A young and energetic long jumper excels with unwavering passion and dedication in long jump.
Born in the Democratic Republic of Congo and raised in South Africa from an early age, Kalanga Olivia Muya (20) recently set a new personal best of 5.54 metres at the University Sport South Africa (USSA) long jump qualifiers.
Muya’s journey began when she enrolled at the University of Johannesburg in 2020, studying towards a degree in BCom business management. She caught the attention of her current coach, coach Patience Ntshingila.
Long jumper Kalanga Muya in action at the Free State athletic stadium. Photo: Supplied
Recognising her potential at the UJ stadium when Muya participated in the first-year athletics. Ntshingila, who is also a former long jumper herself, scouted Muya into the world of long jump.
Muya said she has always been athletic. “In my primary school years, I played netball, tennis and ran cross country. “While in high school, I played soccer and did high jump, sprints and short hurdles,” Muya said.
Her sister Hervine Muya told Wits Vuvuzela that, “Olivia has dedication and perseverance when it comes to athletics, when her first jumps are not always the best or up to her standards, she doesn’t give up easily.”
Muya said that sports not only sculpted her physique but also instilled vital life lessons. She added, “achieving my goals requires commitment, a lot of focus and hard work, because you can’t get to where you want just by simply showing up to training sessions but putting in effort.”
Bethel Makoni, a BCom honours in quantitative finance student and Muya’s teammate, told Wits Vuvuzela that Muya’s greatest strength is how she embodies hard work. “[Olivia] understands that great performances don’t come easy and she’s willing to do the work that yields those performances,” said Makoni.
Muya believes that her own capabilities have been boosted by the inspiring performances of athletes such as Tara Davis and Shaunae Miller-Uibo. Muya said her peers are also a source of inspiration, “I look at other athletes that I am surrounded by and seeing how hard they work and how well they perform pushes me to want to become better.”
Muya said her most memorable achievement in her long jump career was “hitting a new personal and seasonal best of 5.54 metres at the USSA championships” which were held on May 5, 2023.
Juggling school and sports has been difficult. “I don’t really think there is even a balance if I am being real, but my school timetable is usually favourable to my training times, if I am not training or competing then I am focusing on academics,” Muya said.
While long jump dominates Muya’s life, she remains grounded in her faith. She considers herself a ‘prayer warrior’, acknowledging that her strength, energy, and support system are gifts from God.
FEATURED: Kalanga Muya landing after a jump at the Germiston stadium. Photo: Supplied
The upcoming Gauteng championship has boxers feeling motivated with their eyes set on the gold.
In preparation for the Gauteng championship taking place on May 26, boxers from different clubs around Johannesburg are perfecting their uppercuts and jabs.
The Hugenote Boxing Club, where the team practices on Saturday’s, looks like a typical boxing gym, fitted with heavy punching bags hanging from the ceiling, a boxing ring in the centre, and a trophy stand with medals, pictures and certificates.
Team coach, Duncan Morris used to be an amateur boxer but had to quit boxing for health reasons. After a seven-year hiatus, Morris is now using his boxing knowledge and abilities to train others.
Training sessions are led by Morris and two other coaches, Boetie Lourens and Jennifer Matibi. Each coach has a specific programme for the day, which they execute throughout the training session. These training programmes include, heavy bag workouts, jumping rope, sit-ups, sparring, sprinter crunches, and a run around the block.
“I don’t just observe the boxers during training, I train alongside them. This allows me to lead by example and demonstrate the level of commitment required in training,” Morris said.
One of the boxers, Reggie Mogashoa started rope jumping at the beginning of the training. Photo: Nonkululeko Mncube
Two boxers going head to head (sparring) in the boxing ring. Photo: Nonkululeko Mncube
Members of the Johannesburg boxing team getting ready for sprinter crunch warm-ups. Photo: Nonkululeko Mncube
A two-time South African boxing champion, Hoosein Isaacs jabbing a double end bag during training. Photo: Nonkululeko Mncube
The championship will be at the Transnet Engineering Boxing Academy in Pretoria and participants will include boxers from the three Gauteng metropolitan cities namely, Ekurhuleni, Johannesburg, and Tshwane.
In an interview with Wits Vuvuzela, a boxer from the Johannesburg Boxing team Reggie Mogashoa (27) said that he uses techniques like mental training and meditation to help him stay calm and focused during training.
Morris said that their approach is to also help boxers get mentally/psychologically prepared for the championship by creating a safe space for them to talk about their personal issues.
“Mental strength is crucial in boxing, and physical strength alone is not enough. Lacking mental toughness can make it challenging for a boxer to perform well in a fight,” Morris said.
