In the vibrant neighbourhood of Soweto that gave birth to the Freedom Charter, a small Afrikaans-speaking community prays, sings and struggles for survival.
As she sang with the choir, tears began rolling down her cheeks. With eyes closed and hands gripping the bench in front of her, Sophie Weimers, head of the Griqua Independent Church in Kliptown sang, “And through his blood, his precious blood, I shall from sin be free!” The congregation of less than 30 people sounded graceful as they sang along with her on that windy Sunday morning.
The church is situated between what is known as ‘Old Kliptown’ and ‘New Kliptown’, according to Weimers. Just down the road, is a street of shacks that shares its premises with the old houses. Up the road, are the new houses built in the 1980s. Upon walking into the church, greeted by big old wooden doors, the sound of the congregation is nothing less than heart-warming. The smell is old, like the dusty carpets beneath the worn-out wooden benches. However, the sound is spiritual.
SANCTUARY: Pastor Victor Appels walks down the aisle inside Kliptown’s Griqua Independent Church.
Coloured people make up 59% of Kliptown. I met Aunt Jeanette as I explored the township.
Down the main road, just a kilometre away from the popular Walter Sisulu Square where the Freedom Charter was adopted by the Congress of the People in 1955, I came across an old-looking church building that was surrounded by a rusted short fence.
I was curious as to why there was no name for the church on display. On the right of the building was an old house with a red polished veranda that shared its premises with the church.
I knocked on the old wooden red door, and waited a while before hearing someone shouting from inside: “Ek kom, wag ’n bietjie!”, meaning she would be at the door in a minute.
She emerged from the front door just a few minutes later, a small-built woman, with hair as red as the sand that surrounded the premises, and an orange polo neck sweater that almost consumed her face.
“The church has been around for almost 100 years now. We will be celebrating its heritage in 2020 where we will be flying the flag with the ‘kanniedood’ plant on it,” said one of the elders of the church, Jeanette Smit or ‘Aunt Jeanette’, as she is commonly known.
Aunt Jeanette explained that the kanniedood is the Griqua community’s national plant. This is an aloe plant whose Afrikaans name, kanniedood means “cannot die”, which is symbolic of the Griqua people’s historical past.
The plant itself is able to survive in harsh conditions due to its succulent properties. It is its ability to survive that became symbolic for the Griqua people, who are a sub community within the greater coloured community of Kliptown, and who refuse to be seen as marginalised.
The Griqua People
She greeted me with the warmest of smiles as if she had been expecting me. “This is the Griqua church, the only one here in Kliptown,” she said. Aunt Jeanette lives on the property of the church as a caretaker and devout congregant. The 72-year-old woman explained that the church served the Griqua community of Kliptown.
“The Griqua people are a mix of the Dutch that came to South Africa and the Khoisan who occupied the land in the Cape at that time,” she said. The Dutch first settled in Southern Africa in 1652.
To me, Aunt Jeanette looked and sounded no different from any other coloured person. “I am not coloured. I am Griqua, because of my ancestors,” she said. “You find the coloured people here have very mixed backgrounds, and different Christian churches. We only have the Griqua church. Yes I speak Afrikaans like everyone else that lives here, but it is our history that separates us from everyone else, that’s all,” she said.
She invited me into her home, whose floors creaked as I followed her inside. The smell was similar to that of a plastic container that had been sitting in a cupboard for too long. She showed me her living room which was small in size but warm and cosy.
Right above her over-sized television which took up most of the space in the room, was a framed portrait of an older man with grey hair and wearing a simple brown hat.
“That is AAS Le Fleur, the first. He is what we call ‘Die Kneg‘, or the leader of the Griquas. He is the man that brought us [Griqua] all together,” Aunt Jeanette said as she stared at the portrait.
Just below it was a calendar, unlike any I had seen before. Written right on the top was “Griqua National Conference Calendar”, which displayed dates of religious holidays and heritage days. “Moederdag – 14 Oktober” it read, meaning they celebrated Mother’s Day just a week before I met her.
CARETAKER: Jeanette Smit sits outside her home, which is connected to the Griqua church in Kliptown. Photo: Chante Schatz
“We don’t celebrate like everyone else, we have our own special days. On these days, we all dress up in our national colours,” she said excitedly as she sprung up and quickly rushed to her room before finishing her sentence. She brought out a sash that had four coloured stripes – green, white, blue and red. “These are the colours of the Griqua people. Usually the women wear them with a rosette of the kanniedood plant and the men wear ties with these colours,” she said.
Andrew Abraham Stockenstrom Le Fleur, the first (AAS Le Fleur I) mobilised the Griqua movement in the Cape in the early 1900s, and was the successor to Adam Kok III, the captain of the Griquas in the Cape in the late 19th century.
Pastor David Jansen, senior head of the church, explained that all of the church’s traditions are symbolic of the Griqua people who fought for their identity since the 1800s. “When the church was formed, it was not just a matter of simply going to a church. You look back on the history of what called us.
We are a historical church. There will be days where we host functions. From 11 o’ clock to 12 o’ clock I could preach about the gospel, and from 12 o’ clock, someone could come up and just talk and reflect on the history,” said Jansen.
Traditions of the Griqua church are different from those of other Christian churches. “We never used to have marriage officers when we married people in the church,” said Jansen.
“However, I took it upon myself to get my marriage licence, and now I am the only one in the Griqua church that can marry people. Before it just used to be the reverends that would do it,” he said.
Jansen explained that funerals are also different as the church takes much of the responsibility. “When that body moves through those doors right up to the front of the church, then the family has no say over that body, the church then becomes in charge of everything, like when to view for example,” he said.
Jansen explained that a reverend or someone with a higher ranking in the church gets a more traditional send off. “The flag would be placed on the coffin and the members would dress in their colours in respect of that member,” he said.
Many members of the church grew up in the Griqua community. “I have always belonged to the Griqua community when I grew up,” said Titus De Bruin, a 75-year-old elder of the church who was smartly dressed in a two-piece navy blue suit.
“I came to this Griqua church in Kliptown in 1958 when the apartheid government was relocating coloured people that time,” he said.
SOVEREIGNTY: The rosette which is worn by women elders of the Griqua church.
De Bruin grew up in the suburb of Ophirton in the south of Johannesburg, before his family were relocated to Kliptown. Even there, his family attended the Griqua church.
“I used to get very emotional when singing our hymns those days,” De Bruin said. “I used to cry when singing, the way [the hymns] were so powerful for me. Don’t look at us now, the way we sing, it was different then”, he said.
He explained that their hymns are referred to as ‘die lof’ meaning “praise”. “Die lof is like our people’s cries in history. We even have our own anthem,” he said, adding that it was composed by ‘Die Kneg’ (Le Fleur) as a means of uniting the Griqua people.
RESILIENT: The Griqua national flag with the kanniedood emblem, flown during ‘Oumensfees’, a day celebrating the elderly.
Bruin explained that it was the songs of the Griqua choir back then that created this movement. “AAS Le Fleur formed the first choir in the early 1900s and sent out a clarion call with song to unite the people,” De Bruin said. “’Come, oh come, while Christ is calling’, that was the song the choir sang,” he said.
Even outsiders admire the hymns of the Griqua people. “Those ladies can sing! They sing so beautifully,” said Gwen Wangra, a local resident and teacher at Kliptown Primary School.
“I have only been to that church once, for a funeral, but I know many of the people who attend there. That is just the way Kliptown is, everyone knows everyone. It’s like this big family,” Wangra said.
“Kliptown isn’t the same now, but back then, we all looked out for one another no matter where you came from,” she added.
The Generations
The church is relatively small in membership as there are about 60 members, according to Jansen. However, on average, only 25 to 30 people attend services on a Sunday, most of whom are 50 and older. “We have a lot of old people because the youngsters have become so modernised now,” said Aunt Jeanette.
It is the church’s tradition that women should only enter the church if they are wearing a dress and a hat or scarf to cover their heads. “The young girls today want to wear pants and tops that don’t cover their shoulder. They have their own way of life”, Aunt Jeanette said.
WORSHIP: Peter Smit (left) and Sophie Weimers (right) lead the congregation in songHONOUR: The women of the Griqua church sing as their national flag is raised during the ‘Oumensfees’ service.GENERATIONS: Pastor Victor Appels of the Griqua church in Kliptown, sits outside his home in Eldorado Park with his two grandchildren.
Aunt Jeanette’s eldest granddaughter, Shameel Usain, also attends the Griqua church, but tends to miss most Sunday services. “Sometimes I go to my husband’s church, which is the ZCC (Zion Christian Church). Other times I am here. I actually prefer this church because it is where I come from,” the 26-year-old said.
According to Pastor Jansen, there is a trend where younger people of the church marry out and attend their spouses’ church or just move to another one. “Even my daughter has decided to attend a different church now because of personal preference. It is hard when you cannot keep the legacy on because when the old people are no longer here, who will carry on this history?” Jansen asked.
Despite the younger generation of the Griqua community slowly drifting away, they still contribute to moments that are cherished by the congregants.
The second service I attended allowed me to witness one of these special moments. As church elder Sophie Weimers stood in the front of the church, she spoke about the strength in song of their people. “Our songs are so rich and so powerful that it even gets the youngest of children singing along,” she said. She proceeded to call on a young boy, around three years old to sing his favourite song for her.
“Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah! Amen, Amen, Amen!” he sang with his innocent voice. Right on cue, the whole congregation carried the song on and sang. It was this moment that made it clear how important singing is for the Griqua community, not just to carry on the tradition, but also to follow the powerful calling of song almost 100 years later.
FEATURED IMAGE: Pastor Victor Appels walks down the aisle inside Kliptown’s Griqua Independent Church. Photo: Chante Schatz
This piece explores all aspects of the tattoo culture in one of the most iconic parts of Soweto – from the tattoo artists themselves to those who just enjoy the feeling of a tattoo needle piercing their skin, permanently marking their bodies with impressions of their experiences.
In the sweltering heat of the Soweto summer, a small group of people gather outside a home in Orlando West. The house is a two-bedroom, brick face building with a green corrugated roof. Apart from a small sign on the gate with a cellphone number underneath some text, one would probably drive past, oblivious to what was going on inside.
The artist is 30-year-old Andile Mazibuko, who has been tattooing since the age of 18. The self-taught artist used his own body as his canvas when he first began to learn how to tattoo.
He started out with a home-made machine, which he still has, tattooing “laugh now, cry later, masks” on his thighs.
SELF INKED: Orlando West tattoo artist, Andile Mazibuko, tattooed himself with a home-made tattoo gun.
The machine itself has the same shape as a professional machine, which resembles a mini drill or electric screwdriver, but the components used to make it could rival something that MacGyver would be able to come up with.
The machine still runs and consists of a motor, adapter, an on-off switch and a sewing needle. Since then he has moved on to a more professional machine and has been using it for the last five years.
Again, he tattooed himself in learning how to operate the new machine, tattooing his left forearm with a tribal pattern.
Amazingly, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two in terms of quality and finish.
Mazibuko found his way to tattooing through his love and passion for art, and found tattooing more “common nature” when it came to expressing himself.
He says he found it tough in the beginning because people didn’t really know what he was doing or what tattoos were about. However, in recent years, “Tattoos themselves have become more common and the artists themselves are getting better at what they do,” said Mazibuko.
“As an artist now, it’s all about getting your work out there, so you find that guys might operate in a similar set up to mine but then also do a lot of house calls where the clients might feel more comfortable and open up more. Even though people might not have the money to spend on tattoos, we still do what we can for them and it also helps us to build our portfolios. The culture of tattooing is definitely there and there are a lot of artists around as well,” said Mazibuko.
BIG MIKE: Michael Ngceshe stands outside his tattoo studio on the outskirts of Orlando West.
“As an artist now, it’s all about getting your work out there, so you find that guys might operate in a similar set up to mine but then also do a lot of house calls where the clients might feel more comfortable and open up more. Even though people might not have the money to spend on tattoos, we still do what we can for them and it also helps us to build our portfolios. The culture of tattooing is definitely there and there are a lot of artists around as well,” said Mazibuko.
