Some 50 churches jostle for space in Yeoville – physical as well as spiritual. In one case, three churches share a single garage and divide the hours for their Sunday services.
Divisions are not just physical as pastors speak of the differences between “money-making” churches and “a true church of God”.
“Your hands shall not be empty! Your pockets shall not be empty! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” The voice roars commands in a church on Hunter Street in Yeoville.
“May you not lose your business! May you not lose your prosperity.” The pastor’s voice is amplified by large speakers in all four corners of the room. “Holy Ghost! Fire!”
With his eyes shut, the pastor shouts: “Blood of Jesus Christ!” He holds tightly onto his microphone. The congregation echoes in unison: “Blood of Jesus Christ!” An emotive melody is being played by a man on the piano, encouraging some to sing: “You are alpha and omega …”
DELIVERANCE: Five men perform a church service on the hill behind Yeoville. Initially praying alone, the seated man later joined the service. The five men pray and sing for him, and the pastor twists his head from side to side, using his hands as a passage for God’s work to free him from evil and bless him. Photo: Bongiwe Tutu
The pastor commands further: “You shall not be a beggar! In the name of Jesus!”
Towards the end of the service, the pastor asks those who have tithes to stand up and hold them in the air. “Come forward and let me pray for your testaments.” Those members with tithes walk to the pastor and drop their envelopes into a big wooden box with three open slots. After they have done that, he smears an oil potion on the palms of their hands, chanting: “In the name of Jesus!” as the congregation responds “Amen!”
Yeoville has a large number of churches facing challenges within themselves and against each other. Johannesburg Metropolitan ward 67 councillor, Sihlwele Myeki, said there were more than 50 different churches in Yeoville.
The late 1990s saw the arrival of new charismatic and Pentecostal churches, mostly led and attended by foreigners, preaching and praising in a different way from traditional churches. Churches such as Jesus Christ is the Lord, Jesus Mountain of Miracles Ministries International, Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Supremacy of God Church, among many others, entered a space already occupied by traditional churches such as St Marks Presbyterian Church and the 102-year-old St Francis of Assisi Catholic Church.
“These new churches in Yeoville are a great challenge for us as a Catholic church,” said Ricki Mukaza, The right-hand man of the priest at St Francis questioned the motives of the new churches. “Some have made it a business where they try to make money by giving people a fixed amount of money that they have to contribute to the church.
“It’s a challenge for us because we are competing against businesses and we are just a church.”
Festus Anibuko, a congregant of St Francis Catholic Church, said: “They use certain types of strong words like ‘prosperity’ and you believe in quick miracles while they are just collecting numbers and money.”
“And that is what you call indoctrination,” said Henry Choguike, another congregant. “You apply for your job, you submit your CV, you pray with your pastor, and you get the job.”
A member of the Supremacy of God Church, Nobuhle Ncube, said she believed in the pastor, Prophet Elisha Elijah, and his works of miracles. Ncube was having problems with her husband a few months ago and went to see the pastor during his counselling sessions. “The pastor just told me to go and pray and wash my husband’s shirt, and he gave me a word and I spoke the word the whole time while I washed the shirt, and now my husband and I are fine.”
Goodnews Kazeem, also a St Francis congregant, said people went to traditional churches when they needed baptisms and weddings, even if they went to the new churches for miracles.
BLESSINGS: A man kneels beside Father Johannes of the St Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Yeoville during the weekly Mass. Photo: Bongiwe Tutu
The Catholic Church is on Cavendish Street, and there is a new church in the same vicinity. Mukaza said they could hear the loud praise and singing from the new church when they were saying prayers, and could not focus properly. “We can’t dictate what people do, we don’t want them to say: ‘Catholic people think they’re all that’ but it disturbs our service.”
St Francis’s Father Johannes said: “They use loudspeakers to impress people and to show that they are many.” Johannes is from Indonesia and was sent to the Catholic Church in Yeoville two years ago.
On the corner of Cavendish and Muller streets is a house in which three different churches operate, dividing times and sharing the garage space. One of the three churches sharing this space is a Pentecostal church: the Church of Lord Jesus in South Africa. Pastor William Mpolesha, from the DRC, said the church opened in February 2014 but had been running in Kensington since 2009.
He said it was a challenge to run a church in Yeoville because “Yeoville is full of churches already”.
“On Sundays we start at 8am and at 10.30am we have to be out for the next church which starts at 11am. And then the third church runs from 2pm to 4pm.”
Mpolesha denied his church made a noise, saying it must be the other two he shares the garage space with. “People like worshipping loudly, so you have to pray and worship without being loud or people will call the cops.” He said there was a law which required churches to operate in noise-contained buildings. “Sometimes we use the microphone and speakers if we are many, but we don’t make a noise.” He said it was difficult because the garage was not built to contain noise.
“It is challenging to be in a facility where you cannot operate freely,” said Mpolesha. Earlier this year they asked but were not permitted to use empty rooms at the recreation centre in Yeoville. “There is a law which does not allow churches to operate under municipal facilities.”
He said the large number of churches in Yeoville did not deter him because “our target is changing the lives of the people”.
“We open branches in different areas because we struggle to provide transport for members who live far away and cannot afford to pay transport fare. We can’t let people fail to come to church because of their location, it pushes you to open another branch as we have this year.”
Mpolesha said, aside from the donations, tithes and offerings, the church struggled with finances. It used to get funding from an apostle in Canada, but he stopped this. “He said: ‘No, you are a church, you’ve got church members, they must support the church to operate,’ so I had to find a job to support my family and my church.”
Elder Butho Moyo of Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses church, which has been open for 10 years, said: “It is difficult to maintain a church as foreign people. We are trying to do something that brings purpose into our lives and the lives of the people we serve.
“We are treated differently from the older churches here, we have been paying high rates for rent, water and electricity.”
