “By connecting Johannesburg Water with the university’s research expertise, we ensure that innovation developed in the lab can be translated into practical solutions.” These collaborations aim to transform research into action to “bring water, dignity, and development to the people of Johannesburg.” Yet, the gap between promise and practice remains wide. While academia theorizes sustainability, residents rely on buckets and tankers.
Johannesburg’s crisis is further compounded by climate variability. Changing rainfall patterns and longer dry spells mean that even advanced systems face strain. But, as Muller insists, if infrastructure is built on time and water use managed properly, climate change alone would not cripple the system.
That Johannesburg still struggles shows a deeper structural inequality. Climate impacts don’t create injustice they expose it. The same storms that fill suburban swimming pools flood township shacks.
The Mirage in the Tap
On paper, the city boasts sophisticated regional water systems and ambitious development plans. Yet, across townships and informal settlements, access to water remains inconsistent and unreliable. This gap raises a critical question: can a city truly be considered world-class when its basic services are not universally secured?
Water flows reliably in affluent areas, yet many residents in disadvantaged neighborhoods face frequent outages and limited access. This disparity demonstrates that true world-class status depends on both infrastructure and equitable, resilient service for all.
Earlier in the day, the water truck had arrived in Alexandra. Residents hurried out with buckets and bottles, calling to one another as they tried to collect what they could before the tank ran dry. For a short while, there is r[PS1] elief and laughter, movement, the sound of water hitting the bucket. But by dusk, the truck was gone, and the taps were still empty. The wait has begun again. In the fading light, Sandton’s skyline glows in the distance a shimmering mirage of wealth and modernity. Yet that glow means nothing to those who sleep beside dry taps and overflowing bins.
FEATURE ARTICLE: Protesters outside Johannesburg Council Chambers, photo by:Lindelwa Khanyile
Township businesses are increasingly turning to solar power to stay sustainable and energyindependent.
• Load-shedding costs South Africa’s economy an estimated R4 billion per day,according to Business Tech.
•A Netbank survey with the Township Entrepreneurs Alliance that over 60% of townshipbusinesses stop operations during power cuts, while nearly two-thirds have cut jobs as aresult.
• Informal trade in South Africa is valued at more than R160 billion annually,supporting millions of households Stats SA, 2022.
Solar Power fuels township businesses as rising energy costs bites by Lindelwa Khanyile
A single solar panel rests on the roof of MaZulu’s stall, angled just enough to catch the late afternoon sun. The cables run into a small grey box tucked behind her counter, next to stacked bread loaves and cooking oil. The faint buzz of the battery is easy to miss under the crackle of hot oil, but the strip of lights above her serving hatch tells the story they stay bright even when the rest of the street falls into darkness.
Load-shedding is not just an inconvenience in Soweto; it is a business killer. For small traders, every hour of darkness means lost sales, spoiled food, and restless customers. But one local vendor, known as MaZulu, is rewriting the rules of township entrepreneurship with a solar panel, a fryer, and South Africa’s favourite township meal, the kota.
For years, MaZulu ran her small kota stand on electricity from the grid. Each afternoon, as school kids poured out of classrooms, she would prepare steaming loaves stuffed with polony, cheese, chips, and atchar. Business was steady until rolling blackouts began to cut into her trade.
“Kids don’t wait for electricity,” she said with a laugh, frying chips under her solar-powered light. “They want their kota hot, with cheese melted, even if Eskom is off.”The change came last year when she signed up for a pay-as-you-go solar package from a local energy provider. Instead of paying tens of thousands upfront for panels and installation, she pays a daily fee that adjusts with her sales. “If I don’t sell, I don’t pay. It’s like rent for the sun,” she explained.
According to Tech-Financials i-solar was founded to transform how low-income households access affordable solar energy removing the high upfront cost barrier and enabling folks to pay as little as R1 per day via mobile money so they can finally own their own power.
Street food is a pillar of the township economy. While exact numbers are hard to pin down, Stats SA data shows that millions of households rely on informal traders for daily meals. In Soweto alone, the fast-food informal sector supports thousands of families.
Informal trade in South Africa is valued at more than R160 billion annually
On an average school day, MaZulu sells 60 to 80 kotas, bringing in around R2,000 in revenue. Before solar, two hours of load-shedding would slash her sales by up to 30%, with chips left half-cooked and fridges failing. Now, she says, she can run her fryer, lights, and
card machine without disruption. “The only time I close early now is when the bread runs out.” This shift is about more than convenience: it’s survival.