On the outskirts of Orlando West is an off white-coloured shipping container with the word “Tattoos” in bold, red letters on the front of the container. This studio shares a lot with a car wash and a small food stall that serves pap, meat and vegetables. The studio belongs to a 34-year-old man who is covered in various tattoos, from a fish on his back to a cross on the inside of his right calf.
Michael Ngceshe, more commonly known as “Big Mike”, not because of his stature, but rather due to his status as the self-proclaimed, “most famous artist in Soweto”, is also part of the “informal” tattoo community and has been a tattoo artist since 2011. “The reason we do tattoos is because we love to do it. We are artists, but we are different to other artists because they hang their art and we wear our art. Wear your art, don’t hang it,” he says while lighting a cigarette.
While you would think that a place as vibrant and young as Orlando West might have a tattoo style of its own, that is not the case.
“Tattoos are universal and so the ideas that people have can relate to a lot of other people from all over the world,” says Ngceshe. “I would say that the one thing that makes Soweto artists unique is that we cater mostly black people, so there are different techniques and other things to consider when tattooing.
“The lines have to be thicker and bolder so that they can show up nicely on the skin and that takes a different set of skills as opposed to working with lighter skin. Not everyone can work with different skin types, but I think I have mastered them all,” Ngceshe says.
He also believes that the tattoo industry is growing and the reason is that people are beginning to understand that they get tattoos for themselves and not for other people to just look at. “You know what your tattoos represent and it’s a way of expressing yourself or keeping those that you might have lost close to you, and that’s all that matters. You live your art in that way, because every life on earth is art,” says Ngceshe.
Culture and stigma of tattoos in Orlando West
HEAVY EQUIPMENT: A home-made tattoo gun (left) alongside a professional machine (right).
While the culture of tattooing may be growing and becoming more commonplace in Orlando West, there is still a stigma that is attached to having tattoos.
“This stigma mainly comes from the older generation where they think it’s satanic and going against religion,” said Mazibuko. It also depends on the tattoo itself and what it is.
“The nicer it looks, the less of a stigma people will attach to you. People would be more accepting if you had a rose or a bird, rather than a skull.”
That stigma is something that Orlando West resident Tebogo Shumayeli, who at 16, got his first tattoo from Mazibuko, has experienced.
“My first tattoo was all about being cool and really didn’t have any meaning, but as time went on I started getting more meaningful tattoos and ones that had more significance in my life,” said the 26-year-old.
“I think about 80 percent of the people in this area have tattoos and they feel the same way. That’s why you won’t really find people branding themselves with logos or big names, of soccer teams, for example. It’s more like you are promoting that kind of logo and you would probably have to get paid for something like that. You find that most people think it’s quite ridiculous to get tattoos like that,” said Shumayeli.
The culture of tattooing is growing in Orlando West and in Soweto as a whole. While it is mostly young people who have opened up to the idea of tattoos and what they represent, the older generation is gradually beginning to open up to the industry as well.
Promoting tattoos and tattoo artists
Ndumiso Ramathe is a man who knows all about tattoos and is not afraid of getting inked. Having covered both of his arms and part of his chest, he even has a tattoo of his birth year, ’86, on his chin. Ramathe, who is the owner of Soweto Ink and organiser of the Soweto Ink Festival in Kliptown, said that he had noticed more parents coming in to get tattoos done and that some of them were even bringing their children with them. “A very small percentage of people do this, but it shows that the industry is opening up, which is really exciting to see,” said Ramathe.
The Soweto Ink Festival, scheduled to take place in December at Walter Sisulu Square in Kliptown, is in its second year and was expected to host both local and international artists who would be able to showcase their work.
“The development of the tattoo culture is slow, but it is getting there. This is why I am getting involved in conventions and festivals, to educate people that a tattoo is not something that you just get from the guy around the corner,” said Ramathe.
“These conventions and festivals aren’t only aimed at prospective clients, we also use them to try to educate artists themselves about the proper hygiene and safety certificates that they have to have in order to operate and be able to get products from suppliers,” he said.
According to the Body Artists Code, found in the South African Council for Piercing and Tattoo Professionals, these regulations include a variety of criteria, such as: “The premises shall not be used as or in connection with a living, food preparation or sleeping space unless a permanently constructed partition completely separates the working area”; “Tattoo and piercing needles, razor blades, scalpel blades, biopsy punches and shaving razors are single use only”; and “Owners must ensure that the transportation and disposal of medical waste is handled by government registered transporters and in accordance with governing municipal by-laws and national acts.”
Festivals also present artists with a chance to interact with other artists from different areas, not just in Gauteng, but from all over the country and to learn from each other. However, this is not always the case, with artists from particular areas, such as Orlando West, tending to stick together and those from other parts of the country doing the same.
“A lot of people from here will go to other parts of the province, like Pretoria to get their work done, especially those that work in corporate, so festivals like this also help us local guys to gain exposure among our own people. Most of the guys that I work with, work as a unit, but you do get those ‘ego tattoo artists’ who make more money than others, so they have cooler studios and those guys are more business driven than us smaller guys,” said Mazibuko.
ARTISTIC FLAIR: Graffiti on the wall of one of the many home-based tattoo studios in Orlando West.
“The older folks who are into religion don’t really support the idea of tattoos and see it as satanism. Personally, I see the tattoos as body art and a way of enhancing how you express yourself,” said Shumayeli.
While the tattoo community is a niche group of people, especially when it comes to the artists themselves, there is also a sense of competition between artists, in particular between those who operate in different parts of the province.
“Those bigger tattoo artists, it’s like they don’t trust us to do a good piece, because their shops will often get full, but then instead of maybe referring the client to us, they just tell them to come back another time, just because they don’t want to lose out on the money”, said Mazibuko.
Image is key
DEEPER MEANING: Butterfly and floral tattoos on Vanessa Myathaza.
Like many other professions, image is an important part of marketing yourself and what you are doing. Being a tattoo artist is no different. “You have to be wild and pretty out there for people to take you seriously as a tattoo artist,” said Mazibuko.
“People would rather get a tattoo done from someone who has tattoos himself, especially if they want to get a bigger piece done. If they want something smaller, then its okay if the artist only has one or two, but they generally get put off if the artist doesn’t have and they want something big or elaborate,” said Mazibuko.
With tattoos becoming an increasingly more common trend among a lot of people, there is a sense that our generation, might be the last to not have any tattoos.
That’s the feeling of Orlando West residen,t Thandi Mazibuko. “It starts with us, going down, and people younger than us will see our tattoos and also want one of their own.
I feel like our generation will also be more accepting if our kids get tattoos, because we have a better understanding of what it’s about and we have been through the phase of having a stigma attached to tattoos, so now our kids won’t have to go through that,” said Thandi.
“The older generation still understands tattoos as being something that maybe started in prison and so it is associated with that kind of thing.
When I got my first one, my mom was not happy with me, but eventually she came around. Nowadays it’s more of a lifestyle kind of thing and a lot of the tattoos that people get aren’t too hectic, so it will be a mother getting their child’s name, for example,” said the 32-year-old.
“I have 11 tattoos and to me, they represent identity. Nobody can have the same tattoo as me. Yes, the design can be the same, but the meaning behind it will be different.
That’s why I put a lot of thought into what I get and other people should too, because it’s very difficult to get it removed or covered up if you don’t like what you have,” said Mazibuko.
Tattoos still have a long way to go to become the norm within society, but it’s places like Orlando West, with its young and edgy vibe, open-minded people and talented tattoo artists that are beginning to change the perception of tattoos and tattooing in Soweto.
Having been permanently inked, the individual walking out into the sweltering heat once again, undoubtedly feels a sense of being part of a community and has a badge of belonging to show that they are part of that community.
FEATURED IMAGE: Orlando West tattoo artist, Andile Mazibuko, tattooed himself with a home-made tattoo gun. Photo: Michael Pedro.
At the heart and soul of the house music scene in Soweto, a small group of female DJs are making a name and claiming the beat all for themselves.
It’s just after sunset on a lazy Sunday evening, when Palesa Sebolao walks into a vast venue. She has a black backpack on her back, wearing a pink hoodie, pig tails, and pink Converse All Stars. She approaches the table where her friends are and takes a seat. In two hours from now she will transform into the star of the show. She will become DJ Palee.
In the same way, the venue itself undergoes a transformation. On Rathebe Street in Orlando East, Shop to Shop, is a hair salon for six days of the week. But every Sunday the shop takes on a different character and is known by a different name – Sweet Sunday.
At around noon, Shop to Shop slowly gets changed into an outdoor lounge area enclosed by tents – there are soft benches and long tables, to the front there is a disk jockey (DJ) booth and two speakers on each side.
She attentively makes her way to the DJ booth, making various stops at tables to greet some of the regulars. People at the venue can still make their way around easily as it is not packed. She takes off her backpack and reaches inside for her CDs. On the other side of the booth, the audience is indulging in conversations and drinks. Five minutes later everyone is on their feet grooving to the tunes, courtesy of DJ Palee. Her mix starts off at a very quick tempo, which encourages everyone to get onto their feet.
After attending a three-month course at Fuse Academy DJ Palee went straight to the DJ booth and elevated her craft to a point where she could play in front of a crowd. Fuse Academy is an only female dj-ing school based in Melville, and is partly owned by DJ Zinhle. Some of South Africa’s best known female DJs like Miss Pru and Ms Cosmo have studied there.
“O, kganti wa dlala?” meaning, “Oh, so you play?” remarks an audience member in amazement after realising Sebolao was indeed DJ Palee. She has always loved music, regardless of the genre, and this is one of the reasons she is now a DJ. She plays some of Soweto’s most sought-after genres, like house and kwaito.
ON THE DECKS: Palesa Sebolao playing at her first gig of the night at Sweet Sunday in Orlando East.
Soulful vocals – rise of the female
On a Sunday the streets of Orlando East are buzzing with the echo of the sultry and alluring sounds of somewhat of a rhythmic piano recital. A song you do not know is playing and you can’t help but move fiercely with the bass of the drum that hits your heartstrings. The majestic melodies sound mysterious and all so familiar.
The amapiano mix by DJ Palee has the crowd swaying and twisting to the dial of the piano. Someone in the crowd does the vosho which is a dipping motion with a slight flick of the leg. Someone else is doing the gwara-gwara which is usually done when a faster song is played. However, this gwara-gwara accompanies every beat of the song, attentively flicking the right elbow and left leg alongside the beat.
Being an advocate for female DJs, she says, “I think female DJs rock for the mere fact that the very same things we are underestimated in, we master so well.” She continues to prove the audience wrong at every gig or event she plays at.
There are many female DJs in Soweto but not enough of them are getting booked as resident DJs at clubs. One out of three female DJs are resident DJs in Soweto, says Nobuhle Nhlapo (DJ Buhle) who has been a resident deejay at Sefateng. Nhlapo has been in the industry for over 10 years. “The same week I started DJ-ing I got a job,” Nhlapo says. It was only in 2014 that DJ-ing became lucrative enough for her to leave her job.
Music and dance is an integral part of the community in Soweto, in particular house music. You can hear this type of music at spaza shops, school transports and homes. The house music phenomenon extends to the greater part of the country. According to Thump online, “South Africa is the biggest purchaser of deep house music per capita in the world.” Which is the case in the vibrant township of Soweto, where house music is played in clubs, bashes, chesa nyamas and parties.
Even though house music has its roots in the streets of Chicago, the sound changed as it emerged in the dusty roads of Soweto and it incorporated sub-genres that are solely South African.
House music has sub-genres that are loved across bashes and parties in the township. The DJs are booked according to the sub-genre they play. There is a certain mood that is maintained throughout the whole event, starting off with a soulful pace which creates a rather relaxing environment and is also reminiscent of the jazz Sundays that used to be held in Soweto.
Music in Soweto has history that can be traced to the marabi jazz nights during the early half of the 20th century, and further traced to kwaito which was big in the 1990s among the youth.