Councillor Myeki said “the difficulty with the new churches was that they operated in schools, flats or houses, and this meant they were not designated churches”.
GLORY ROBE: Father Johannes of the St Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Yeoville greets congregants after Mass. The Catholic Church has initiated a number of outreach programmes to help the disadvantaged people of Yeoville. Photo: Bongiwe Tutu
He said there were only five designated churches in Yeoville on recognised premises, four of which were traditional churches and one charismatic.
“The consequences of not applying for rezoning are high municipal rates,” said Myeki. He said designated churches only paid for water and electricity while the new unrecognised churches were subject to water, electricity and residential rental rates. “If the city notices that you have turned your house into a business [church], the city has a right to penalise you. They may increase your rates because they can’t force you to rezone, but they can penalise you.”
Myeki said new churches were discouraged by the expensive process of applying for rezoning and the requirements of the application, which were: sufficient space, parking space, abiding by fire bylaws, and sweeping the building for noise control.
“So they keep up with the high rates because that is what their situation can maintain best.” He said rezoning could cost up to about R70 000, depending on the consultant used, so many new churches settled for high rates rather than the possibility of failing the expensive and extensive rezoning application.
“The majority of people living in Yeoville are very poor, and struggling to make a living,” said Father Johannes. He said the new charismatic and Pentecostal churches reached out to people with a lack of faith. “It’s a psychological thing. People like TB Joshua promise miracles, and I think it’s a sign of lack of faith to those who go there.” He said he did not judge the people and the churches, because they were satisfying their own “personal longing”.
Johannes said he believed people sought fast miracles because it was tough to survive without any source of income, especially for foreigners in a new country, so “they use church as an escape”.
“People must understand that the Pentecostal church is for African people,” said Mpolesha. “It’s the only time the Holy Spirit works through you. Churches like the Roman Catholic and the Baptists are just procedure, like going through a study programme and just getting your certificate, but Pentecostal is through the gift from God because you only become a pastor if you get a calling.”
He said he got his calling to be a pastor in 1993 when he was still at university but he ignored it while he qualified as a pharmacist and worked in an HIV/Aids antiretroviral treatment programme in his home country, the DRC. “I thought to myself that I am a successful pharmacist, what am I going to do in a church? I can make money as a pharmacist [rather] than as a pastor. But the calling kept coming to me.”
Sandra Elimiaga, wife of Prophet Elimiaga of Jesus Mount of Miracles Ministries Church, said: “The will of the Lord is a mystery. Scientists and researchers try to understand religion but they can’t. You cannot know God through your own ideas, you will know him through the word of God.”
Residents of an apartment block in Yeoville tell of their frustrations of living next door to the informal prayer group gatherings in Yeoville. By: Bongiwe Tutu
Melekias Zulu, who works at the Wits Centre for African Migration Studies, said: “From my experience in working with Zimbabwean migrants, they find a church that speaks their language, and they look for a church they will be familiar with. It is likely that you also share the same cultural beliefs systems and practices with that church.”
According to Vedaste Nzayabino, in a study on the role of a charismatic church in Yeoville, published by Wits University in 2010, there were three levels of integration when a foreigner entered into a new community. The first level was achieved when a foreigner found a church where other people sharing “common foreign status congregate”. This was defined as a system of self-integration and was fully achieved in the new charismatic churches, where mostly foreign people congregated.
The second level occured when a foreigner felt spiritually assimilated into the church community and gained spiritual growth. And the third level was cultural integration, where one became integrated into a group or community which shared similar cultural backdrops.
Peter Kankonde, who also works at the Wits Centre for African Migration Studies, said the loose use of the word “integration” was a problem. “Can you call Johannesburg a community that is integrated? Is Yeoville a community that is integrated?” Kankonde said this was a problem because South Africa itself was not a cohesive community, with people from different backgrounds and places.
“South Africa is a transforming society after apartheid. With the notion of the rainbow nation, you have government bringing people together who were being kept apart. Migrants from outside come in and find South Africans themselves trying to find a national identity which is not there yet,” He said integration had to be understood not as a result but as a process for South Africans and not African migrants alone.
Mpolesha said: “I found that South Africa has little understanding of Pentecostal or as many put it ‘charismatic’ churches, but I guess the commercialisation of church on TV has given people the wrong idea.”
“Being a foreigner in a new space is not easy, and being a pastor is even harder,” said Pastor Princewill of the Jesus Mountain of Miracles International. “We know that there are some people who view us in the bad light, but we know also that our members believe in our church and that keeps us going.
“People might say we are trying to make money but we are only following a calling and serving God and spreading the word.”
“Let me tell you how to tell the difference between a church of God and that which operates as a business using the magic,” said Mpolesha. As an example, he said a church could not call only those people with R1000 to come forward for a blessing. “That is a revelation for you that something is not right, what about the man with R2? Are you not going to pray for him? People follow those who seem wealthy, with nice cars, through an idea that it means he is blessed.”
Mpolesha said prophecies, deliverances and miracles should be kept secret. “When Jesus healed people he said: ‘Don’t tell anyone of what I have done for you’.”
He said pastors should not take any glory for the work of God, referring to those shown on TV who took all the credit for themselves.
“And the third way to see the difference is to analyse the outcome, does the person’s life actually change? And, that may take a lifetime to determine.”
FEATURED IMAGE: Five men perform a church service on the hill behind Yeoville. Initially praying alone, the seated man later joined the service. The five men pray and sing for him, and the pastor twists his head from side to side, using his hands as a passage for God’s work to free him from evil and bless him. Photo: Bongiwe Tutu
Rastafari are a significant part of the Yeoville community and have made substantial strides to establish and integrate themselves. But this has created a problem in how they remain true to their cultural practices while conforming to Yeoville society.