One of the boxers, Hoosein Isaacs, who is a two-time South African boxing champion told Wits Vuvuzela that he wants to do his best in training and become the champion once again “to regain his status.”
Johan Prinsloo from Transnet Engineering Boxing Academy said that the championship will follow the international boxing rules and “the winner will walk away with a gold medal and will be recognised as a South African champion”.
The championship’s first round is scheduled between May 26 and May 28, while the second round is scheduled for June.
FEATURED IMAGE: The Johannesburg boxing team in training mode as they prepare for the Gauteng championship. Photo: Nonkululeko Mncube
For a student journalist, social media can be beneficial if used properly, but it is very easy to cross the line to addiction.
Social media has always been something that puts me at ease after a long and stressful day, but I never imagined that I would become addicted.
The Addiction Center website defines social media addiction as “a behavioural addiction that is defined by being overly concerned about social media, driven by an uncontrollable urge to log on to or use social media, and devoting so much time and effort to social media that it impairs other important life areas”.
It all started with me moving away from home in Eshowe, KwaZulu-Natal, in February to study at Wits. The next thing I knew, I was spending a lot of time on my phone to escape the reality of missing home and my family, especially my twin sister. I shy away from interacting with people, though I am capable of conversing with anyone. I would be on my phone swinging among Instagram, Twitter and TikTok.
At first, I told myself that what could be better for a student journalist than to be on the lookout for goings on around the world without stepping outside my room and talking to people about current affairs, gossip and entertainment? However, I started to notice that I could not ignore a notification tone, and that anything that hindered me from attending to my phone agitated me. Whether I was in the middle of drafting an essay or studying, I could not help but check my social media pages, especially TikTok.
I tried to limit my screen time to no more than an hour each day, but I consistently came up short. Then I checked my screen time management on my phone settings and discovered that I typically spent close to 20 hours per week, just on TikTok!
An article by Tanyaradzwa Pamhirwa referred to a 2022 South African Depression and Anxiety Group survey that found that more than 60% of South Africans reported being addicted to social media, and that social media addiction is most common among young people, with 80% of respondents aged 18 to 24 reporting addiction.
I had always justified my social media usage that it was a distraction from missing my family and that I was not committing any crime by doing what other people my age were doing. So, I would constantly send TikTok videos and Instagram reels to my sister, until one day she called me and said, “You are always online, even during the day!” This is when I realised that I might be addicted to social media because my sister would not be concerned otherwise.
According to the Addiction Centre website, social media is “addictive both physically and psychologically” and self-expression on social media platforms activates the same area of the brain as using an addictive substance.
This addiction had taken a toll on my wellbeing. I was not as physically active as I used to be. Instead, I lay in bed all the time. My sleeping patterns were irregular because it was impossible to resist the urge to check social media before bed and waking up for school every day would be a drag. I neglected my personal life, resulting in loneliness and anxiety.
My optometrist back home had told me last year that, “You are short-sighted my friend,” after he had tested my vision. My vision has gotten even worse since I started spending a lot of time on social media. I experience eye pain, watery eyes and severe headaches.
The University of Pittsburgh Medical Centre says “Spending too many hours staring at a screen can cause eye strain. You tend to blink less while staring at the blue light from a screen, and the movement of the screen makes your eyes work harder to focus.”
After my sister’s call, I made the decision to spend less time on social media, especially in the newsroom, and to pay attention and interact with my classmates. I now have a good relationship with everyone in class, and I only use my phone during break times. Talking to my family every day helps me miss them less.
Acknowledging an addiction is not easy, but it is the first and most significant step towards getting help. I have been doing research online, reading articles and taking online surveys on what to do to minimise the time I spend on my phone scrolling, double tapping and screenshotting memes.
I am willing to take those baby steps towards battling my addiction and fighting it until I feel free and comfortable without or with less reliance on social media.
Residents contend with crumbling buildings, leaking roofs, infestations and absent, uncaring landlords.
Students staying at Auckland Park private residences are complaining that the landlords continually increase rent while not maintaining the residences.
Complaints about My Student Pad, Accommodation For Students and 2 Mortlake student accommodation include that there is mould on the walls, toilets are leaking and there are insect infestations.
From the outside, My Student Pad appears as if in a good condition, but from the back, the paint is flaking from the walls. Accommodation For Students looks neglected and its small garden is full of litter. The 2 Mortlake building looks bright with orange paint, but inside the toilets and taps are leaking, and the roof leaks when it rains.