Among the youth
Lesedi Tsilekae strongly maintains the opinion that male DJs are better than female DJs. She has only seen two female DJs play and it was not in Orlando East. Tsilekae is a house music fan who says that the house music scene is growing in her township.
Later into the night the pace of the music goes through a transition which sees the tempo quicken. Lebogang Seoka, a DJ based in Orlando East, said the later it is in the night, the faster the music becomes. This is done to accommodate the heightened mood of the audience. Seoka referred to the sub-genres as deep tech, soulful house, soulful vocals, amapiano and commercial house music.
Seoka also mentioned that he is a lover of music before he is a DJ, and that he has been in the industry since he was 13, but only knows one female DJ from Orlando East.
“You literally have 15 minutes to show everyone what you got.” The crowd seems like it is hard to please, however, DJ Palee makes no hesitation and fires up her set, with her left hand on the CDJ and her right hand on the mixer – the party begins. Taking the crowd by surprise, she consistently heightens the mood of the party with the audience’s favourite type of tunes.
The crowd did not necessarily gravitate to her when she arrived but as soon as she starts playing her set she reigns as the Amapiano Queen of Orlando East.
Research is one of the most important aspects when it comes to playing at a gig or event. DJ Palee said the DJ needs to first check the venue and establish what the vibe is before preparing a set.
She always tries to get to an event an hour or two earlier so she does not make the mistake of repeating a song that was played in a previous set.
Just like many other DJs, DJ Palee sees it as a “hustle” and is also studying and working at the same time. She said she would take up DJ-ing as a full time gig if the opportunity presented itself.
House music fan Sihle Hlatshwayo attests to the fact that the genre is big in Soweto. Hlatshwayo has been to a number of bashes and clubs in the township and the majority of the music played is house.
From the audience perspective there seems to be a reasonable amount of female DJs on the decks. “The response is based on the selection and mixing. People enjoy good music played at the right time,” says Hlatshwayo, who explains how massive the house music scene is in Soweto.
He compares it to that of Pretoria which is known to only have one type of house music.
HAPPY HOUR: Rathebe Street in Orlando East on a Sunday night.
Amapiano – Keys to the future
One of the emerging sub-genres in house music is amapiano. Music producer Lehlohonolo Mathibe describes it as a “dialled down tempo and use of minimal vocals, but rather rhythmically rich wood lock percussion”.
Sebolao’s set at Sweet Sunday consisted of a lot of music from this sub-genre which was loved by the audience. She prides herself on her versatility, as she plays a variety of house music.
The mood at the gig is the determining factor on which type of house music will be played.
Being in a male-dominated industry has never killed DJ Palee’s spirit as she identifies as a DJ and not a female DJ. However, that does not change the fact that more male DJs are booked at events.
DJ Palee was the only female DJ to play at Sweet Sunday between 6pm and 11pm. She mentioned how difficult negotiating with promoters can be as a woman. “O tla thola ba ho patala ka le botlolo” (Promoters may offer to pay you with a bottle of alcohol”), if you are not assertive.
There are many claims that have been made to explain why not as many women are as successful as the men in this particular industry. Nhlapo explained that safety is imperative as a female DJ – in particular when it comes to returning home after a gig.
She also mentioned how that could be a factor when being considered as a resident DJ.
One of the founders of Sweet Sunday, Thabang “Maestro” Mphahlele, is surrounded by his jubilant friends throughout the night, with music accompanying the sultry conversations about business and success.
Maestro is in charge of the line-up and makes sure he checks up on the DJs now and again. Meticulously making his way through the crowd and nodding in affirmation at everyone that notices him, he walks to and from the DJ booth, approving at every mix produced by the DJ.
He said Sweet Sunday is a platform for up-and-coming artists and DJs. He gives the artists of Soweto an opportunity to show their talents and still remunerates them.
Female DJs in Soweto are continuously growing across genres, in particular house music.
It’s 10pm and DJ Palee has just played the last song from her one-hour long set. Some are still on their feet while others are walking back to their designated tables.
The last song in her mix still has the piano dial, however, it is slower than the dial at the beginning of her set. Affectionately making way for the next DJ, she packs her CDs back into her backpack, exchanges a handshake and walks back to the table where DJ Palee becomes Palesa Sebolao again.
FEATURED IMAGE: Palesa Sebolao playing at her first gig of the night at Sweet Sunday in Orlando East. Photo: Ntaoleng Lechela.
For the Islamic community of Orlando East, living in a community that has misconceptions and suspicions about their choice of religion is an everyday reality.
It is 12:30 midday on the corner of the Mosaka and Mofutsunyana streets in Orlando East, Soweto. Taxis are passing and dropping off commuters on the main road, Mosaka Street.
At the corner of these streets is a three-storey mosque, a modern structure which is noticeable by the minaret with a crescent moon towering over Mosaka Street, which is visible from a distance.
A devout Muslim, Ibrahim, also known as Mpho, who converted to Islam 14 years ago, walks into a small room where a microphone is positioned against a wall. Ibrahim’s voice echoes through the speakers above the mosque as he recites a call for prayer in Arabic.
Minutes after the call, men dressed in ankle-length robes and women dressed in hijabs emerge from the corner of the street. The quietness and the peaceful nature inside the mosque contrasts with the busy main road, the constant traffic of passing cars and pedestrians.
WOMEN OF THE MASJID:The men and women at the Masjid (mosque), have separate prayer rooms known as a musalla. The women are seated on the floor while listening to Imam Zayd giving a teaching through a speaker in the room.
What stands out about this community of Muslims is that they are mostly black township converts who were not born into the religion of Islam. As much as Muslims are recognised members of the community their religion and way of life also makes them stand out in a community of people that share similar identities.
MUSALLA:Prayer at the mosque take place several times a day. The men pray and hold teachings in a wide room on the ground floor and the musalla for women is on the floor above.
The Imam, who is the leader of the mosque, a young black man, draped in a white robe, walks into the room. Imam Zayd, born as Tsholofelo Raymond Mashele.
He positions himself on a stair case that is leaning against the wall, known to the Muslim community as the minbar. In his teaching, he keeps re-iterating “Islam is not a religion. It’s a way of life”. A way of life that is not fully understood by the community on Mosaka and Mofutsunyana Streets.
As Imam Zayd gives his teaching, the congregation is seated on the carpet and listening attentively. In the background, the faded sounds of Kwaito and House music from the neighbouring houses are audible, the congregation oblivious to what could also be a distraction.
Before entering the musalla, members enter a bathroom-like room to perform ablutions, an act of cleansing the body, so that one can present themselves to God, clean and pure. After ablutions the members take off their shoes and place them on a shelf before entering the area.
A GUIDE TO LIFE: The Orlando East mosque has copies of the Quran in Arabic, English and Indigenous South Africa languages.
A silence fills the room as a young woman wearing an all back niqab, walks into the musulla/praying area. This is Somaya, the wife of the Imam. She greets the other women in the room by saying As-Salamu-Alaykum which means “Peace be upon you”.
In a perfectly carpeted and unadorned room, the women sit in a straight line, leaning against the window as they listen to Imam Zayd give a teaching through the loud speakers in the room.
With a toddler on her lap, Somaya, explains that women are not allowed to be in the main musalla hence they listen to the teachings in a separate room.
She explains that it is a religious requirement for women to pray at the same time as the men but in a different room. “Men and women are not supposed to intermingle. To avoid things like dating because that is not permitted in Islam. Even when we host events, men and women do not sit together.”
As the women kneel on the red carpet facing a large glass window covered in a black-grey curtain, in a large hall below, the men are seen through the glass window, kneeling down with their heads facing the minbar.
The Misconceptions
ISLAMIC UPBRINGING: From left, Zaynab Mashele and Njabulo Sithole playfully paging through the copies of the Quran during the Friday afternoon service.
After the service Imam Zaydsits down on the carpet to talk about his journey as a black Islam convert, “I was born in a Christian home, and I accepted Islam at the age of 16, in grade 11. After matric I went to study at an Islamic institute in Zachariah Park. My responsibility here is to guide Muslims. In Islam as Imams we are more like scholars. If a person needs something they come to me, if they want to get married, they come to me,” Imam Zayd says.
As a Tswana man from Pretoria, Zayd says the challenges that come with being a Muslim convert make the journey “sweeter and nicer”, as one is able to appreciate the journey. “If you look at African culture and Islam, most of the things are the same. In the olden days ladies were not allowed to go to the funeral, in Islam we still do that because they’re not going to help.”
“Islam is easier for black converters than one anyone else,” alluding to the similarities in historical African traditions. “In African culture a women could not leave the house without wearing a head wrap, it’s the same in Islam,” says Imam Zayd.
There are contradictions that come with being a converted Muslim who comes from a different religious and cultural background. Imam Zayd says that he has communicated the contradictions with his Christian family. “When you’re born in a Christian home they bury you in a certain way. In Islam when you pass away, we bury you on that day.
My family knows that if I die today, they must bury me today and they must respect that. You can’t go against the words of the deceased.” Zayd says that although his family initially was not in support of his conversion, they also respect his wishes as a devout Muslim.
Spreading the good word
“The big misconception is that people, black people in the township become Muslims because they will benefit financially and not just to worship God.”
Somaya says, “When people see black Muslims, especially female black Muslims, they always assume that you converted because you’re married to an Indian. When I’m walking at the mall or in town people always stare and ask questions, they’re always shocked then they hear me speak Setswana fluently.” She also says she was born into a Muslim family in Soshanguve however her family did not actively practise the religion, she says she decided to fully practise Islam in 2006.
“In Soshanguve they always knew that I was Muslim but it’s only when I started covering my face with a niqab that people started staring and making remarks,” she says.
“Muslims are not seen as part of the community, in the township. That’s why we’re trying to show people that we are a part of you, we’re South African but we chose a different religion that you don’t understand,” Imam Zayd says.
The Orlando East mosque was completed and opened in 2011 after much contestation from surrounding neighbours who say they were not informed about the establishment of the mosque. Today, the residents are still not aware of what happens inside of the mosque. Some of the residents had interesting observations about what Muslims do in the mosque.
On Mosaka Street, one man standing outside of the ship container tuck shop opposite the mosque, casually says, “Why are you asking about the mosque? Do you want to join them also? None of us know what goes on in there, we just see them coming in and out and we hear the noise from the speakers several times a day.”
The call for prayer happens several times a day, however, the sound of the call is gentle. Imam Zayd says they had to lower the sound of the call to accommodate residents after they had complained several times.
“When we do it loudly, we want to make sure that the Muslims who do not live within the vicinity of the masjid can hear that it is now time for prayer.” Zayd points out that “A person can say I’m not afraid to practise my religion, so I can make it as loud as I want. Why does no one complain when the Christians are ringing the bell?
When abazalwane sing from the tents you can hear them all the way but no one says anything about that. If it’s too loud we’ll turn it down, Islam is a just religion. We don’t do it at night because people are sleeping.”
One of the residents, Tebogo Maloka, says they in the area did not want the mosque to be built however, they lost that battle. “The shop owner was a Muslim and so was his family. So hence it was built there. They initially wanted to buy the three neighbouring houses but the community refused.”
The plot where the mosque is built was originally a gaming store, the owner of the store was Muslim. According to the residents, the game store was a cornerstone of the community because the youth used it as a recreational space where children go to the store to play video games to avoid playing in the busy Mosaka Street.
In 2011, The Star reported that some of the residents within the vicinity of the mosque had signed a petition and wrote letters to the City of Joburg, objecting to the construction of the mosque.
Duma Orphan Kgodisang, a leader in the mosque, said, “It’s not the community that had a problem. It was just a few people. Other residents were influenced by a select few. Why don’t they stop churches – they were just being mischievous. We don’t have a problem with the neighbours. We even park our cars opposite their houses.”
The Muslim community’s efforts to integrate themselves within the Orlando East community are visible through the Mtholampilo Clinic which has become an important player in the community of Orlando East.
The clinic was opened in the mosque to provide affordable healthcare for residents. Sitting outside in his front yard, one of the neighbours, Sibusiso Mafunya, who lives a few houses away from the mosque said, “iCliniciyas’nceda (the clinic helps us), I brought my child there when they had tonsils. We don’t like the mosque because they make noise through the speakers. They have prayer sessions since 4:00 in the morning, it’s like an alarm.”