Ras Zwesh was just about to light up his zol when the police raided Rasta House and arrested him for possession of drugs. He was there as the master of ceremonies for a live reggae performance. Instead, he spent the night on a wooden bench in the reception area of the Yeoville police station. He was not charged.
ITAL: Ras Zwesh (Zwelithemba Twalo) buys his fruit and vegetables from the Yeoville Market. “I like to support the local produce,” he says. Rasta only eat ital. This word is derived from the word vital. Rastafari only eat naturally grown food that has not been processed and they do not eat meat. Photo: Rofhiwa Madzena
“It [Rasta House] was never like this, it was a safe place.” Nowadays, Ras Zwesh says, the sale of alcohol and “the loud provocative music” have attracted the “wrong kind of attention” and have caused Rastafari like himself to live isolated.
A different place
Towards the back of Rasta House an incomplete building structure is hidden behind an entertainment area with a bar, pool tables and an upstairs lounge area. Ras Zwesh, whose real name is Zwelithemba Twalo, explains that, initially, this building was to serve as a venue for religious and social interaction between the Rastafari.
“And now the priorities of the owners, who are also Rastafari, have changed.” They now sell alcohol, although the consumption of alcohol is against Rastafari culture. When Ras Zwesh reaches out to touch the structure, cement crumbles from between the bricks.
Why Rastafari came to Yeoville
Ras Zwesh is a poet who has lived in Yeoville since the ’90s when he moved back to South Africa from the United States. “Yeoville is different from any other community in the world … It is a space where you can live the way you want. It’s a community that is mature and tolerant.” He adds, however: “Rastas are not conventional. In Yeoville we’ve had to compromise to live together.”
It is unclear when the Rastafari movement first moved into Yeoville. However, according to Ras Zwesh, Rastas were among the first black, “non-servant” people to settle in Yeoville. He says Rastafari first came to Yeoville to deal “the herb” in the 1980s and ’90s, decades which offered business opportunities for drug dealing.
Yeoville was a popular social scene then. There were political poetry sessions in the day and, at night, night clubs, bars and restaurants buzzed with music. It was a place unique in South Africa as people were not restricted by their race, culture and beliefs.
Elder Blue, co-owner of Rasta House, says he moved to Yeoville in 1997 from Jamaica, mainly because there was already a community of Rastafari in the area. Another reason was that he had a “spiritual connection” with the area. “There is the spirit of true freedom and art expression here.”
The orders that categorise most Rastafari
There are three distinct orders, also known as houses, of the Rastafari that form a part of the greater community in Yeoville. The orders are the Nyahbhingi, the Bobo Ashanti and the Twelve Tribes of Israel. They were established in the 1930s in Jamaica.
“The houses are a security thing. They are a place of fellowship and companionship,” according to El Supreme, a Rastafari musician living in Yeoville. Ras Zwesh says the houses were formed as a platform on which “black people who were oppressed at the hands of colonialists could express their unhappiness”.
“We live together in the same community, we meet as neighbours. There are many other aspects in Yeoville that unite the different orders.” However, he adds that “there are instances of discrimination and divisions where people discriminate simply because you are not in their houses”.
“It happens to me every day. I’m always enthusiastic to meet other Rastas in the street but when I stretch out my fist to greet, they pull back and I get the response: ‘Me don’t touch blood’. Some Bobos and some Nyahbhingi have that holier-than-thou mindset.”
“The Twelve Tribes of Israel are the most accommodating,” explains Ras Zwesh. “The order accepts homosexuals as well as white people even though, traditionally, the movement rejected whites and white supremacy.”
The Twelve Tribes of Israel have the greatest following in South Africa. Ras Zwesh says this is due to the popularity of the movement during the apartheid regime. The main doctrine of the movement was based on the conditions of the time, and “religion and culture were important for many people, not politics”.
DRAGGIN’: A man, Gabra, lights up a joint during the church service. The Rastafari are strong believers in vegetarianism. They also believe that marijuana is a vegetable given to them by God to use to fulfil themselves spiritually. Photo: Rofhiwa Madzena
This was not the case with the Nyahbhingi, who saw themselves as warriors. “They thought they had to be involved in everything,” says Ras Zwesh. The Nyahbhingi have evolved since then and believe that politics and political parties divide people. However, this has not made them any more tolerant, he says, describing people in the order as racist and as persecutors of homosexuals.
“They have forgotten the teachings of His Imperial Majesty [Haile Selassie],” says Ras Zwesh. “He preached that we respect the laws of all countries and in South Africa it is legal to choose sexual orientation.”
Gabra Hillary, a Rastafari living in Yeoville, says that he made the decision to leave the order. “I couldn’t live like that, it just makes you different from the rest of society.”
The Bobo Ashanti are described as the most Pan-Africanist group in the Rastafari movement. Members had close ties with political parties and were originally driven by the notion that, “Africans cannot sit by while Africa is being destroyed”. Nowadays many people in the group have chosen to separate themselves from these principles, says Ras Zwesh. They can be seen in Yeoville drinking in taverns and establishing businesses. “They are business-minded Rastas. It is not a bad thing but I think they will do anything for money.”
AN OFFERING TO JAH: Inside the Rastafari church, Rastafari, chant and praise around a shrine of Haile Selassie. The shrine is made up of an offer of fruit, Bibles, bronze and gold crosses and a Hanukkah menorah holding candles. There is an infusion of burning incense, candle smoke and marijuana in the air. Photo: Rofhiwa Madzena
One of the only ways to survive in Yeoville is to make money, according to some Rastafari living there. A Rastafari who calls himself Bon African is from Kenya and sells “clothes unique to the movement”. Most of the t-shirts, skirts, pants and hats contain red, yellow and green – the colours of the Ethiopian national flag.