Eskom’s current tariffs for small businesses average around R2.80 per kWh Eskom Tariff Book 2024. For a trader like MaZulu, running a fryer, fridge, and lights for about 10 hours can use up to 10 kWh per day, costing roughly R28 under normal conditions.
On paper, solar looks more expensive. But the difference is reliability. “R28 for Eskom is cheap until load-shedding hits,” she said. “When the power goes, I can lose R600 in sales in just one evening. That’s my real electricity bill.”
Over a month, MaZulu spends a few thousand rand on solar. But because she estimates solar saves her at least R6,000 in lost sales each month, she sees it as an investment, not a cost.
The stakes are high. Nedbank’s research shows that power cuts are the single biggest obstacle township traders face, ahead of crime or stock shortages (Nedbank Report, 2023).
Township entrepreneurs operate on thin margins; even a R500 daily loss can mean a child going without school shoes. South Africa is facing a twin crisis of unemployment and energy insecurity. Informal trade, worth more than R160 billion annually, acts as a safety net formillions excluded from the formal economy (Worldbank). Yet its growth is stunted by unreliable infrastructure.
Township businesses leaning towards soler power stay sustainable and energy independent.
Economist Lumkile Mondi of Wits University agrees that solar adoption is more than a business choice. “For township traders, reliable energy is the difference between staying in the market and closing down. Solar leasing models are lowering the barrier to entry, but adoption is still uneven,” he said.
Not all traders can afford the leap. A few streets from MaZulu, 34-year-old vendor Bongani Mokoena still runs his spaza shop on the grid. Bongani Mokoena’s spaza sits in silence during load-shedding, his fridge is off and meat slowly spilling while a candle on the counter flickers against shelves of warm cooldrinks. Where MaZulu keeps serving hot kotas under steady light, Bongani counts his losses; he estimates losing R400 to R600 weekly when fridges fail during load-shedding (Al Jazeera, 2023).
“You need money to save money,” he said, standing next to a silent freezer filled with thawing chicken. “If I had a pay-as-you-go solar option on cash, I’d take it tomorrow. But with three kids and school fees, sometimes you just push through the dark.”
Energy researchers point out that prepaid, small-scale solar models like the one MaZulu uses could scale township resilience. “We’re seeing a trend where township traders are early adopters of fintech and pay-as-you-go services,” said Nthabiseng Molefe, an energy researcher at the University of Johannesburg. “They are practical, adaptive, and quick to see value.”
Still, barriers remain. Upfront installation costs, even when structured as daily payments, can be daunting for low-turnover vendors. While solar makes sense for high-volume businesses like MaZulu’s kota stand, smaller stalls selling vetkoek or amagwinya may not generate enough sales to justify the cost.
A study by S. Ngcongwane indicates that township small, medium, and micro enterprises (SMMEs) are increasingly considering solar energy as a viable alternative to unreliable grid electricity. The research highlights that many township SMMEs are exploring solar energytechnology adoption to enhance their operational efficiency and reduce dependence on the national grid.
Back at her stand, MaZulu is less concerned with the financial equations and more with her customers. For her, the kota is not just about feeding Soweto, but about keeping a township tradition alive.
“People say township businesses are small, but my kota stand puts my kids through school,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “If the sun is shining, I’m working. That’s freedom.”
While South Africa debates energy reforms, township entrepreneurs like MaZulu are already adapting. For them, solar power is not just about escaping Eskom or addressing climate change: it is what keeps food on the table, and hope within reach.
FEATURED IMAGE: Solar Power fuels township businesses as rising energy costs bites by Lindelwa Khanyile
Luthando Jose has shown that resilience can turn a simple pair of clippers into tools of survival, hope, and entrepreneurial success.
Luthando Jose began cutting hair in his residence to create an income stream.
He balances his studies at Wits while supporting his family financially.
His dedication earned recognition from the CEO of Legends Barber, who personally delivered professional equipment.
The hum of clippers echoes through a small Wits University residence room on a late weekday evening. The smell of hairspray lingers in the air, faintly mixing with the familiar aroma of instant noodles cooking next door, two students next in line waiting their turn while chatting and scrolling through their phones. At the centre of it all is Luthando Jose, a 20-year-old construction in property Studies student with the precision of a seasoned barber and the determination of someone who knows what’s at stake.
His focus is razor sharp as he leans in to perfect a fade. A quick flick of the wrist, a buzz of the clippers, and a smile from the client in the chair. Jose looks up for a moment and laughs. “It started as just helping guys look fresh without breaking the bank,” he says, “but now it’s how I keep things together for me and my family.”