This is one of the several community outreach efforts that the Orlando East Muslim community is involved in. Kgodisang says the mosque is also involved in a feeding scheme at a primary school in the area as well as doing blanket drives in the winter to assist members of the community who are in need.
After his teaching, Zayd is seated on the carpet of the musalla with his legs crossed, talking about the modest nature of Islam. Two women walk in bringing plates of dry yellow rice mixed with boiled potatoes and mixed vegetables.
Zayd mentions there are no Halaal butcheries in Orlando East and that Muslims in the area travel to places such as Mayfair near the CBD to get Halaal meat.
One of the plans of the Muslim community of Orlando East is to hold a door-to-door open day to spread the teachings of Islam in the area. Imam Zayd says they aim to introduce Islam to the community because people do not know Islam.
“They assume that Islam is an Indian religion. We already had Islam before Indians, specifically in Northern Africa. Christianity came to South Africa because of the Dutch and English,” he says.
After the service the women, make small talk in Setswana and isiXhosa with one another as they move out of the musalla to put on their shoes which are carefully placed on a wooden shoe shelf. Exiting the tranquil environment of the mosque, the Muslims of Orlando East return to the sound of taxis and children laughing on their way back from school.
For the Muslim community of Orlando East, outside of the spiritual calmness of the mosque, this is where they, too, are at home and where they belong. They are much as part of this community of Orlando East as everyone else.
FEATURED IMAGE: The men and women at the Masjid (mosque), have separate prayer rooms known as a musalla. The women are seated on the floor while listening to Imam Zayd giving a teaching through a speaker in the room.
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.
Bringing people together on dusty grounds and cement pavilions to hosting over 40 000 people at Orlando Stadium, the timeless tradition of soccer becomes more than a game but a way of life not only for players but for supporters too.
Alone black and yellow soccer jersey hangs on the laundry line, giving an indication this is the correct address. A man walks out of the house with a smile on his face and reaches out with a firm handshake. Sipho Nkosi, ‘Mr S’, is preparing to watch a soccer match with his brother and friends the following day.
“Tomorrow is a long day,” he says as he walked back into his house to collect a copy of the soccer newspaper, SoccerLaduma. “Look! There are five matches tomorrow. From half past three, I will be watching soccer. I am just getting my kit ready,” says the 31-year-old.
This Friday afternoon, October 27, in Orlando East is filled with people scurrying around Rathebe Street. The sense of community is amplified by greetings from both sides of the road as the ‘gents’ salute each other with handshakes and slang greetings. “Verder?” (How are you?) is constantly repeated as you walk down from JB’s liquor store.
Vegetable stalls, spaza shops and yard sales are not the only hype of the street on a Friday afternoon in the streets of Orlando. Worn with pride, soccer jerseys in all forms and colours are paraded on either side of the road. Black and white for Orlando Pirates here, Kaizer Chiefs supporters in yellow and black there, some faded and others crisply new.
Further down the road, where Herby Mdingi and Rathebe streets intersect, on the sidewalk of house number 826 sit two men on black and white wooden benches, which have been embellished with a neatly-erected wooden structure. A few steps away from the sitting area is a table with assorted sweets and cigarettes for sale. Next to the stall is a tall white board with black writing: “Orlando Park… The Happy-Peoples, 826”, flanked on either side, by an Orlando Pirates football club skull emblem.
Orlando Pirates supporter, Ace Mokoena, whiles away a Sunday afternoon in the park dedicated to his favourite football club.
Orlando Park was curated by 59-year-old Lazarus Mthe in 2016, in honour of Orlando Pirates Football Club, established in Orlando in 1937.
Offered a yellow vuvuzela by his brother, Ace Mokoena, who lives in the same yard, Mthe refuses to blow it saying he cannot be seen holding a Kaizer Chiefs vuvuzela.
Speaking in Zulu, Mthe describes his passion for Orlando Pirates as a young boy with a smile on his face. “Ngiyithanda ngenhliziyo yami yonke, (I love it [the team] with my whole heart),” he says bringing his hands closer to his heart. Mthe describes how he fell in love with soccer in the 1960s as a hobby that he was introduced to at Orlando High School when playing with friends during break times and after school matches in the streets of his hometown.
The park’s wooden structure which still needs restructuring, and another coat of paint to make it look “more attractive”, according to Mthe, is accessible not only to the community but anyone who wants to take a seat in the Orlando Pirates haven. “I made this for the people, especially for gogos who walk to and from the clinic. They can sit here and rest. People love sitting here. Pirates played at the stadium a few weeks ago and people from Vereeniging parked here and took photos and I told them it was sharp,” he says.
Mthe and Mokoena not only share a passion for soccer, but support Orlando Pirates religiously as a family. House 826 in Herbi Mringa Street is a compound filled with friendly and welcoming faces. In the yard stands a pink house, next to which are neatly corrugated shacks. Mokoena’s and Mthe’s shacks can be identified by the colours and “Up the Bucs” painted on the sides of their respective structures.
Mokoena recalls the last Orlando Pirates versus Kaizer Chiefs game he watched at Orlando Stadium a year ago, from the atmosphere before the game to how he felt afterwards. “Eish, that game! I have never experienced anything like that before in my life. It was packed outside. There was black and white everywhere,” he says, with an overjoyed smile on his face.
Before going to watch a game, Mokoena prepares by gathering his regalia. Shaking his body, he describes how he wakes up with the “spirit” for the game. “By the time I leave for the stadium, I am telling you, you will cry. I look good,” he adds.
Building the Pirates Park was an idea supported by Mokoena from the moment he knew that the park was dedicated to Orlando Pirates.
“My brother put everything together bit by bit. He got some stuff from people in the community and made it happen. When I saw them working with the paint and I saw that it was black and white, I was very happy. But what makes me unhappy is that people come at night and damage what he has made, as you can see it is open to the public and that is not nice. Yes it is attractive, but not like before because people damaged it,” says Mokoena.
A family tradition preserved for future generations
Julius Sono keeps the Sono home well maintained with hopes that it will be declared as a heritage site in memory of his father, Eric “Scarra” Sono.
Just two blocks away from the Pirates Park is a house with “SONO” written boldly on golden plates on the face brick wall. On the window facing the street is the reflection of a faded Orlando Pirates flag.
“Ekse bra KK” shouts a man walking past, avoiding stepping on the lawn as the son of soccer legend Eric ‘Scara’ Sono drills more golden plated letters onto the brick wall.
Eric ‘Scara’ Sono captained Orlando Pirates in 1957 and used football as a way of disrupting the apartheid system by bringing multiracial players to join Orlando Pirates despite segregation laws.
According to the official Orlando Pirates history, players Bernard ‘Dancing Shoes’ Hartze and Mannie ‘Al die Hoekies’ Davids were some of the players that Sono was instrumental in bringing to Orlando Pirates.
The left-footed soccer player died in a car accident in 1964 leaving a legacy of soccer through his family.
His sons, Jomo “Black Prince” Sono and Julius “KK” Sono, continued the family tradition of soccer.
The Sono home has been transformed and is managed by Julius as a business park that seeks to uplift and enable soccer talent within the Orlando community.
“I am following the tradition of my family of dealing and growing the community through the religion of soccer,” he says.
Affectionately known in the community as “KK”, Julius joined Orlando Pirates in the 1980s where he continued to play for five years.
He wears the Orlando Pirates jersey with pride as he walks around the home mowing the lawn and making sure that the Sono name stands firmly on the wall.
IN ACTION: Julius “KK” Sono playing for Orlando Pirates in 1980.
From his room, Sono brings out a collection of black and white photocopies of his family’s history in soccer. “Soccer was very political at the time my father was playing. I don’t remember much, but he had many friends of different races and the authorities did not like it,” he says.
The official Orlando Pirates history says that, “During apartheid, the black majority were withheld from public gatherings in fear of political discussions. Church and soccer were the only way to get together.”
Articles dated between 1963 and 1980 tell a story on their own, mixed with black and white photographs, spread on the glass table in the Sono living room as “KK” describes how fans adored his skills on the field.
“The supporters loved me,” says the 53-year-old. “They used to shout at the coach to put me on the field. I was dangerous because I played with feeling,” he adds, as he points at a picture of himself scoring a goal when he played for his brother’s soccer club, Jomo Cosmos in 1986.
Born and bred in Orlando East, self-employed soccer enthusiast Sizwe Nkosi sells clothes to support his wife and three-year-old son. Nkosi grew up playing township soccer before playing for the under-19 Orlando Pirates team. He recalls how on his wedding day one of his guests made a joke about how he joined the team. “The speaker told the people at my wedding that he met me at Pirates. He told everyone about how they bought me for R250 and they laughed,” he says, laughing.
Nkosi says that he played with Kaizer Chiefs goalkeeper Itumeleng Khune when he was younger, but people always question the truth of this because of his age. He stopped playing soccer professionally when his parents refused for him to lie about his age. “My wife did not believe me when I told her. I showed her some pictures but she still doubted. We bumped into Khune at the mall and we spoke, I could see she believed me then,” he says.
Turning his passion for soccer into fandom has given Nkosi the freedom to mentor, coach and host celebratory gatherings at his home. “You know, when you run away from a thing and it follows you, I don’t know if it is passion or what. I still play indoors and train some guys from here,” Nkosi says, as he explains how soccer remains close to his heart.
Nkosi’s contact list has a couple of popular soccer players. During the interview he received several phone calls from local football stars. Apologetically he says, “Everything is soccer. Sometimes I go to the grounds to watch soccer, but I always find myself analysing the game. If I feel that the coach must put a player in, I go behind the bench and I call the coach.”
Nkosi believes that “spirit” from both the players and supporters makes an enjoyable match. He keeps this spirit alive by hosting people at his home for post-match braais. “When I coached a team, and we were leading two nil, I called my wife and told her to take R2000 from my money for meat at the butchery. She told my brother to make the fire. We came back to my house to chill and celebrate after we won the game,” he says.
STAY GROUNDED: Soccer helps to keep children in the Orlando East community off the streets and out of trouble.
The soccer player at heart remains nostalgic for the days when Jomo Somo entertained supporters with “tricks” on the field. “If you watch the old DVDs of Jomo Sono, you’ll see a big difference. There was no money then, but people enjoyed football and the rules. Jomo used to stand on the ball but if a player was to do it now it is a yellow card,” he says.
For Nkosi, local soccer traditions have changed drastically because of the continuous upgrades of soccer rules set by the International Federation of Association Football (FIFA), the international governing body of football.
He adds that he does not have anything against international football, but wants the township culture of soccer, particularly in Orlando to be upheld because it is what the fans want and enjoy. “Skill. Our strength is in the skill. Our players are creative. When a team is good with skills, you can tell by the supporters. Orlando stadium used to be full because Jomo Sono was doing his thing. People came because they wanted to see the skill,” Nkosi says.
Despite the ever-changing rules of football locally and internationally, die-hard fans like Nkosi still flock in numbers to watch their favourite players battle to win the hearts of the supporters. “All people want to do is enjoy the game. If you tell someone Soweto All Stars is playing at four o’clock, the grounds will be full because people know which players are going to play flair and freestyle,” he says.
With hopes to carry the tradition over to his four-year-old son, Nkosi is already grooming him. “I want my boy to play soccer. I guide him. I want him to start at an early age, even now I started telling him not to hold the ball in his hands. I won’t force him to play if he does not want to, but it would make me happy,” he says.
WATER IS LIFE: Orlando Sweepers Football Club players quench their thirst after an intense training session.
From giving up your yard in the name of fandom, to opening your home to celebrate with the community and preserve family tradition, soccer in Orlando East goes beyond the 90 minutes on the soccer field for enthusiasts.
As it remains a religion in Orlando, the loyal supporters make sacrifices by coming together to share the joy whether it is through providing space for rest after a long walk from the clinic, or an internet café to apply for a job, or just a braai after a soccer match.