Today, many Rastafari, despite their different cultural orders, share a similar sense of fashion, which creates a sense of shared African identity. They wear dashikis (Nigerian and other West African prints), turbans and other loosely fitting, bright clothes that cover the whole body.
Bon African’s shop assistant, who asked not to be named, says Rastafari from the different orders buy clothes based on the order of the colours on the clothing item. “For example, a Nyahbhingi will only buy a turban if green is at the top, yellow in the middle and red at the bottom. Bobos want the red to be at the top.”
Women’s clothes sell fast, he says, especially the skirts. Women, particularly in the Twelve Tribes of Israel and the Nyahbhingi, still dress culturally and conservatively. “You will know them by their skirts that sweep up the dirt in the street,” Ras Zwesh jokes. “They also cover their heads with turbans and arms with long sleeves.”
“You don’t have to look like a man to be a feminist,” says Sister Lulu, a member of the Nyahbhingi order. She says their dress sense “keeps us in touch with our femininity”.
Meanwhile, some young people and feminists in the Rastafari movement believe the orders should reflect the workplace and prevalent social behaviours. Ras Zwesh says: “Many young Rastafari don’t identify with the houses in Yeoville. They are independent, not only because the houses are not originally from South Africa but also because of the dictatorship-ness.”
“The orders must be more dynamic and reflect the consciousness of people in an ever-changing society,” says Ras Zwesh, drawing on the mindset of Rita Marley, Bob Marley’s widow. She believes the orders should not dictate the way people live. He recalls attending her concert in Newtown, where she was criticised for wearing jeans, and spoke about her beliefs.
The orders are not African enough
The practices and the challenges of the orders have, in recent years, caused divisions between the Rastarafi in Yeoville and in South Africa. There have been African adaptations of the three original houses. These are argued to reflect more “Africanised” interpretations of the religion.
Thau-Thau Haramanuba, leader of the Bakehase (a breakaway order) and executive member of the Rastafari United Front, says the current practices of the Rastafari in the Bobo Ashanti, Nyahbhingi or the Twelve Tribes of Israel have deviated from some of the first principles on which Rastafari is based. Although he lives in Limpopo, many of his followers are to be found in Yeoville.
“It is important to take back Africa to its roots and free the imprisoned minds of black people.” He adds that these offshoot orders are important because they base their principles on the African identity, something he says many Rastafari have lost.
Bakehase is a combination of two words: Ba (Bantu people) and Kehase (Kedamawi Haile Selassie). “It’s not a bible order of Rastafari, it’s a Bantu order of Rastafari,” says Haramanuba who has been the leader of the order since he formed it 14 years ago. He says Bakehase is not copying or mimicking the Jamaican Rastafari. The practices of the order are founded upon the South African experience of oppression which is then adapted into the principles of Rastafari.
BLESSED: Sister Nomusa Mpofu receives a blessing from one of the five administrative priests at the Rasta church. The church is located on Hunter Street, Yeoville. Inside, the Rastafari chant and praise around a shrine of Haile Selassie. Photo: Rofhiwa Madzena
“These houses do the very thing that Rastafari stands against.” He explains that there are two schools of thought in Rastafari, a Judeo-Christian and an African-centred school of thought. The Judeo-Christians base everything they say on the Bible and Africans base theirs on African spirituality, African philosophy, ubuntu and Africa frames of references which “use the black man’s understanding of God before the white man came here with his Bible, enslaving us and exploiting us for free labour”.
There is a leadership crisis within the structure of the other houses, he says, because “they use a framework [Christianity] that was imposed on them”. He says the three houses argue that they do not have a high priest or leader. Their high priest is Haile Selassie or Jesus Christ. “… It sounds like Christianity but they say they are Rastafari. That is just not the essence of Rastafari.”
Sixty-seven-year-old Empress, who uses no other name, moved to Yeoville from Harlem, New York, three years ago. She is not part of a particular house. “I don’t believe in the separation that the houses have caused because as Rastafari we are supposed to be one.”
Empress immersed herself in the Rastafari way of life when she was a teenager. She says she does not live by the laws of the different orders but rather by the laws and principles that were left by His Majesty Halie Selassie for all Rastafari to live by.
Empress believes that all African people are born Rastafari. “They just don’t know it, nor do they embrace it.” She says the lack of acceptance and understanding between people poses a challenge to living as a Rastafari, but it is the way Africans are meant to be living.
“I used to go to family gatherings and I’d feel left out by my own family. They wouldn’t prepare vegetables for me and the ones that they did were mixed with meat and I don’t eat meat, as a vegetarian.”
She says, though, that her living as a Rastafari has changed their views somewhat. “They’re coming around, they would laugh at the way I look because I am living the life they are afraid to live but they are starting to resonate with my lifestyle. I don’t have to teach them, they just see how I live.
The commercialisation of dreadlocks in Yeoville. Traditionally dreadlocks are associated with the Rastafari movement. They connect Rastafari to God.
The evolving Rastafari
On the other hand, Ras Zwesh disagrees that all African people are Rastafari. “There has been an African romanticism [among Rastafari] without looking at the reality of Africa. Metaphorically speaking, yes, but literally speaking they are not Rastas. Rastas aren’t even Rastas. It goes beyond being black, having dreads and smoking ganja. You must love and overstand [understand] yourself and the world.”
He says people, especially in Africa, are not like that. “The priorities of my people are based on a certain degree of selfishness and acquiring only for themselves,” he says in a low voice.
The pressure and the intrusions of the outside world have caused growing tensions within the Rastafari community in Yeoville. “There was a time when Yeoville only had a community of white middle-class people. We were fine with that because they would pay us for the art we did.”
Since the end of apartheid, the white middle class moved out of the area and was replaced by a black middle class, says Ras Zwesh. “They don’t support local art or music, even the Rasta business owners; they have joined the black middle class.”