A photo of equipment supplied by Legends Barber CEO Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile
Like many students, Jose juggled lectures, assignments, and the pressure of fees. But his story took a turn earlier this year when his father lost his job, the only steady income at home. Around the same time, his mother began chemotherapy. Suddenly, the little money they had went into treatment.
“I don’t want to lie, it hit us hard,” Jose says, his tone cracking. “Fees, groceries, even small things like toiletries it all became uncertain. That is when cutting hair became more than just a hobby. It became a way to survive.”
Instead of seeing the challenges as a dead end, he then looked for a gap. “It didn’t make sense to me that guys were paying R150 or R200 for a haircut around campus,” he explains. “So, I used my allowance, bought clippers, and started charging R50 or R60. Affordable for them, survival for me.”
Every day is a balancing act; from morning until late afternoon, he’s in class or hitting the books. Evenings are reserved for fades, tapers, and line-ups. “Time management is key,” Jose says. “I know that from four o’clock, I’m in barber mode.”
Jose’s hustle might have remained just a res-room success story, but fate stepped in on March 20, 2025, at the Wits Entrepreneurial Hub. That day, he spotted none other than Sheldon Tatchell, founder and CEO of the iconic Legends Barber brand.
“I just thought, this is it,” Jose recalls with a grin. “I walked up to him, introduced myself, and told him about my business. We exchanged Instagram handles, and that was it. At first, I tried to follow up, but he didn’t reply.”
He shrugs, laughing lightly. “I figured he’s the CEO of Legends. The busiest man in the game.” Still, the pressure at home pushed him to try again. This time, the persistence paid off. After a few attempts, Tatchell finally responded.
And then came the moment Jose never expected. On Friday, August 22, 2025, Tatchell himself arrived on campus and handed Jose a package of professional barbering equipment to grow his business.
“That day was life-changing,” Jose says, shaking his head in disbelief. “To start so small and now have Legends recognise me? It felt like a dream. It’s the kind of thing that motivates you to keep pushing.”
If Legends gave him validation, his friends gave him the foundation. They were his first customers, his promoters, and his constant supporters.
“I’m proud of him,” says Sanele Segutya, a close friend, “I have watched him from the start just a guy with clippers in his room to someone who is running a serious business. He is going far. I know he will make money and build something real out of this.”
Another friend, Baxolile Mbobo, remembers his first impression with a laugh. “Honestly? I thought he didn’t know what he was doing. I saw him cutting in res and thought, nah, let me not risk it. But then I tried him once and I was impressed. The guy has skills! From there, we became friends. I even helped him promote the business. Now, our vision is growth more customers, more exposure, more success.”
Their support goes beyond haircuts. Jose says his circle has kept him grounded, encouraged him through tough times, and reminded him that his hustle matters. “Sometimes, when I feel tired or doubt myself, they remind me why I started. That’s love, man.”
For Jose, the story is only beginning. He dreams of expanding his barbering beyond the walls of residence rooms to professional spaces where students and young professionals can afford a fresh cut without the high price tag.
“I see myself opening a place, building a brand, maybe even linking up with Legends officially,” he says. “But most importantly, I want to show that even when life hits you hard, you can create something out of it.”
As another student peeks into the room, asking if there’s space for a quick trim before heading to the dining hall, Jose waves him in with a grin. The clippers buzz back to life, filling the room with a familiar sound.
For now, the hustle continues cut by cut, fade by fade. But to those who have seen his journey, it is already more than a hustle. It’s a story of resilience, grit, and the determination of a Wits student who refused to let struggle define him.
“Every haircut,” Jose says, pausing between his haircut session, “is a step forward.”
FEATURED IMAGE: A young Luthando Jose holding his equipment. Photo: Supplied/Legends Barber
A clear 4-1 defeat marks the Witsies’ triumphant return.
Wits opened the Varsity Football tournament with a commanding win, dominating possession and creating multiple scoring chances.
The team’s performance was marked by strong teamwork, sharp tactics, and clinical finishing.
This result sends a clear message that Wits is a serious contender aiming for the tournament title this season.
A statement was made by Wits University’s Educated Footballers, who announced their comeback with four goals to Central University of Technology’s one on home turf on August 7, 2025.
Wits Football Club players celebrating after another ball finds the back of the net. Photo: Supplied/Thando Jafta
Goal scorers included Mxolisi Mthiya, Sifiso Mlondo and Tebogo Masemola, who walked away with R1000 for his goal rush award, the opening goal that set the standard for the rest of the match.
Captain, Kgwadi Molepo, a postgraduate Property Studies student, walked away with the Player of the Match title after leading the team to its first victory.