Giving up something for the love of the game does not take away from supporters, but makes them feel like they belong to a team long after the 90-minute whistle at the end of the match.
FEATURED IMAGE: A football match between two clubs. Photo: Files.
The mosque on 58 Beacon Road in Kliptown claims to be Soweto’s oldest mosque.
It is midday on a Friday and the maulana (Muslim religious scholar) issues a wailing call to prayer from Kliptown Masjid. Devoted Muslim brothers come from all around Soweto – Kliptown, Eldorado Park, Dlamini, Pimville, Phiri – to give praise to Allah in this house of worship that lays claim to being the oldest mosque in Soweto.
A WEALTH OF WISDOM: Rashid James the longest serving congregant at the mosque.
Located on number 58 Beacon Road Kliptown, the mosque has been in this very spot since 1940.
“However, even with such a long history in the area, the Muslim religion still faces serious hostility from community members,” says Rashad James a frail looking 60-year-old man who has been attending mosque in this building since 1963.
This may not come as much of a surprise since Soweto, like most of South Africa, is predominantly Christian. However, Kliptown in particular is inhabited by mostly migrants who themselves have relocated from other provinces.
Yet “they still see Islamic people who have been worshiping at this mosque longer than some of them have been in the area as foreigners, taking no regarding of how the mosque has been and continues to be a place of solace for many migrants in the community” this according to some congregants at the mosque.
Allah-hu-Akbar (Allah is great)”, repeats the maulana five times. At the sound of the first call James stops mid-sentence and rushes back into the mosque from a bench he had been sitting on that leans against the front of the mosque.
There are two entrances to this weathered house of worship, both positioned symmetrically in front of the building.
The 1.90 meter tall, lean built James with a bushy grey beard dashes for the entrance closest to where he had been sitting – his shoes are already off and left side by side at the entrance of the mosque.
Here, dozens more shoes are lined up awaiting their owners who have gone into the mosque to worship. His right foot goes in first, then his left. He had earlier explained that this is a sign of respect for “Allah’s house” in reference to the mosque.
Aesthetically the mosque epitomises the old-fashioned architecture of early Kliptown. One could mistake it for any one of the original houses built in the Kliptown area in 1903 subsequent to the township having been laid out in 1891.
The area is located on a portion of the Klipspruit farm, named after the klipspruit (rocky stream) that runs through it. Actually, “The mosque operates from the same building structure which was a house owned by a Jewish family built in 1903. It was given to Muslim worshippers in 1940 by the owner when he left the Kliptown area,” James had earlier explained.
There are two features that set it apart from the other original houses that haven’t been refurbished since their construction.
These features are the mosque’s green minaret (dome) which has a crescent moon and star on top as well as a distinctive three meter tall pole with two microphones attached to it situated in front of this house of worship.
Passers-by cast curious glances at the mosque as those coming to perform sallah (offer prayers to Allah) continue to pour in. They are either fascinated by the maulana’s loud call to worship resonating from the loudspeakers or the distinctive regalia donned by these faithful.
Taqiyah (rounded skullcap) and thobe (an ankle-length garment, usually with long sleeves, similar to a robe) are what most of these Muslim men are dressed in.
Another possibility is that the passers-by are captivated by the unfamiliar greetings of “As-salamu alaikum wa-rahmatullahi wa-barakatuh” (May the peace, mercy, and blessings of Allah be with you)”, met by the response “wa-alaikum-salaam wa-rahmatullahi wa-barakatuh” (and upon you be peace, mercy and blessings of Allah).
Their shoes tell a story
As the mosque fills up with devotees coming to worship, what they leave behind gives an account of who attends Friday prayers.
They all follow the Muslim practise of leaving their shoes outside the mosque as a sign of respect for the “…holy house.
Even in the Christian bible, when Moses came across the burning bush, the command he got was for him to remove his sandals as a sign of respect,” explained James.
The majority of footwear left behind is made up of formal shoes and sandals – clearly belonging to the older men who are no longer chasing after trends.
In the midst of this not so stylish apparel, there are jaw dropping kicks that range from labels such as Puma, Nike, Adidas, and Jordans clearly belonging to the more youthful Muslim boys.
Some of the shoes are dusty, the owners have most probably walked from far to come and give prayers.
There are no feminine shoes left outside so one can tell that Friday prayers are mostly attended by men.
“A typical mosque has a section for males and one for females but because we are still using the same building structure build so many years ago, our particular mosque does not have these separate sections hence women worship from home,” said James.
Formal shoes and sandals: A wealth of history
The shoes confirm what James had told me earlier, “The majority of worshipers are older Muslim men some of whom bring their sons along.”
“The Muslim religion in Kliptown is almost as old as the township itself since people from Cape Malayan decent most of whom are Muslim settled in the area as far back as the township itself was started,” said a reminiscent James.
Explaining how he had come to be a regular at this mosque James said, “I am of Cape Malayan decent. My great grandfather was from Indonesia and later brought to Cape Town as a slave to come and work in the vineyards. He maintained his Muslim religion regardless of his Dutch master’s attempts at converting him to Christianity.”
“My father then later moved to Johannesburg in search for work and still maintained the Muslim religion taught to him by his father,” added James.
James’ account challenges most historic accounts on Soweto. Scholars such as Ebrahim Fakude in his academic paper Muslims in the Townships of South Africa claims that “Islam in the townships emerged in the late 1970s and Muslim pioneers in the townships came from Malawi and Mozambique.”
These misconceptions that Islam in the townships emerged in the 1970s may be drawn from the fact that the Soweto Muslim Association was only established in 1978. This association was founded by Sayed Ali Zhange, Adam Ali Koko, Walid Ndebele, Muhammed Ali Mvelani, Faizel Morris, Babu Magudielo, Babu Chauke and Haroon Mbombi.
Another reason why people believe that the Muslim religion emerged in the 1970s as Fakude explains is the idea that since the riots in 1976 many Sowetans started moving from South Africa to the neighbouring African countries, where most of them converted to Islam and brought this religion back with them to the townships.”
The caretaker of the mosque, an enthusiastic Issa Hashim, however, agrees with Fakude. “From the fifties to the seventies there was an influx of foreign nationals especially from Malawi, Angola and Mozambique coming to worship with us at the mosque,” he said.
As the processions in the mosque comes to an end, the congregants start pouring out and each stops at the spot where they left their shoes and puts them on. The old James is one of the first to appear, he standout in his all white taqiyah and thobe and distinctive white woollen glove on his left hand. He joins me back on the bench leaning against the front of the mosque.
Directly in front of the bench are a pair of dusty formal shoes, the owner has a wide smile ready as he approaches, “As-salamu alaikum,” he says to James. “Wa-alaikum-salaam,” James responds. He casts a glance at me and I utter the foreign greeting at him “As-salamu alaikum”, and he responds with an unfamiliar “Wa-alaik.” James is quick to explain, “wa-alaik is the fitting response to a non-Muslim, don’t be surprised.”
Dusty shoes as embodying migration
As he turns his attention towards putting his dusty shoes on, he introduces himself in a very strong foreign accent, “My name is Ibrahim.”
He then goes on to explain how he is an asylum seeker from Uganda who was forced to leave his country of birth due to political persecution in 2002. “I started coming to this mosque in 2005. I was accepted with open arms by fellow Muslims who worship at the mosque but it’s not always the case with the larger Kliptown community,” says Ibrahim who avoids eye contact like it’s a plague.
Like most townships, Kliptown has had its fair share of xenophobic violence. Ibrahim attests to this, although no physical harm has befallen him, the emotional strain of seeing other brothers being victimised and their shops physically broken into or even torched takes its toll on him. “The mosque has been a place of solace, were I can come to offer prayers and have peace even while I go through life’s numerous storms,” says Ibrahim.
A somber James adds, “Our religion is still seen as an Asian religion, particularly an Indian religion by most community members hence the reason why we are seen as foreigners in our own land. This is baffling especially within a place like Kliptown. Kliptown is made up of people that are all not from here, most residents migrate from other provinces in search of opportunities in Johannesburg, one would expect such a diverse collection of people to then be more understanding of other people’s plight.”
Earlier, a talkative Elsie Peters, who is a resident living two houses from the mosque on 60 Beacon Road expressed her views on the religion when she said, “This religion is really not a South African thing, our people [South Africans] only join Muslim churches for money. They see these Indian people who are the original Muslims give back so much to the community then they join the church so that they are in close proximity to being aided by them.”
IN COMMEMORATION: A plaque in recognition of the mosque’s long existence.
Last year, at a function hosted by the Soweto Muslim Shura Council (SMSC) at the Protea South Hall to honour luminaries that have contributed to the growth of Islam in the Soweto Community, founding members of the Soweto Muslim Association Sayed Ali Zhange and Walid Ndebele both black Muslims who converted in the 1970s to Islam confessed to also being of the notion that Islam was an “India religion” before they saw “the light”. Fakude explains how a majority of black South African from the fifties to the seventies converted to Islam as a way of going against the “Christian rooted apartheid government.”
Ibrahim explained that, “Stereotypes that Islam is an Indian religion or that it is only foreign nationals that practice it is due to lack of knowledge.” In order to educate the community, the mosque holds madrassa [the teaching of Muslim tradition] usually targeted at young children in the community who wish to learn more about the religion said Hashim.
“As congregants, there has been a plan to demolish this old building in order to rebuild a mosque that will be able to accommodate the growing numbers of people that attend.
However, since this building is the oldest mosque in Soweto, it has been designated as a historic site making the rebuilding almost impossible,” explained Hashim who has now managed to wiggle some space on the bench next to James.
From his sit next to James, the caretaker explains that the real problem is the fact that some residents have occupied land that belongs to the church, “The shacks that you see at the back of the mosque are on land that belongs to the mosque hence they are hindering the demolition and expanding plan that we have.”
According to the city council the expansion may only take place when the shack dwellers have been relocated to RDPs.
A shack dweller directly behind the mosque David Mathebula who moved to Kliptown in 2013 said, “Black people are the rightful owners of this land and yet we have to stay in such horrible conditions while these foreigners [referring to Muslims from the Kliptown mosque] possess all this space as well as own all the shops in the Kliptown area.”
“Besides, if they [Muslim worshippers] are allowed to build a bigger mosque, it will attract more foreigners to our community as most Muslims are not form South Africa,” added Mathebula.
However, all three Muslim men agree that the problem is not their religion, “The issue is the scapegoating of the mosque and those that worship in it as an attempt at finding solutions for this community that has been so neglected by government.
If the government fulfils its duty of providing housing and sanitation to the community, then the mosque would have its land back and would be able to rebuild and continue teaching Muslim tradition to young community members and assisting foreign nationals affected by xenophobia,” said James.
The maulana is the last to exit the house of worship, as he walks but the three men also stand and finish putting on their shoes, “Wadaeaan (goodbye),” they say and head their separate ways.
FEATURED IMAGE: Soweto’s oldest mosque. Photo: Junior Khumalo.
The Credo Mutwa Cultural Village is a site of importance for African beliefs, spiritualities and traditions. Rich in African aesthetics, it is tucked away in the middle of Soweto, in Jabavu, in stark contrast with the eventful, urban and modernised township lifestyle.
The sound of crickets and chirping birds, and the swaying of tree branches in the gentle breeze is magnified in the tranquil and serene setting of the Credo Mutwa Cultural Village. Secluded in the woods of the Oppenheimer Gardens historic park, the village seems to be a world away from Soweto, which is only steps away.
The sculptures, so robustly representative of the heritage of the Zulu, Sotho, Ndebele and Arab people among others, are all supersized. The village is also a holy grail for traditional healers because of its greenery consisting of indigenous plants which are used for healing and other traditional purposes.
“ALL LIARS, FOOLS, SKEPTICS AND ATHEISTS MUST PLEASE KEEP OUT!” These are the words on the village entrance’s welcome board, undoubtedly capturing the attention of many visitors. The signage, in black and red bold hand lettering, further cautions that a curse lasting seven years may be cast upon any visitors who destroy any part of the place.