“Instead of a growing movement, the Rastafari community in Yeoville is now lull. It has gone to sleep. We no longer have a movement in Yeoville like before where Rastafari were driven by socialist ideals to help the community. Just more black middle-class people like in the rest of Johannesburg.”
He fears for the future of the Rastafari community. “My son will have no one to learn from when I am no longer around. Things have changed from bad to worse for us.”
FEATURED IMAGE: A man, Gabra, lights up a joint during the church service. The Rastafari are strong believers in vegetarianism. They also believe that marijuana is a vegetable given to them by God to use to fulfil themselves spiritually. Photo: Rofhiwa Madzena
Many other Africans look to South Africa as a land of opportunity. Papa Luc, a Congo national, hoped to build a new life for himself when he fled his war-ravaged country in 2007. His life in Yeoville has turned out differently from what he expected.
Papa Luc ekes out a living in Yeoville cutting hair from 9am to 6pm for R20 per head. Holding an electric trimmer all day is a tough job and it shows on his knobby hands and swollen knuckles. You wouldn’t know that he has a degree in central hydraulic engineering. From a drawer beneath a bureau cluttered with clippers and combs he pulls out a wrinkled brown envelope. Neatly tucked inside are several degrees and certificates all inscribed with his real name: “Luc Ali Mabiala”. He glances over the envelope with a hollow look of unrealised dreams and a rueful smile. “Really, to tell you the truth I am not happy at all … Many, many companies here want me but I don’t have the right papers to work with them.” Papa Luc’s story is a typical one for many immigrants in South Africa who have found that they don’t earn any respect despite their prestigious qualifications. These highly trained migrants scrambling in the sizzle of Yeoville struggle to make ends meet when their qualifications have been rendered “toilet paper” in the absence of a South African ID. Some are still hopeful they’ll find jobs in their chosen profession, but many have forgotten their potential and are caught up in a daily rat race to put bread on the table and clothes on their back.
A heavy past
Papa Luc, 36, fled war in his native Congo-Brazzaville and has been in South Africa for seven years. At the salon where he rents a chair, everyone calls him ‘Papa Luc’ perhaps due to his wisdom and the early age lines making home on his face. Papa Luc is small in stature and appears to be meek and detached. He offers a quick stare and a deliberate smile as he talks about the Congo, letting anyone know where his heart resides. His hands are animated as he describes his home. But quickly the nostalgia disappears as he speaks about his reasons for leaving Congo. “It’s a very powerful country, very good people, humble people but politics is killing everything,” says Papa Luc. The history of Congo’s civil war began in June 1997, when Denis Sassou Ngessou, who had previously been in power from 1979 to 1992, organised a coup with the complicity of France to overthrow the president at the time, Pascal Lissouba. This war was fuelled by the discovery of oil in the Congo. “My father was being killed in our own house by Sassou Ngessou soldiers, my mother, my sisters were being raped in the house before me and it’s only God who gave us the chance to still be alive,” says Papa Luc.
RED RIDING POLO: This is Luc’s favourite shirt which he wears when he’s feeling “lucky”. Luc said, when his barber job was not providing a steady income, he bets on horses and soccer games at the BetXchange. This helps him cover rent expenses. The most he has won is R45 000, most of which went on to pay his university fees for a degree in Political Science. He still gambles, but admits he has not been as lucky. Photo: Thabile Manala.
The degrees covered with dust
Before the war, Papa Luc had earned his matric, then certificates and degrees in computer science and central hydraulic engineering. He had bright prospects and began working as an electrical engineer, his dream job. But for him, and many other Congolese, war destroyed those dreams and forced them to move abroad as refugees. “Let me tell you, war is not good huh, with an ethnic war it can follow you to hell,” he says. After arriving in South Africa as a refugee, Papa Luc continued his education and got certificates to work in a call centre and diplomas in IT, electronics and telecommunications. He did another degree at the University of Johannesburg in Political Science and Diplomacy. Yet despite these qualifications, every morning Papa Luc wakes up to go to his rented chair at a salon in Rockey Street to cut hair for R20 per head as a means of putting bread on his table.
But, where is your ID?
Papa Luc has made efforts to get employment and has sent CVs to many companies. The response from prospective employers is usually positive, he passes the interviews and it appears he will get the job—until the employers ask him one question. “But only one thing they ask from me: ‘Your ID?’ When I take my refugee paper and show them, they say: ‘what is this? Is this a toilet paper?’” Papa Luc says. “Whenever they say: ‘We will call you’ I already know what that means.” Many companies in Johannesburg are interested in Papa Luc’s skills, but he cannot overcome the monumental challenge of having the “right” papers.
Despite the situation of Papa Luc, and others like him, the Department of Home Affairs’ spokesperson Mayihlome Tshwete says government welcomes skilled immigrants who “will contribute positively to our economic development”. “In the critical skills space, our immigration regulations have made it easier for those seeking to further their careers in South Africa.” However, this clearly is not the reality many academic refugees are facing. Papa Luc regrets coming to South Africa and hopes to join his mother and sisters in exile in the United States where they have enjoyed more success than him. “They are beautiful, fat, they’re eating nice, they’re sleeping nice, they have cars. The American government gave them all the opportunities … With the qualifications I have, I could be very happy,” he says.
An unfair reality
Papa Luc is grateful for his job at the salon. But he becomes obviously withdrawn and smiles half-heartedly at the reality of his life. “With this job it’s giving me the opportunity to support myself, to pay schooling and the school of my baby’s home, to pay my rent even if I’m not buying nice clothes. I don’t care but my brain is full of knowledge,” he says.