My Student Pad is owned by Boingotlo Tlale. She told Wits Vuvuzela that rent for single rooms ranges from R3 700 to R4 200 and for shared rooms from R2 700 to R3 500 per person, with an increase of R50 every year. Tlale said that as a property owner, she always has someone on call to manage maintenance and that the only problem she has is that some maintenance work is delayed because students do not pay their rent on time.
However, Wits first-year bachelor of arts student Phenyo Mthombothi said that My Student Pad is not value for money and the rent does not match the condition of the rooms and the lack of service provided.
The paint is flaking off the walls of My Student Pad student accommodation in Auckland Park. Photo: Nonkululeko Mncube
“The place is poorly managed and cleaned only once or twice a week. The floors are dirty, with mould on the walls, and the house has an unpleasant smell,” said Mthombothi, who added that she reports maintenance issues every week over the phone because the caretaker is rarely present, and “the owner never shows up”.
When presented with this accusation by Wits Vuvuzela Tlale dismissed the query, saying, “I am busy.”
A caretaker at one of the Auckland Park student residences who did not want to be identified, told Wits Vuvuzela that, “It is challenging for me to fix anything without funding and equipment. Also, there is no easy access to the landlord.”
Mathaare Kganakga, a Wits student studying BSc in mining engineering, who resides at 2 Mortlake said that there had been numerous complaints to the caretaker about the leaking toilets and crawling insects.
“I pay R4 000 per month and I cannot say I am satisfied with this place, but it is the only accommodation I can afford. Wits residences are expensive,” Kganakga said.
The students said the Auckland Park private accommodation is inferior to that of South Point whose website boasts of safe, clean, convenient and affordable 15 buildings around Johannesburg, some of them right across the street from Wits in Braamfontein. Single rooms cost R4 038, and double and triples from R3 868 per person.
“[Unfortunately] South Point was full by the beginning of February. I could not book a room, and their rooms are clean and well maintained,” said Kganakga. He added that students without bursaries or scholarships are condemned to stay in the dilapidated private accommodation in Auckland Park as it is more affordable.
Wits Vuvuzela reached out by phone to the owner of 2 Mortlake who goes by the name ‘Yusuf’ but he refused to be interviewed, saying “I cannot help you with that information.”
FEATURED IMAGE: The unnamed Accommodation For Students looks neglected and its small garden is full of litter. Photo: Nonkululeko Mncube
Virginity testing is a sensitive and controversial topic for those who practise it.
It is a Saturday morning as I walk down Sofasonke Street in the township of Orlando West, Soweto. The streets are full of people speaking in different languages in private conversations, moving in opposite directions. There is a cacophony of house, gospel and maskandi music playing simultaneously from houses, shops and taxis.
Just up the road from the buzzing intersection, in a quieter street, is a yellow house protected by a short fence. We are seated in an outside backroom, small and crowded. A long white curtain divides the small room into the bedroom and a dining area. Renting out a single room and dividing it, is a common living arrangement in the community of Soweto.
On a long brown velvet couch, I am seated with five teenage girls stylishly dressed, who engage in virginity testing and cultural dancing activities. The girls are singing, talking loudly, while clapping their hands, awaiting the arrival of 10 other group members for their scheduled dance practice.
VIBRANCY: Members of Ubuhle Bentsha dance group practising their steps.
The backroom is a meeting point for the girls who practise twice a month, outside a nearby church across the road.
Ubuhle Bentsha, which means “beauty of the youth” is the name of the girl’s dance group which was established in 2009. Val’upie, maan which means “close your thighs” is an informal slogan the girls constantly use when cracking jokes among each other.
“We are almost starting, where are you? Ai, hurry up, shesha maan, val’upie maan,” says one of the girls speaking to another girl over the phone.
The girls are engaged in robust conversations around sexual abstinence and how boys are only after the girls’ ‘pie’, ‘cake’, or ‘cookie’, reference being made to a vagina.
The concept of virginity testing is deeply entrenched among the Zulu in rural KwaZulu-Natal, where young girls are regularly tested whether they are still pure, or that their virginity is intact. Girls who participate in the practice are referred to as amatshitshi which means “virgins”.
Traditional beads known as amakhehleza, meaning “rattles”, worn during dancing add to the ambiance
Because I’m familiar with the Zulu language, it’s no difficult task to jump in and join the conversations.
“We can’t have boys play us, he must decide if he wants you or your cookie,” says one of the girls.
Another girl quickly jumps in. “But it’s a common thing that people our age have sex, you must just explain that you still itshitshi and want to keep it that way for a long time.” The girls nod their heads seeming to concur with the expressed sentiment.