KWA-KHAYALENDABA: Sculptures in the storytelling arena of the village. Photo: Ntando Thukwana.
“There are a lot of people who are skeptical of the village,” says the well-spoken man who spends most of his days at the village. The 35-year-old says he was only six when he paid his first visit to the village, and, since then, it has been a place of solace where he also undertakes some of his spiritual and traditional rituals.
“My name is Mojalefa Njase”, he says, and, adding in emphasis, “wa ha Mofokeng (a child to the Mofokengs).” Njase is his mother’s surname, while Mofokeng is his father’s. He says that according to the BaSotho people, if your parents were never married, you use both your parents’ surnames to symbolise that, ultimately, you are an heir to your father’s family.
Njase wa ha Mofokeng says the sculptures’ eerie and strange qualities create unease in some visitors. Not surprisingly, since some are triple headed and others have skulls on strange parts of the body.
“Ntate Mutwa (Mr Mutwa) did not create the sculptures to be worshiped, but some people twist it and think that the people who are living here are worshiping the sculptures, because we refer to them as Modimo mme, Modimo ntate, Modimo morwa and Modimo moya o halalelang (God the mother, God the father, God the son and God the holy spirit). The truth about them is that he wanted us to keep our heritage so that we could pass it on and remind ourselves constantly that this is where we come from,” Njase wa ha Mofokeng says.
Siza Mpye (48) a Christian woman and first time visitor, was not moved by the caution at the entrance warning about the curse. “I am not superstitious,” she shrugged.
However, she was not convinced by another quotation at the village: “A woman is equivalent to God whereby she’s given the honour as God the mother.” Her response was that, “As a Christian, I’m hearing this for the first time and it doesn’t make sense. I don’t dispute that women are powerful leaders and deserve all the respect.”
NDUMBA: A traditional medical clinic in the cultural village. Photo: Ntando Thukwana
In 1974, traditional healer, author and artist, Credo Vusamazulu Mutwa, was given a piece of land with which he created the cultural village, erecting sculptures and homesteads of different African tribes to demonstrate and teach people how different tribes in Africa lived.
The Village was built for the purposes of preserving traditional beliefs of African people in a society that was fast developing towards western beliefs.
During a time of political unrest in the apartheid era, Mutwa is said to have been misquoted by an Afrikaans publication, and this led to student protesters burning the village down. According to the current village dwellers, he was misquoted as having said that the apartheid government should send armies to attack students rioting at the time.
Njase wa ha Mofokeng, who describes himself as a “cosmopolitan man”, says he received his calling three years ago and has still not accepted it, citing the difficulties that come with practising as a young traditional healer.
“As an individual that grew in this cosmopolitan life, it’s not something that one would like to follow and just leave your life behind,” he says.
Mutwa’s renouncement of Christianity in favour of African beliefs was met with a lot of controversy and many believed that he dabbled in witchcraft because of his boldness and unapologetic stance on African beliefs and traditions.
He is said to have predicted the September 11, 2001 Twin Towers catastrophe by way of a painting that hangs in the village’s Green Room that is signed “1979”, long before the crash.
Another claim that has been met with a lot of controversy is that he predicted the HIV/Aids pandemic, and that this is represented in his village in sculpture form.
A phase of neglect
ructures, such as the KwaDukuza Village which is representative of Zulu people’s huts, have been newly thatched.
Before 2008, the entire village had been under maintained resulting in it being crime infested and a danger to surrounding locals.
Lebo Sello (42), a prophet and the site manager of the cultural village, who speaks of Credo Mutwa and the village with the greatest admiration, has been using the village as his sacred sanctuary for almost 10 years.
Sello started making the village his home in 2008 when it was being misused and abused by locals. In him was a desperate need to restore the legacy of Madala (sir) Credo, as he fondly calls him, and much like Mutwa, to continue spreading teachings about African ways of living, especially for the people of Soweto.
SAVING GRACE: Site manager Lebo Sello keeps bad elements out of the village.
Noma yini bhoza yami, woza (Anything my boss, come),” he says in mimicry of the troublesome young men addicted to nyaope that he constantly has to keep out the site.
“The village was not being used the way it was supposed to be used,” Sello says. “It was destroyed, e nne eli pleke ya di tsotsi. Batho ba tsuba di drugs, ba e fetotse brothel (It was a place for criminals. People used drugs here and turned it into a brothel).”
Sello seemingly possesses a sixth sense that is able to notice even the slightest of movements in the village. He looks over my shoulder and with a squint of the eye, looking into the distance, he spots a pedestrian coming from the end of the village attempting to use it as a shortcut to his journey. “Hey, kgotlela moo otswang teng! (Hey, go back where you came from!) That is not the entrance,” he shouts.
Sello says they have to deal with such challenges daily. “I had to fight first by cleaning out the drug users and the gents who chilled here. I started fighting those that turned this place into a brothel. Even though it’s still happening, it’s happening on a very small scale,” he says, gesticulating with index finger and thumb in front of his face. “So, public indecency, those are the challenges we still have,” a weary Sello says.
Makhosi Jabulani Sibanyoni (52), a traditional healer who has been practicing for 34 years, uses the village not only for his personal spiritual betterment but as a graduation space for his trainees and as a place of teaching for his sangoma initiates as well.
He is the founder of the South African Traditional Medicines Training programme and a member of the Gauteng Traditional and Faith Medical Practitioners.
Sibanyoni attributes the neglect and damage of the village to the student riots that took place in 1976. “After the ’76 riots a lot of negative things happened which we are still trying to get rid of, hence there’s renovations,” he says. “We’re trying to revive the spirit of this place. A lot of wrong has been happening because of the neglect.”
Although the process of cleaning out the wrongdoing started in 2008, renovations to the village started early in 2017 and were expected to finish in December.
The village’s restoration is administered using funds from donations made mostly by visiting tourists.
The heritage site, as declared by Joburg City, is more than just an attraction for the amusement of tourists. The village has a constant bustle of traditional healers looking to pick traditional plants for their medicinal practices as well as Soweto residents needing to find a noiseless space to connect with their ancestors.
The village has been used by the locals to perform cleansing rituals away from their busy lives at home.
Sibanyoni describes his divine discovery of the village saying a dream led him to it in 1989. “I dreamt of this place and then I came just for a visit and I saw the village and started frequenting it. Ngize ngizo phahla (I’d come to appease my ancestors) and connect with the spirits.
Plants used for traditional healing: Intelezi or skanama is used for cleansing three months after the death of a family member.
Then I stopped coming here for quite a long time until 2014. What brought me back here was wanting something that could connect amathwasa (sangoma initiates). We needed a place that would take us back to tradition,” adds Sibanyoni.
Contrasting the current state of the village to how it was before it became rundown, Sibanyoni says, “It was still very tidy, very neat, very very sacred. When you came here as a lady you wouldn’t come here dressed in trousers and without a head wrap.
A guy wouldn’t come here in shorts. Your appearance would be respectful. That was a basic law of this place and you would connect with your ancestors, from the village’s entry point, you’d feel a sense of connection,” he says proudly.
Njase wa ha Mofokeng says his mother was a traditional healer who used to frequent the village for her own spiritual practices. The village to him, extends to more than just a sacred space for centering his spirit and mind, it is an important part of his relationship with his mother. Here, as a young man, he watched very closely her practices.
“My mum was a traditional healer. The mother to my mum was a traditional healer. I knew that they came here and did some rituals,” he says as he reminisces about her.
“When I had my down times and my high times, I spent time here. To revive my soul and spirit. One of the reasons that made me love and be interested in this place was my mum. Mme waka natla mo a dula a tlo pahla a tlo batla moreana (My mum used to come here to appease her ancestors and to look for medicine).
The whole Credo Mutwa Village has indigenous plants,” Njase wa ha Mofokeng says.
This aloe variant is used to flush out toxins in the blood.
Despite the lengthy process of the renovations, this village continues to be a significant part of the lives of the likes of Sello, Njase wa ha Mofokeng and Makhosi Sibanyoni who come from different walks of life in the excessively busy Soweto township.
Since Sello’s attempts at the village’s restoration, the village welcomes members from the Soweto community to join in on the Shamanic drumming sessions held each Friday as well as the celebration of annual rituals welcoming the four different African seasons.
“This place helps me to connect with my inner being, that’s why it’s so very important to me. My favourite teaching is when they speak about the importance of a woman in this world. It brings me back to who I am and where I come from,” Sello says.
Sello truly is the hope of the village. If he had the chance to have the world in one place at the same time, he’d tell them, “Idlozi likhona, liyaphila (Ancestors are real), they are not demons,” he says.
FEATURED IMAGE: Huts at the Credo Mutwa Village. Photo: Ntando Thukwana.
I sat alone and watched TV. What a feeling can’t be changed. As they say a smile won’t catch your eye. So goodbye, goodbye, goodbye to loving. Let us be loving…” a deep female voice, hitting all the high notes, blares from a speaker in a room filled with plastic and wooden chairs piled on top of one another on a stage. Rectangle framed windows painted white and grey walls painted with people on them. The song blaring from the speakers is Alice Russel’s Let us be Loving.
Ever so gracefully, gliding across the wooden floors like skaters on ice. Their bodies move in sync, to the rhythm of the beat. Though they are one. Arms poised up, feet flat with toes pointed out and in one swift but smooth motion, their bodies find another elegant and composed position.
Their movements mirroring each other’s gracefulness at Uncle Tom’s Community Centre in Orlando West, Soweto. It is a sunny spring Wednesday morning. Dressed in black shorts and a red vest, Douglas Sekete, 44, and wearing Hello Kitty top and tights, Candice Eustice, 33 are the pair gliding across the wooden floors.
STEP 1,2,3: Left, Candice Eustice led in dance by, Right, Douglas Sekete.
The song changes and the pair move to another dance routine. This time it is a contemporary tango routine which they are rehearsing for a show in 2018. The name of the show has not been decided yet, but it will be held at the Fringe theatre says Sekete.
“Leg flip and then head turn. In the same direction,” instructs Sekete as the pair firmly hold each other’s shoulders. They stop dancing as he decides which choreography to use next in his newly choreographed routine.
Their faces filled with relaxation and concentration at the same time. Sweat drips down the side of their heads as they twirl around each other. “Give me your finger,” laughs Eustice as she tries to twirl around Sekete in one motion.
Aha, so that’s how a flawless twirl comes about. The lead dancer sticks out a finger as his/her partner grabs onto it and spins themselves around, using their partners finger as a guide.
And moving from a twirl, Sekete swiftly yet graciously moves into a squatting position as Eustice swings her arms to the left, placing her hands onto Sekete’s hip.
His hands meet her hips at the peak of the cartwheel and swings her over his squatting legs, finishing the motion. It is just the two of them today.
The other dancers could not make it explains Sekete. “It is that time of the year when everyone is busy at work,” he says.
Uncle Tom’s Community Centre
The community centre has been in Orlando West “since 1955,” says artistic director of Soweto Dance Project, Carly Dibakwane. He adds that contemporary dance began in Soweto in 1977.
Contemporary dance began in town. Town being Johannesburg City. Contemporary dance was taken by one of the first performing arts schools, Federation Union of Black Arts (FUBA), to the Meadowlands, Soweto, he explains.
Dibakwane says that the dancers there had been influenced by contemporary dance. “The ‘Pantsula’ dance started after 1976. It was a form of resistance [against apartheid]. People danced in very small spaces and that is why the dance steps are restricted,” he says.
Dance tutor Thabang Mpooa, from Orlando East explains that after the 1976 uprising, history repeated itself in 1986 with “toi toing” (protesting).
“Initially we tried to move away from the toi tois. So we formed our own organisation on the side. We used to join the toi tois and then sneak around and go into halls and dance,” says Moopa.
Meet the dancers
Sekete grew up in Soweto and is currently staying in Orlando West, Soweto. He has been a contemporary dance instructor of the Koketso Dance Project, at the centre, for the past seven years.