Thanduxolo Zulu, who was appointed last year as head coach for the Wits Football team said, “I do not have any personal objectives as I put myself behind the team, I want what is best for them and best for them is being in the tournament and excelling.”
He added, “I was impressed by the second half, the intensity and in terms of the intention behind everything that we did that led to more goals.” Wits Football set the standard for what promises to be a competitive Varsity Football tournament. The match showcased the pace, skill, and strength that define the competition.
Kgwadi Molepo, Wits Football captain, walked away with the Player of the Match Award. Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile
A glimpse of the high-quality football still to come as the tournament unfolds over eight weeks between August to October, 2025.
“I’m excited and proud to be captain of this institution, definitely one game at a time with a new coach, new technical team it’s a change and starting on a clean slate for Wits,” said Molepo.
“As a first-year attending the tournament for the first time, I’m beyond impressed with the squad and I believe that we can win it ’’ said spectator, Amanda Hlatshwayo.
Zulu said this game was a set tone for the rest of the tournament, with fans showing up despite cold and wet weather conditions, which really fueled the team throughout the match.
The last time Wits Football reached the finals was in 2018, Molepo says this new generation of players is determined to win hopefully break records.
The Educated Footballers are set to play another home game against Durban University of Technology next week at 17:00 on SuperSport
FEATURE IMAGE: The Goal Rush award winner, Tebogo Masemola. Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile.
Scholars reflect on naming as a cultural practice.
Naming shapes legacy and identity in post- apa4rtheid South Africa.
Wit’s buildings like Solomon Mahlangu House reflect ongoing efforts to decolonise space.
Naming is a political act that restores dignity and reclaims erased histories.
When students walk in and out of Solomon Mahlangu House daily, their very lived experience speaks to the act of reclaiming and renaming public spaces. The age-old question, “what’s in a name?” was grappled with by students and staff at an event hosted by the Wits School of Architecture and Planning in collaboration with the Gauteng Geographical Names Committee (GGNC).
The theme “The Power of a Name” guided conversation on the role of naming as a cultural and political act which can shape identity, reclaim history, and reflect power dynamics (particularly in post-apartheid South Africa).
Professor Mnamdi Elleh opened the discussion with the statement, “There is power in a name when creating a legacy.” He said cities like Johannesburg hold layered histories, and names often serve as gateways to understanding them. Naming, he argued, is not just a symbolic act it’s a powerful tool in shaping public memory and influencing how we perceive space.
Dr Sipho Nkosi from the GGNC expanded on this idea, framing naming and renaming as processes of “reservation, restoration, and promotion.” According to Nkosi, restoring indigenous names or renaming places after significant local figures is one way to address the erasures of the past.
This discussion resonates strongly at Wits itself. Over the years, the university has renamed several of its buildings to better reflect its commitment to transformation and inclusivity. Solomon Mahlangu House, formerly Senate House, was renamed in 2017 following student protests that highlighted the need to decolonise institutional spaces. Robert Sobukwe Block, located on the Education Campus, commemorates the Pan- Africanist leader and Wits alumnus who played a critical role in the struggle against apartheid.
Meanwhile, buildings like William Cullen Library, John Moffat Building, and Ernest Oppenheimer Hall still bear the names of colonial figures, missionaries, and mining magnates raising ongoing debates about legacy and historical accountability within the university.
Dr Nicole Cloete stressed that renaming does not erase existing histories but rather allows new layers of meaning to emerge particularly those that were previously excluded or marginalised. Dr Lorato Mokwena added, “History will always be contested,” highlighting that naming is always entangled in politics and power. She reminded the audience that renaming is not a neutral act it reflects broader cultural and ideological shifts and often comes with resistance.
Honours student Lesedi Tlala, from the School of Pathology, found the session informative. “There’s a lot of storytelling behind names,” she noted. For her, names reveal complex relationships between place, memory, and identity especially when examined through a geographical lens.
As the discussions made clear, naming is not just about what we call places it’s about what, and who, we choose to remember. And at Wits, as in the country at large, those choices continue to matter
FEATURED IMAGE: Panel members at the event: Dr Nicole, Mr Mkhize, Dr Mokwena. Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile
Joburg’s surcharge hike from R200 to R270, may target the city’s most vulnerable, burdening struggling residents under the guise of policy.
There is no financial transparency, the city has not shown how the R230 monthly charge improves service or infrastructure.
Public voices were ignored, and the policy was implemented without meaningful consultation.
The surcharge deepens inequality, disproportionately affecting low-income.
The City of Johannesburg’s R230 prepaid electricity surcharge, effective since July 2024, continues to weigh heavily on low-income households yet the city seems unmoved.