For some of these vocal dance enthusiasts, there is a need to stand up and make use of their hands, head or facial expression when uttering their opinion in the conversations.
“That’s the thing, you guys. Once you date you’re expected to have sex, we might as well not date till we older,” says another girl expressing her concern with her hands in the air.
Upon the arrival of four other group members, the girls collectively decide to change into their traditional attire known as imvunulo. Their colourful attire consists of a short beaded skirt, isgege, as well as traditional accessories that are put on the arms and neck, leaving their breasts uncovered.
Normally, when people undress they require privacy, especially in the presence of a stranger. However, this is certainly not the case with me as some of them even ask for assistance from me. “Please help me tie my beads,” and I do.
COURTESY: The virgins bow down, an important gesture in Zulu practices that signifies respect.
Shortly after dressing up, the girls leave the room in song: “Angeke sale usiko lwebhiso, angeke sale usiko lobab’mkhulu”, which translates to “We will never refuse our tradition, we will never reject our forefathers’ tradition“.
When these young bare-chested girls dance, one hears people uttering a quavering shrill known as ukukikiza, to ululate, which is meant to compliment either the singing or the dance moves that are frantic and inclusive of high kicking motions, which instantly flattens the grass beneath their bare feet.
For these girls, practising their culture and keeping their bodies pure takes priority, no matter their location.
“It’s my culture, it’s who I am,” says 20-year-old Sikhulile Ndawonde, a second-year Bachelor of Education student at Wits University. “There is absolutely no way you can neglect your identity because of a location and other people’s cultures,” she argues.
Ndawonde joined amatshistshi at the tender age of 10, in a small village of Umsinga in KwaZulu-Natal where she was born. She was inspired by two of her older siblings who also engaged in the practice.
She says she got jealous when the virgins used to attend events, ceremonies, camps and weddings. “I got tired of being left out and forced to join,” she laughs.
“At first my parents weren’t pleased because at the time, the acceptable age of joining amatshitshi was at least 13.” However, because of her “feisty” spirit she managed to convince the folks otherwise.
The Ubuhle Bentsha group was established in 2009 by Thenjiwe Mhlongo, called ‘Mam’Mathenji’ by the girls, a dance instructor who grew up in KZN, who also used to engage in the virginity testing practice until she got married. She looks reserved on the first encounter but reveals a warm smile as she welcomes me into her backroom where the girls usually meet.
FAMILY: The girls now identify as sisters because of their mutual love of their Zulu culture.
Although the group is fairly small, Mam Mathenji experiences a handful of challenges as far as virginity testing is concerned. “It is not easy managing the group especially because it’s in an urban environment, where there is a lack of knowledge about the culture itself.”
As both dance instructor and virginity inspector, Mam Mathenji says she’s expected to deal with “insults” from some members of the community and accusations that some of the girls are not virgins.
“People who don’t like what we do or who want to tarnish our reputation say we get R200 bribes inside the girls’ panties so we can lie and say they are virgins. This is bizarre because virgins don’t wear panties when they come for a test,” she says.
Some parents get outraged when informed that their children are no longer virgins, “and start to question my [virginity testing] skills”, she says with concern.
“That’s insulting, because I was taught how to test the girls,” she says.
Virginity inspectors are taught how to conduct the test practically by older women and the knowledge is passed down from one generation to the next.
Mam Mathenji says she would encourage parents to allow their children to participate in virginity testing because they are not only taught to preserve their bodies but also about womanhood.
The girls participate in the annual Reed Dance ceremony which takes place at King Zwelithini’s eNyokeni palace situated in the Nongoma town in KZN. The ceremony is attended by thousands of young girls from across the country and neighboring countries like Swaziland.
According to Mam’Mathenji, one of the main advantages of engaging in virginity testing is that, virginity inspectors are able to detect and heal diseases that cannot be easily detected by modern doctors such as umhlume which kills the ovaries’ eggs in the womb.
“There is also a disease called impene which makes young girls crave or throw themselves at boys even though boys didn’t say anything. We are able to see that and take the girl to the river to get rid of that blood that causes the girls to throw themselves at males,” adds Mam’Mathenji.
The Ubuhle Bentsha group also gets invited to perform at traditional weddings, and coming of age ceremonies around Soweto, but mostly in KZN.
The issue of virginity testing and young women preserving their bodies is controversial because it implies that only women need to be involved in such practices, but not all men think that way.
GOD FIRST: Although Ubuhle Bentsha is a cultural group, Mam’Mathenji says God takes the lead in their lives.