As a child, he was exposed to dancing at “Shebeens” (Tavern), traditional dancing at weddings, at the men’s hostels and at Uncle Tom’s Community Centre. “I used to come to this very same place [Uncle Tom’s community Centre]. They used to do your Salsa dance and your Samba’s. It was more of a social gathering,” he explains.
Sekete started dancing at age 14 with an organisation called Kopano. “It’s a funny story but I used to watch the musical Fame and I was fascinated by the male lead dancer,” says Sekete.
The lead dancer showed Sekete that it was possible for him to dance and that the colour of your skin does not matter, he smiles as he explains why he started dancing.
“It is a fusion of many dance forms,” says Sekete. Now he is talking about contemporary dance. It is never stagnant, there is no set choreography and the dances change with time he adds. We use spaces and to us [dancers] everything is a performance.
Sekete does not consider contemporary dancing a dance but rather a “movement.”
Eustice, a quiet looking young woman, has been dancing for the past 30 years. “I started dancing because my mum was a dancer. I went with her to class and watched her dancing. She did modern dancing.
I just joined in her class and eventually I went to the proper 3-year-old classes,” she says as she takes a sip of her Caffè Mocha from Starbucks.
Eustice travels from Marlands, Germiston to Soweto to dance because she says “There isn’t really a lot of contemporary [dance] companies. They’re either all in town or in Soweto.
There’s nothing on my side, it’s all more for children but not for professional dancers. If I want to dance, I’ve got to travel.”
She says that dancing in Soweto is different to dancing in the suburbs because the dancers are like a family in Soweto. Where she comes from, not all the “dancers are nice because they are very competitive,” she adds.
The pieces performed in Soweto and from where Eustice stays, differ. In Soweto, more African contemporary pieces are performed “because they’ve [ the dancers in Soweto] got that style in them, whereas if you do contemporary in another company, it is more trained,” adds Eustice.
She dances African contemporary but teaches ballet. Ballet is her favourite but says she does not “have the physique” for it. Dancing makes her feel like she is “alive”.
CHARACTERISE: Nceba Sitokwe gets into his character during rehearsals.
The six members of the Koketso Dance Project do not compete. Instead, these professional dancers perform in shows in theatres across South Africa and in some parts of the world. Sekete has performed in Austria, in the musical African Footprint in South Africa and performed at the National Arts Festival in Grahamstown.
Having performed contemporary dance in Malaysia, Senegal and Angola, Nceba Sitokwe is one of the dancers from Koketso Dance Project. It is late afternoon and Sitokwe is inside Mavis Hall in White City teaching contemporary dance to the youth of White City, Soweto.
Arms stretched out to his sides, his right leg points towards the right, while the left point straight. Sitokwe leads his young students in dance as he uses the space in front of him. His body free and in tune with the character he is depicting in the art performance.
Sitokwe grew up in White City, Soweto and schooled at Isiseko Primary, Thubelihle Secondary School and Ibhongo High School. Growing up in White City was “very hard.” “Especially in a township like Soweto. It was very rough,” he says. He never had the privilege of having career guidance and had to “hustle” for himself.
Even though Sitokwe had to “hustle” his way through life, his mum, Ida Sitokwe, says that he was a “good boy and always happy.” She is proud of her young son dancing and has always supported him. “I nearly cried [when she saw him perform], I was so happy,” she says with a big smile on her face as she wipes her hands over her face.
“He transforms ey. He becomes the character and the Nceba that we know… I remember one day we were at Uncle Tom’s hall and they were doing a play about the traditional healers. So I could see my mum tried to get his attention but he was so into his character [he did not see her]. So after the performance I asked him what happened? He [Nceba] says ‘no, I have to be in the character’,” says his older brother, Mzwandile Santi, as he smiles with pride for his younger brother.
Sitokwe has been dancing since he was 15 years old.
“I was never interested in dancing. Then one day I went to play with my friend, the one who owns Ubhule Mvelo, and there, I found myself dancing amongst the other guys,” explains Sitokwe as he frowns from the afternoon sun hitting his face.
He learnt the technical skills of dancing at Moving into Dance (MID) in 2011.
MID is dance company situated in Newton, Johannesburg.
He completed his studies at the end of 2011 and then went onto training as a choreographer in 2012 and dance instructor in 2013, all at MID.
FREE SPIRITED: Nceba Sitokwe is a professional choreographer and dancer.
Contemporary dance in Soweto
Contemporary dance is affordable, unlike ballet or another technical dance. Ballet and other dances are expensive to learn as they are often only taught at companies which parents cannot afford to send their children to, explains Sitokwe.
“In terms of ballet and other dances, you must pay a certain amount to learn them and most of the parents cannot afford that,” says Sitokwe. Hence, contemporary dancing meets what the parents can afford.
The reason there are no dance companies in Soweto is “A private dance company implies that people [the students] who are part of it pay for the service that you [ the dance instructor] are going to render.
The socio-economic situation in Soweto does not allow for that to happen. In addition, one would need the proper infrastructure and fully equipped dance studios, competent staff etc,” says consultant in performing arts David April at MID. He adds that not all dance companies are private, and they rely on fundraising to manage their “operations”.
Sitokwe charges the dance companies nothing above R4000 per month to teach the youngsters in White City. He also teaches ballet classes, on Saturdays, at Uncle Tom’s Community Centre, where he charges a R50 administration fee and R150 per month.
The class is multi-racial, and he says that it keeps the children occupied, away from drugs and the wrong crowds.
Tshepo Mahlake, 23, a professional dancer who is part of a dance group called Genetic Movers began dancing in 2007. He says “I wouldn’t have finished school if it weren’t for dance. I was in the wrong crowd but when I danced, I saw the potential I had and became a regular dancer.”
Dressing up
Costumes worn during performances depend on the piece that is performed, says Sitokwe. “The last performance we did was Malachai. It [the costume] was a beige short and a twisted rope here,” he demonstrates that the twisted rope ran across his chest.
In one show, he did a Ndebele dance fused with contemporary dance, where he wore a shirt and a pants.
COLOURS: The shirt that was used in the performance of the Ndebele and contemporary dance.
Challenges faced by the dancers
There are problems that dance instructors and dancers encounter with dance in Soweto. There aren’t proper dancing facilities, enough funding and Soweto dancers do not get recognised if they perform in Soweto.
“Using Uncle Tom’s, it’s a shit space number one. It does not belong to me, it belongs to the community. So at times we’ll come here for rehearsals and the venue will be booked for something else,” says Sekete.
Sitokwe says “If you are in Soweto most of the time, you don’t get recognised.” He explains that if you have been trained by a dancer in in Soweto and you tell people in companies that you have been trained by a name they do not recognise, people get skeptical. “That’s the most difficult part,” he says.
Despite these issues, the fusion in these dancer’s feet have carried them through and when these vibrant personalities, from different walks of life, from different places in Johannesburg, who share the same passion are not using spaces and making a sea of flawless waves; they are people walking among you and I.
They are massage therapists, mums and reserved dancers who go out with their friends and chill at home.
FEATURED IMAGE: Nceba Sitokwe gets into his character during rehearsals. Photo: Juwairiyyah Jeena. RELATED STORIES:
Kliptown, established in 1903, is the oldest residential area in Soweto. The town holds a rich history, attracting several tourists to the area where the South African freedom charter was adopted, but a contrast between the business district and the residential area means different things for Kliptown business owners who rely on tourism.
The sleek white Mercedes minibus reaches a halt in the middle of Walter Sisulu Square in Kliptown, south of Johannesburg. The American occupants step off and walk into the sunlight wearing hats, sunglasses and holding cameras.
They are on a Soweto tour and will see the Regina Mundi church, Hector Pieterson museum, former president Nelson Mandela’s house, the homes of Nobel Peace prize winner Archbishop Emeritus Desmond Dube as well as the Apartheid Museum and Gold Reef City. The tourists walk directly towards a short but plump man standing outside a tower which is a monument marking the square where the Freedom Charter was drawn up in 1955.
Enock Ngwambe is the short plump man welcoming the tourists in preparation to show them around the Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication. The square was opened on June 26, 2005, in commemoration of 50 years of freedom in collaboration with development agency, Blue IQ and Johannesburg Development Agency (JDA).
The square is divided into three parts. On the eastern wing is a structure built for businesses, hosting an art center, clothing stores, internet cafés, a dance studio and restaurant among other ventures. On the west wing is a closed off marketplace set up for informal traders selling fresh produce, clothing and CD’s among other things.
Enock Ngwambe is the short plump man welcoming the tourists in preparation to show them around the Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication. The square was opened on June 26, 2005, in commemoration of 50 years of freedom in collaboration with development agency, Blue IQ and Johannesburg Development Agency (JDA).
The square is divided into three parts. On the eastern wing is a structure built for businesses, hosting an art center, clothing stores, internet cafés, a dance studio and restaurant among other ventures. On the west wing is a closed off marketplace set up for informal traders selling fresh produce, clothing and CD’s among other things.
Ngwambe walks the group to a small museum where the tour begins with The People Shall Govern Exhibition. Ngwambe has been working as a museum guide for the City of Johannesburg for the past ten years, providing visitors with knowledge on the South African Freedom Charter and its significance in Kliptown.
He starts the exhibition tour, showing tourists examples of Dompas books, original documents that citizens submitted as proposals for the freedom charter, the large metal pots women cooked in, the history of the Jada family who allowed delegates to use their property and explains who the metal figures representing apartheid struggle veterans are.
He starts the exhibition tour, showing tourists examples of Dompas books, original documents that citizens submitted as proposals for the freedom charter, the large metal pots women cooked in, the history of the Jada family who allowed delegates to use their property and explains who the metal figures representing apartheid struggle veterans are.
Hereafter, he leads the group back out into the sunlight to the tall tower, The Freedom Charter Monument. The monument has four diagonal entrances forming the ‘x’sign used to vote during elections, this ‘x’ sign also shines through from the top of the tower.
The group walk around the granite circle reading the engraved ten clauses of the freedom charter. Hereafter, Ngwambe introduces the tourists to a site-guide, Vusi Ngcobo, who takes the group into the community over the railway line that divides the residential and business district along with other Swiss and Swedish visitors.
OVER THE RAILWAY: Kliptown’s residential area AS SEEN from the bridge over the railway line.
The tour of the residential part of Kliptown allows tourists to get a sense of the lived experience of the majority of those who live in Kliptown as 85% of all housing units in Kliptown are informal makeshift shacks according to a study by Himlin, Engel and Matoho (2008).
Following slowly behind the group Ngwambe says to me, “Life’s not good on this side, people are suffering.”
By now, we’re standing on the bridge across the road from the open-air museum. There is a sharp contrast between the business district and the residential area as we overlook several zinc makeshift homes which are divided by sand paths.
“It’s actually an embarrassment that tourists come to the square and then see the way people live,” he says. “See?” he signals, pointing towards a large yard with five mkhuku’s (shacks). “You can see the toilets are outside of the yard and people have to leave their homes to fetch water from communal taps.”
The Johannesburg Development Agency’s 2004 business plan to enhance heritage, education, and tourism outlines Kliptown’s development. It states that the reason the town lacks infrastructure and resources is because it fell outside of the boundaries of the Johannesburg municipality until 1970. As a result, Kliptown, unlike the greater Soweto did not gain the development resources such as transport networks, electricity, water and sanitation.
To improve development, the marketing vision for Kliptown, according to JDA was “to position the area as a living symbol for change in South Africa.” Additionally, their mission was to “attract and harness the power of tourism to help turn the community of Kliptown into a massive economic generator.”
Ngwambe says that although tourists visit Kliptown on their tour of Soweto, there’s not much that they can do for the people who are struggling.
“Sometimes they make donations, it’s small amounts from individuals like R50 so families can buy food for one day,” he says, “but after that one meal? What happens tomorrow when tourists don’t come?” he asks. His question hangs in the air like the Izinyoka cables [illegally connected electricity lines].
As the group walks through the shacks greeting the young children who are cheering the tourists on, one of the Swiss females, becomes emotional. “Amalungu! Amalungu!” the children shout, which to them is simply any foreign person in Kliptown though Amalungu actually means white person in Zulu.