As a prepaid user myself, I have felt this increase choke an already tight budget. It’s no longer just about buying electricity; it is about being penalised every month before even switching on a single light.
The surcharge, split between a R70 service fee and a R130 network capacity charge, is meant to support infrastructure upkeep. But here’s the issue: this logic does not hold when the people being charged the most are the same ones who use prepaid to manage meagre incomes and are trying to avoid electricity debt.
BusinessTech recently reiterated that there’s still little clarity on where this surcharge money goes, with City Power unable to point to specific projects funded by it.
OUTA’s Julius Kleynhans rightly called it a “lazy fundraising mechanism,” and I agree. This is not proactive governance. It’s a blunt and careless solution to a deeper financial mismanagement issue in the city. Many of us budget for electricity weekly. That R230 could easily mean the difference between powering our homes or going without.
The city has defended the surcharge by saying it aims to target affluent users who moved to prepaid to dodge higher postpaid bills. But the data doesn’t back that up. According to OUTA, the city’s indigent register used to exempt vulnerable households is outdated and excludes thousands who qualify. So, who is really paying? Those of us in working-class neighbourhoods, pensioners, students, and unemployed residents, many of whom top up R20 at a time.
Even political parties have criticised the surcharge. ActionSA called it “anti-poor” and rejected the adjustment budget that included it. Meanwhile, the DA launched a petition that’s gained thousands of signatures, arguing that the city pushed the fee through without meaningful consultation
The sad irony? Those who steal electricity or don’t pay at all are unaffected. Those of us who play by the rules are being punished for it.
It is now May 2025, and nothing has changed. City Power recently doubled down, with CEO Tshifularo Mashava saying that those who can afford to live in areas with “big houses and electric fences” must pay more yet this broad brush unfairly paints every prepaid user as wealthy. It’s an assumption that ignores how diverse the city’s residents are and how unevenly income and infrastructure are distributed across the suburbs.
Electricity is not a luxury, it is a basic necessity. If Johannesburg wants to talk about sustainability and fairness, it must start with a policy that protects rather than punishes responsible users. Until then, this surcharge feels less like a service fee and more like a fine for being poor and trying to keep the lights on.
FEATURED IMAGE: A picture of a meter box. Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile
Wits Junction students speak out about worsening living conditions as maintenance problems pile up and frustrations reach a boiling point.
Faulty WIFI, broken biometrics, and unusable laundry machines at Wits Junction
Gym equipment is stolen or broken; curtain repairs are delayed for months
Student leaders escalate concerns, promising action, and accountability
Once viewed as Wits University’s flagship residence for postgraduate students, Wits Junction is now being criticised by its own residents as an overpriced and under-maintained living space. From unreliable WiFi and faulty biometric entry points to broken washing machines and neglected room repairs, students say the problems are widespread, and they are tired of being ignored.
“I reported my broken curtain hooks months ago. The housekeeper is aware, but no one has fixed it,” said Paballo Speelman (23), a Wits Business School student. “I am now planning to use my own money to buy hooks which is frustrating. Even the laundry machines barely work. It takes hours to wash clothes, and that time could be used for studying.” Speelman added that gym equipment has either been stolen or left broken. “We are paying premium fees but receiving below-standard services. Honestly, I wish I had stayed at a different residence,” he said.
A broken cupboard that has not been fixed for over two months. Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile
All Residence Student Council (ARSC) Chairperson Nqobile Cele confirmed that these issues have been formally escalated. “We’ve written a joint open letter to university stakeholders, highlighting the crisis at Wits Junction,” she said. “The Facilities Manager has started working closely with us, and Campus House and Residence Life (CHRL) is now supporting efforts to resolve these ongoing issues.
Cele also shared plans to conduct residence maintenance tours and hold student town halls to increase accountability. “We want transparency on how students’ accommodation fees are being used, these problems are not isolated other residences are also struggling.”
Notice of ongoing renovations in the student centre. Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile
Wits Junction’s House Committee Maintenance Officer, Mncedisi Mhlongo, admitted that delays in addressing issues have damaged trust. “My goal is to sort out all major problems like the gym, laundry, Wi-Fi by the end of the third block. The biggest challenge is WiFi because we rely on external suppliers. But having the Facilities Manager on-site has helped us monitor handymen and track daily progress.”
For now, the promises are welcomed but students like Speelman remain sceptical. Until action replaces talk, Wits Junction remains a residence of empty promises.
FEATURED IMAGE: The Wits Junction Entrance. Photo: Lindelwa Khanyile
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