Papa Luc is one of many foreign nationals with qualifications, including former academics, living in South Africa who have resigned their lives to owning small restaurants, working in salons, or—if they are very fortunate—working as teachers. Dr. Roni Amit, a senior researcher at the African Centre for Migration and Society, says that refugees are entitled to work and study in South Africa. However for their qualifications to be recognised they have to go through the South African Qualifications Authority (SAQA) which requires a lot of documentation.
“Any challenges they face are likely to come from discrimination or a lack of knowledge about a refugee status, rather than from the law itself,“ she says. The resistance that Papa Luc faces when he presents his refugee papers to prospective employers is testimony of this fact, even though his permit says he can work and study in South Africa. Many foreign nationals, like Papa Luc, try to play the cards they have been dealt in South Africa with their refugee status. But others decide to reshuffle the deck, and seek success outside the law with illegally arranged marriages to South African women.
Papa Luc, despite his many qualifications, makes a living trimming the hair of Yeoville residents. By: Thabile Manala
The hustle of arranged marriages
This is what Chikwe* (39) does for money. He refused to let his real name be used for this article and would only agree to be interviewed in a dingy alleyway behind a salon on Rockey Street. Chikwe has only one eye, the other is clouded over and blind. Using his good eye, he glances over his shoulder and scans the alley anxiously. “Everything we are talking [about] is very dangerous because if they can catch me talking to you like this I will be in trouble.” Like Papa Luc, Chikwe is also from Congo-Brazzaville. However, unlike his countryman, Chikwe has an illegal sideline in connecting South African women with foreign men in need of sham marriages for documentation. “You can travel from Johannesburg to maybe Mpumalanga or Limpopo to get a wife,” he says.
IN A PAST LIFE: Luc Mabiala was living out his dreams as an electrical engineer in the Congo – one of the few chosen to work on a project with the Chinese. The production of electricity was a specialised field he felt privileged to be a part of. He hoped it would advance his career. Photo: Thabile Manala
The women he finds are often without income and can be convinced to enter a marriage of convenience with a foreign man for a monthly payment. Many of them have kids but the child grant they receive from the government is not enough to provide for their families. Chikwe is the connection in these deals, and he is paid for every successful connection he makes. Chikwe says the terms of an arranged marriage vary in terms of the agreed financial transactions. Sometimes the man will give the woman R2000 or R3000 every month. Sometimes the monthly fee is as little as R1500.
It usually depends on the man’s financial circumstances. Chikwe says that often the women, although willing to engage in a deal, will still refuse to be married to foreign nationals. Instead, some of the women will travel to Johannesburg with the men to apply as “life partners” at Home Affairs, which is a recognised union by the department. The benefit for the men is the same—they can live and work in South Africa—while the women can avoid the stigma of being “married” to a foreign national.
Amit says little is known about the extent of arranged marriages with little empirical evidence on the subject. However, despite the lack of evidence, it is often talked about and treated as a serious issue by Home Affairs. Tshwete says: “It’s prevalent to the extent that it happens more than we would want it to. The exact number is hard to tell due to many cases being investigated and others not even being detected.” “The department also has a counter-corruption unit which was set up to look into matters of impropriety.” Chikwe’s good eye begins to shift sideways as he swears that these marriages of convenience are common and are a way for foreign men to make themselves employable in South Africa. The women involved either do so for financial reasons or unknowingly when their IDs are stolen by someone like Chikwe.
“Anyone, she’s working from the bank, she’s a teacher, she’s a doctor, anyone,” says Chikwe. Being legitimately married to a South African is a definite benefit. Lama May Mayele (44), a former boxing national champion from Congo, married a South African woman five years ago for love—though it had the added benefit of helping his business. By adding her name to his business, he was able to acquire credit from banks instead of having to pay cash up front.
Today he runs a successful security business. “No one will say ‘I want to pay cash’ whilst you have your wife who could apply for a bond … It’s a necessary tool,” he says. Papa Luc knows that having a South African wife would help his prospects, a prospective employer once even told him to get married to a South African so he could be employed. But still he refuses. “I said ‘no, it’s not good’ because first of all I will never love that woman, when I see her and know that I have corrupted her, I will never love her,” he says.
CLOSE SHAVE: From 9am every morning, Luc is at his rented chair in a hair salon. The customers sometimes trickle in slowly, so to maximise profits Luc also shaves beards and does women’s hair. He is diligent and has earned a trusted client base. Although there is another barber in the salon, many people would rather wait in line for Luc’s service on the busy days. Photo: Thabile Manala
“I did a course on law and international law. I am here in South Africa as a foreigner, the first thing I have to do is respect each and every letter of South African law. I am able to be corrupt and buy that paper but in my conscience I could never be at peace,” Papa Luc says firmly. These moral qualms don’t bother Chikwe: “Do you know that I can travel from here in South Africa using your passport? Do you know that I can buy a shirt with your credit card? Do you know that me I can get money from the government, you the money you don’t get, me I can get it,“ he says excitedly, turning his back from passing cars so he will not be recognised.
Chikwe didn’t start out as a hustler. This man, who brags in a back alley behind a hair salon about his aptitude at identity theft, holds a Master’s degree in Physical Geography. He teaches physics and French part-time at a private school in the Johannesburg CBD where he’s paid about R1500 to R2000 a month, less than the salary of his colleagues who are South Africans. Chikwe has been to SAQA to translate his degree into South African qualifications and has been to formal job interviews. But here his story becomes much the same as Papa Luc’s when he proffers his refugee papers. “They look at my folded A4 paper and say ‘ah kwerekwere’ I don’t know what is the meaning of ‘kwerekwere’ but you are human being and you are black … There is no respect with this paper,“ Chikwe says.