Muzi Chonco, a soft-spoken community leader and cultural activist from Pimville, strongly feels that society needs to equally preach the gospel of young men preserving their bodies and respecting women. He says this is important because, often, the blame for the increasing rate of pregnancies is put on females and “that’s uncalled for”.
“A girl cannot make a baby alone, a woman cannot commit adultery alone,” says Chonco, stressing the importance of encouraging men to also behave and preserve their bodies.
“In the olden days, there used to be similar groups and ceremonies which were specifically meant for boys, however, the groups died over the years. Fathers, pastors, and community leaders must revive these groups to create an equal society,” adds Chonco.
Virginity testing in South Africa is an indigenous and religious practice which died over time but was revived in the late 1980s, according to traditional healer, Gogo Makhosi Mbali, who also conducts virginity testing in Orlando and Zola in Soweto.
“It is important for young women to preserve and continue with this tradition. It saves and protects them from a lot of things like HIV/Aids, teenage or unwanted pregnancy,” says Makhosi.
When I ask Makhosi how the test is performed, she frowns and maintains a straight posture. “Is it necessary for me to explain all the details?” she asks. Yes, is my response, and she reluctantly explains.
A day for testing is usually chosen by an inspector and accommodates the girls’ schedules. “In the early hours of the day, the girls form a queue outside the room where the inspection takes place and enter individually. Upon entering the room, a girl lies down with her back on a handmade mat called ucantsi,” says Makhosi. She also explains that the inspector then examines the vagina, specifically checking for the presence of ihlo, the hymen, the membrane that covers the external opening of a vagina.
According to an Africa Check report, it is difficult to measure virginity testing using a hymen. This is because the arrangement and size of hymens differs for each female.
“When the hymen is found, a girl is declared a virgin,” says Makhosi. Thereafter, the virgins get a temporary mark on their foreheads. However, when the girls participate in the annual reed dance in KZN, they are granted a certificate confirming they are still pure, according to Makhosi.
The issue of testing women’s “purity” sparked a lot of controversy in 2016 when the uThukela District Municipality in KZN introduced a bursary scheme for girls provided they remained virgins. The bursary could only be awarded to virgin girls who wanted to further their studies.
Some of the main criticisms which came out of the introduction of the bursary fund, were that the scheme was infringing on constitutional rights with respect to cultural rights
The group of girls say they feel as if their Zulu culture is not respected by some people, as compared to other people’s cultures because it’s unpopular in the townships.
“We get called by all sorts of nasty names,” says 19-year-old Baphe Mkhonza. Soweto is highly modernised and some people feel it’s indecent to have the practice in the township. Some would even say, “This is kasi [township] not mafama [farmsteads],” Mkhonza adds.
Mbali Lubelo (20), “President” as she is referred to by the other girls, shares similar sentiments, saying that, “I get insulted and get told that I think I’m better than everyone else, but it’s not difficult dealing with such because I know who I am.”
Lubelo says virginity testing has kept her away from a lot of things. “When I look at my friends, I am the only one without a baby, and it consoles me that when I reach my dreams I won’t be having a child or burden of fetching ARVs [antiretroviral treatment],” she adds.
Peer pressure from sexually-active friends, being looked at as “sex objects” and some males claiming that they have been sexually involved with the girls, are some of the common challenges that the girls have to deal with in practicing their culture in urban communities.
Singing and dancing is a historic and generational “Zulu people’s” way of expressing joy or gratitude, says Ndawonde, the Wits student.
With the melting pot of cultures that is Soweto, the Ubuhle Bentsha members are adamant that they will not only preserve their bodies but also their culture for generations to come, much like it was passed down to them.
As soon as the dance practice is over, the girls walk back in song to the backroom to change into their everyday clothing. The moment they remove their traditional attire, they transform once again to ordinary teenage girls from Soweto.
It would be normal for young girls to be tired after a four-hour dance practice, but this is not the case with the Ubuhle Bentsha girls. The singing and clapping of hands slowly ends off with the same energy it had started off with.
Looking at the smiles on their faces as they enter the shaded room after spending their time dancing under the hot blazing sun, there is no doubt that the girls find fulfilment in what they do.
“Angeke sale usiko lwebhiso, angeke sale usiko lobab’mkhulu,” they sing. This song which vows that the group “will never refuse our tradition, we will never reject our forefathers tradition”, seems to be their outright favourite.
FEATURED IMAGE: Traditional beads known as amakhehleza, meaning “rattles”, worn during dancing add to the ambiance. Photo: Nonkululeko Njilo.
In this episode, we explore the feasibility of social housing for students, and the advantages and disadvantages that the inner city offers to the development of a student precinct.