Chikwe defends his illegal activities, his hustles and his schemes. They are a way for him to make money, and he sees no other solution to his circumstances. Jean-Pierre Lukamba, vice-chairman of the African Diaspora Forum in Yeoville, says many foreign nationals are despondent since they possess skills which could be useful to South Africa. “They are stressed and traumatised, we’d understand if there was no shortage [of skills] but there are closed hospitals in Limpopo because of no skills,” Lukamba says. Lukamba said his organisation is in talks with companies to educate them about foreign nationals and refugees and their ability to work legally. Until then, many foreigners will continue to face closed doors. “Most of them feel like they are not human enough,” says Lukamba. Not only did war disrupt the lives of these men but their efforts to rebuild in South Africa have been met by systemic backlash. While some, like Papa Luc, are working within the law and their reduced circumstances, others like Chikwe have become hustlers. Both men know the world is not fair, but they also know a man needs to eat.
FEATURED IMAGE: This is Luc’s favourite shirt which he wears when he’s feeling “lucky”. Luc said, when his barber job was not providing a steady income, he bets on horses and soccer games at the BetXchange. This helps him cover rent expenses. The most he has won is R45 000, most of which went on to pay his university fees for a degree in Political Science. He still gambles, but admits he has not been as lucky. Photo: Thabile Manala.
Children play and walk among burnt animal carcasses while their parents work on streets and spaces littered with used condoms and empty fast food containers. Despite the efforts of the official cleaning company, Yeoville’s streets remain strewn with litter. But some volunteers have taken cleaning into their own hands.
Animal bones are piled in one corner, burnt to a crisp. Large shards of glass glint from the sidewalk, beacons for residents to follow. Beneath the few trees, empty condom wrappers and cigarette packs lie scattered among the empty fast food containers, creating a path to the door of every business.
While many South Africans live in Yeoville, this densely populated area has become the space that many foreigners call home. Zimbabweans, Nigerians, Congolese and many other nationalities hope to start a new life here for themselves and their families. This diverse set of people has created a mix of cultures that allows almost any visitors to experience new food, music, language and traditions.
However, the great number of residents in Yeoville has put a burden on the suburb. People not only struggle to find adequate living space and work to pay for everyday survival, but pressure has been placed on the infrastructure, specifically the ability to keep the buildings and streets clean. Residents and their children live among litter, and dirty water too often flows out of blocked drains.
“If you look at Yeoville, you’ll see it’s really a dump. It’s old, dilapidated and I imagine a lot of people only move here until their funds are better for them to move somewhere better. So it’s very much a transit suburb. There’s a high-density population, the flats are very overcrowded and I think that puts a lot of pressure on the resources.”
The dirtiest streets in Yeoville are those next to and close to the market. One entrance to the market opens on Rockey Street, where many other Yeoville businesses are located.
Dr Bosama Mbokolo, a local general practitioner with an office in Hunter Street, not far from the market, has treated many patients who became sick or were injured because of the litter and broken glass on the streets.
“I’ve treated patients who have stepped in the broken glass on the streets, or have been stabbed,” says Mbokolo. “The pieces of glass are quite big, and they are just left on the street corners. People get into fights and use them as weapons.”
The doctor believes that one of the reasons there is a garbage problem in Yeoville is that 99% of the population is black and foreign. “Maybe they are considering that this [Yeoville] is the area of the poor and foreign and black and maybe the municipality leave us alone and they are not interested in [us],” says Mbokolo.
EVERYWHERE: Piles of rubbish like this one are often left on street corners for almost two weeks, according to a local doctor who struggles to keep the street in front of his practice clean. Photo: Zelmarie Goosen
On the corner and across the street from his practice, piles of rubbish and broken glass have not been removed for weeks. Mbokolo says he doesn’t see the city’s cleaning contractor, Pikitup, cleaning his street very often.
Pikitup’s employees, however, work in Yeoville every day of the week. Their day starts at 7am and finishes at 3.30pm. The cleaners work on weekends as well, but then only from 7am to 12pm.
Mavis Masheqo, a Pikitup employee, has been cleaning the streets of Yeoville since 2011. Each street in Yeoville gets one cleaner who sweeps it, puts the rubbish in rubbish bags and sweeps the leaves into piles. However, Masheqo says it is difficult for them to do their jobs.
According to Masheqo, she often has to deal with homeless people and street kids rummaging through the refuse bags after she has filled them with garbage from the street.
“I’ve got problems with the streets kids,” she says. “When I’ve finished cleaning and I’ve put [the rubbish] in the bags, they open the bags and just leave it like that. The papers fly out, and are all over the street. Now I have to go back again and clean it again. And I’m getting angry because of it.”
Masheqo says the cleaners have complained but nothing has been done about it. They are also scared to confront the street kids because they are threatened when they do. “When you chase them away, they promise to hit you. We are not safe.”
According to Masheqo, even the community fights with them. “When you tell them: ‘Don’t throw it [rubbish] on the street, just put it inside the plastic bags’, they don’t want to listen. We don’t know what we must do … The councillor is supposed to call them and talk to them and tell them that they must work together with us, with Pikitup. [He must] tell them that they should put their garbage in the small bag [in the bin] and then we’ll come [and] put it in the big bag, not that they should throw their papers on the ground and just throw the nappy of their child on the ground just because you saw the cleaner there.”
Residents tell the cleaners that, because they are working and earning money, people can throw the garbage wherever they want to, she says.
Yeoville falls under Ward 67. According to the councillor, Sihlwele Myeki, the council has received complaints from the community that Pikitup is not cleaning efficiently, although they are there every day. “I would like to think that Pikitup is doing its best,” says Myeki.
A big part of the sanitation and litter problem, he says, can be attributed to the large number of people on the streets: “There are unusually large numbers of people that either do business in Yeoville and stay in Yeoville or come through here for enjoyment.”
The councillor says he has to deal with people who say they litter because they know there are people who will clean the streets. “I’ve told them I’m sure you won’t do this in Sandton,” he says. “I don’t think it’s because Yeoville is full of foreigners, but I do think that when people see others doing it, or see other people cleaning it up, they don’t care.”
Too much foot traffic
Mexican-born Sebastian Zaremba, a trader and committee member of the Yeoville Market, agrees that a big contribution to the dirty streets is the overcrowding.
“In the main street, in particular, there’s a hell of a lot of foot traffic, because most of the shops like the Shoprite, the butchery and food places are located there.
“Most people will trek up and down that street, so there’s a lot of movement but there’s also a lot of rubbish that gets discarded because, by the time you’ve crossed the robot, you’ve finished your cool drink or packet of chips or whatever you’ve bought and you just discard it.
“If you look at Yeoville, you’ll see it’s really a dump. It’s old, dilapidated and I imagine a lot of people only move here until their funds are better for them to move somewhere better. So it’s very much a transit suburb. There’s a high-density population, the flats are very overcrowded and I think that puts a lot of pressure on the resources.”
While Pikitup is responsible for cleaning the streets of Yeoville, they do not clean the market. The committee has assembled a group of 12 volunteers who clean the market after it has closed at night. The volunteers all work or trade in the market, and do not get paid for cleaning it. They sweep the surrounding streets as well and place all the garbage in bags. Pikitup fetches these bags at midnight and before the market opens at 7am, about three volunteers sweep the streets and the market again.
WORKING TOGETHER: This group, mainly women, has grown very close since they started cleaning together earlier this year. They have a specific routine every night – they start with the inside of the market and move to the outside – and make sure they help each other as much as they can. Photo: Zelmarie Goosen
According to Zaremba, the committee has also taken out the big garbage bins and placed them outside the market. The traders are responsible for getting rid of their garbage when they close their shops at night. Since the committee introduced “three or four cats”, Zaremba says the number of rats and cockroaches has gone down.
However, a big problem with litter and sanitation, which leads to health problems, are the bathrooms in the market and how people use them. There is also a shortage of public toilets in Yeoville. A fee of R1 is charged for the use of the toilets in the market, but Zaremba says not everyone knows how to use them properly.
“Blocked drains are a very common occurrence. Not only in the buildings, but on the streets as well. I think because most of the foreign nationals coming in to Yeoville come from countries where you just discard your rubbish on the streets. What happens here, however, is that it all collects in the drains. In many of their countries, especially those that are developing countries, which most of them are, they are used to using buckets and not proper toilets.”
Zaremba says the women’s toilets are a problem specifically because they sit down. When the toilet seat is too dirty, women squat in the corner on the floor. This creates a breeding ground for flies, maggots and bacteria. Diseases like diarrhoea and urinary tract infections are passed on this way. He says people seldom wash their hands, especially with soap, and, because most of the people who use these bathrooms work in the market, they work with food and spread the diseases to their customers.
The market committee has employed someone to clean the market toilets at night, paid with the money they make when people use the bathrooms throughout the day.
Zaremba says he would like to see the other cleaning volunteers getting paid as well but until they are able to apply to the council for a tender to clean the market, “they are going to have to work for free”. The cleaning volunteer group is made up of Yeoville residents, and not outsiders, and is therefore an example of what can be done to create more jobs for and within the community.
Plans to help everyone
According to councillor Myeki, a programme called Jozi at Work will soon be implemented in, among others, the general Yeoville area. The aim of Jozi at Work is to alleviate poverty by creating jobs within communities. “The City of Johannesburg intends to use Jozi at Work as a form of environmental management.
“Jozi at Work will allow people in the community to do the clean-up, separation [of recyclable materials], and be paid for it. So hopefully when that kick-starts and kicks in, we will be seeing a cleaner environment and a cleaner Yeoville.”
“Jozi at Work is about creating encouragement and co-operatives,” says Yvette Adams, a Yeoville resident and owner of Barefoot in the Keys, a company that employs people to do general handy work such as fix gates, paint houses and walls as well as fix geysers and potholes.
“Jozi at Work is about creating jobs, and the way to go is a joint venture or a co-op. If my company gets a job from, for example, the Johannesburg Roads Agency, then it’s only me and I only employ one or two people. But with this [Jozi at work], there are eight of us, so if we get, let’s say, three projects, three of us can employ five people. So then instead of one person only giving five people jobs, three give 15 people jobs.”
The jobs can include anything from fixing roads to building and fixing houses, as well as cleaning. According to Adams and Myeki, the community seems very happy and excited about the programme. However, there are some people who have doubts. A trader, who wishes to remain anonymous, says he thinks the City of Johannesburg will not deliver.
“They will only give work to their friends and to who they like,” he says. “I think they will also take most of the money and there will still be people in Yeoville who are homeless and very poor.”
A homeless man who wants to be known simply as “Marcus”, says he really hopes the programme works.
“Yeoville has a lot of people like me, who can and want to work but can’t find any. I can paint a house or fix a gate, and I can clean very, very well. It is not nice to sleep in a dirty place, and Yeoville is very dirty. I really hope people like me can get a job so that we can also make Yeoville a better place.”
FEATURED IMAGE: This group, mainly women, has grown very close since they started cleaning together earlier this year. They have a specific routine every night – they start with the inside of the market and move to the outside – and make sure they help each other as much as they can. Photo: Zelmarie Goosen
Since her announcement as the Democratic Alliance’s mayoral candidate for Johannesburg, Helen Zille has dominated national headlines. In this bonus episode of We Should Be Writing podcast, hosts Lulah Mapiye and Bonolo Mokonoto dissect a media meet-and-greet with the mayoral hopeful. From her extensive political résumé to her controversial public utterance, we examine why the Democratic Alliance has chosen Hellen Zille as their candidate for the 2027 local mayoral elections. Additionally, […]