IZINYOKA: Illegal electricity cables connected to a main cable, hang in the air.
Her face [the tourist] has pulled red and she continuously wipes her tears. Her Swiss translator, Mary says in a deep accent that it’s their first time outside of Europe. As they enter the last stop of the tour, a one-bedroom shack which is home to a family of nine, Mary says, “where we come from there is a lot of money, it’s not easy to see the way people live here, I don’t know how to describe it, but we’ve left some clothing donations at the hotel.” she says.
Ngwambe says that the reason tourism works economically in places such as Vilakazi street in Orlando West, Soweto pay to gain entry to those sites. “Here it’s free to enter the museum, view the tower and move through the community, so it’s hard to say Kliptown makes money through tourism.”
He suggests that if tourism were to contribute to the upliftment of the community it would be in the form of long-term jobs so that “people can work for their own money and feed themselves instead of that R50 from someone else which only lasts one day.”
Tourism establishments giving back
The Soweto Hotel and Conference centre, which is in the same location as the small museum where Ngwambe works, is one of the tourism establishments that aims to assist the community by employing residents from Kliptown and surrounding Soweto areas.
It is a quiet afternoon at the swanky, Soweto Hotel and Conference Centre, back at the Walter Sisulu Square.
The hotel is the only four-star hotel in Soweto. It is also the first black-owned and black female managed hotel, with businesswoman and hotelier ,Lindiwe Sangweni-Siddo as the owner.
Welcomed with stairs imitating a red carpet, brown, orange and gold hues give the hotel its African feel.
This is along with the black and white photographs of musicians such as Miriam Makheba and Alf Khumalo performing in the 80s which go hand in hand with Soweto’s jazz history and Rusty’s jazz bar situated after the foyer.
The hotel opened its doors in November 2007 to offer accommodation at an international standard to over 200 000 tourists who visit the township. Busisiwe Mashobane who is part of the hotel’s sales support, says that the hotel offers a new experience to both local and international guests.
“The Sandton experience is overrated as it mirrors what you can find overseas, but our hotel offers a unique African experience as it is the only hotel in the township,” she says.
The hotel also aims to do more for the community , creating job opportunities by employing all their staff from Kliptown and surrounding Soweto areas. Additionally, Mashobane adds that, the hotel also contributes to the community by sourcing their fruit and vegetables from members of the Kliptown and Soweto community.
Alternatively the hotel engages with organisations in the community to which the hotel provides left-overs or merchandise that the hotel no longer needs. “Whatever we can give, we do,” she says.
Nomsa Mthelezulu has some similarities with Soweto Hotel and Conference Centre, establishing the first and only Backpacker accomodation in Kliptown but says the lack of amenities in the residential area hinders her from being as successful as the Soweto hotel.
Lack of service delivery frustrates tourism sector
Mthelezulu is the founder and owner of Kliptown Backpackers, her backpacker’s is on the other side of the railway and is situated two houses away from struggle veteran Charlotte Maxeke’s which is waiting to be renovated into a heritage site.
Charlotte Maxeke, born 7 April 1984, became the first black South African woman to receive a bachelors degree.
She graduated with a Bachelor of science from the Wilberforce University in Ohio, United States of America. Maxeke also founded the Bantu Women’s League, which fought against the proposition to extend pass laws to women during apartheid.
According to Blue Plaques, which marks and commemorates significant historical sites with blue mosaic plaques, Maxeke lived in the Kliptown home towards the end of her life and is buried in Kliptown.
MOTHER OF FREEDOM: Charlotte Maxeke’s house which is to be renovated located two houses from Kliptown backpackers. Photo: Kayleen Morgan
While giving her keynote address at the International Women’s Day commemoration at the Walter Sisulu Square in March 2015 Infrastructure Development MEC Nandi Mayathula-Khoza commited to converting the Kliptown home of Maxeke. Maxeke’s home would be turned into a museum and interpretation centre to commemorate the stalwart and boost tourism and job opportunities for the community of Kliptown.
During this address, the MEC also committed to bettering the lives of those who live in Kliptown, however two years have passed and Mthelezulu says the only change, is the board that has been placed in Maxeke’s yard stating that the house will be renovated.
Mtheluzulu, who turned her home into tourist accommodation says that her backpackers is ideal for international students who are doing research in the area, or anyone who may be visiting for a long duration and wants a real experience living in Kliptown.
She made some upgrades inside and outside the home she’s been living in since 1971.
When you walk in, you’re greeted with natural light shining through the windows in the living room and bouncing off the white tiles and walls in the home.
The room has a light fragrance courtesy of the washed linen. Guests have the option of staying in a dormitory room with two single beds, or a single room with a double bed. Each bed sports fresh white bedding, accompanied by toiletries and blue throws. “I also make African food if that’s what my guests want,” she says.
Mthelezulu says that after she hosted 4 American teenagers in 2007, she saw a business opportunity and decided to register for an accommodation permit to start up Kliptown backpackers.
Since then, she has hosted guests, mainly researchers, from Japan, United Kingdom and China among other countries, but admits that it has been difficult operating her business.
Walking from the city center towards her backpacker’s sewerage water runs through the informal settlements.
The strong smell which, Mthelezulu describes as “so bad you don’t want to eat”, is a combination of human waste and refuse dumped at the railway lines. She attributes the lack of amenities in the community as one of the main reasons her business isn’t doing well.
“It was hard and still is a struggle to get people to stay here,” she says. She adds that she envisions a better life in Kliptown but says that this will only be possible if government steps in because without roads where she is situated, potential customers cannot get to her which prevents her from improving her business.
“I wish they’d help us because if business booms here, I can employ more people from the community, and maybe life will be better for a lot of people,” she says.
Mthelezulu goes out to assist her neighbour who helps her clean the backpackers. When she returns she is visibly angry and shifts in her seat. Referring to the government she says, “I think we’ve been forgotten we’re living in hell and they’re playing with our minds, a lot of empty promises.”
FEATURED IMAGE: A community service project takes course in Kliptown, Soweto. Photo: Kayleen Morgan.
Soweto sees a rise in residents turning to the business side in efforts to earn a living.
The gate noisily creaks as you step inside, hearing the hum of machinery; whirring, clanking and grind as the gears press together. In the middle of the warehouse a young short stout man wearing khaki pants and slops due to the heat, is cutting and sewing a piece of leather on the sewing machine, with his brows knitted together in deep concentration.
Initially the warehouse looks messy, filled with different materials scattered on the floor and various furniture items. From traditional old upholstered couches to beautiful green couches with a golden trimmings. The place reeks of old carpet and dust.
Across from the young man, a timid middle-aged woman wearing a green pinafore is also sewing and quietly humming along to the faint tune playing in the background. As you draw closer to the noise, on the left of the warehouse in the office, an awkward skinny young man is working on a laptop bobbing his head to the now audible tune.
The big warehouse that has outlasted the others has a rusty relic of ages gone, is where these two young Kliptown residents, now 33-year-old entrepreneurs Nhlanhla Maseko and Tshepo Selaelo Ramalapa have been running Kidos Design and Upholstery furniture for the past 10 years.
Maseko and Ramalapa opened their doors for business in 2007 with the financial assistance of Soweto Kliptown Youth founder Bob Nameng. The two man show assisted by their trusty seamstress Lungile Gumbi, Maseko and Ramalapa have survived the test of time, self-funding their passion for their design business starting with about R10 000 capital while facing the challenges of raising more funds.
In the country of growing entrepreneurship success stories, victory is often the measure in money. However, in this case it is about the many years of hard work, determination and perseverance.
Maseko and Ramalapa are deciding to take a leap of faith and abandon their biggest money maker of furniture upholstery. This money-making model saw Kidos make R15 000 to R30 000 turnover a month. The duo has decided duo to enter the next phase of their business, expanding Kidos into manufacturing and supplying its unique furniture in large quantities of 100 units and more, which they expect to double their profits.
SEWFUL: Kido’s Design and Upholstery co-owner Nhlanhla Maseko prepares to make a new couch, cutting the piece of leather before sewing it.
For the young entrepreneurs, realising their dream in Kliptown will come at a cost. “For us to supply big furniture shops, we need more staff with proper workmanship. One of our biggest challenges is that in most cases that many people are not skilled. We still have to teach and it’s a bit difficult because people are motivated by cash,” said Maseko.
Maseko often rubs the back of his neck to ease the aches and pains from bending over the sewing machine for most of the day.
Despite the challenges and hardships Kidos has endured over the last decade, Maseko and Ramalapa are proud of the work they have done and business they have created. “This is [our] passion, more than anything this is what we love,” said the owners smiling optimistically.
Thus far their clientele comes from all over Soweto to source their meticulous workmanship at an affordable price. Maseko and Ramalapa created their business out of an idea that came to them from the environment in which they live, work and play. “For most black people, most furniture shops are too expensive to buy. The mark-up is so high. A lounge suite in the mall is like R30 000, but when you come to us, you’ll get the same suite with the same quality for 19 000,” said Maseko.
An elderly man of quiet demeanour walks into the shop looking for Maseko, to get his daughter’s car seats repaired. As a loyal customer for years, Henry Bopape from Diepsloot found Kidos through word of mouth.
Bopape said, “I trust Kliks [Maseko]. Ngiyawuthanda umsebenzi wabo [I love their work] and proud that they are creating opportunities for themselves and others. However, [Kidos] need more support from like government or other assisting stakeholders.”
The young business owners believe that Kliptown is one of the perfect places to start building and uplifting South Africa’s black community. Kidos provides skills to the fellow youth of Kliptown.
ORDER IN THE MESS: Co-owner Nhanhla Maseko plans and designs all the furniture Kidos Design and Upholstery manufactures.
Transforming townships into sites for productive activities
WE HAVE A DREAM: Sentiments of the iconic and historical freedom charter, which was signed in Kliptown in 1955.
There is chatter between sellers and buyers, old friends catching up and new friends made 25 kilometres south west of the Johannesburg CBD. Upon first glance in the Kliptown’s CBD, the average shops and market stalls seem to be in an organised disarray. Usually, one shop sells everything from cooked food to general household items.
There is always a hustle and bustle of someone trying to make a buck and trying to steer clear of the big black hole of unemployment.
Kliptown is one of the oldest urban settlements in the city rich with history: work, play and home to South Africa’s diverse ethnic and racial groupings. Kliptown was the backdrop of the adoption of the Freedom Charter in 1955 by the Congress of the People. In the Freedom Charter it states that “The People Shall Share in the Country’s Wealth: furthermore, all people shall have equal rights to trade where they choose, to manufacture and to enter all trades, crafts and professions.”
Today, Kliptown has become a community of hope, opportunity, growth and severe heartbreak. However, this diverse and unique environment brings with it opportunities to develop and create products and services that service the people of Kliptown.
The long road ahead …
On The Redi Tlhabi show June 2015, Gordons Institute for Business Science (GIBS) head of faculty of entrepreneurship Dr Jonathan Marks said, entrepreneurship is not yet recognised for the impact it can have on unemployment in South Africa.
According to City of Joburg, 2006, “Chapter 7: Sustainable Human Settlements” in “Reflecting on a solid foundation: Building developmental local government 2000 – 2005 Report” the Kliptown area has a population size of between 38 000 and 45 000 people.
The total labour force is estimated at 41 994, with the unemployment rate between 60%-70%. More than half of the population has no monthly income.
The Kliptown job centre that was opened in June 2016, is part of the Gauteng provincial government’s Tshepo 500 000 Programme. The programme was established to create half a million new sustainable jobs for the youth by 2019.
According to the centre’s data capture officer Thulisile Nyakame the centre has only registered 3000 peoples CVs. Only 10% to 15% of those people have been successful in getting a job with local companies and businesses.
However, the job centre has not achieved what it hoped to do. The deputy chairperson of the Kliptown business forum, United Business Empowerment Network (UBEN) Khotso Malaba said, the development and infrastructure of Kliptown does not support the necessary growth for employment and entrepreneurship.
PLAZA HUSTLE AND BUSTLE: The Kliptown Plaza is the CBD Kliptown area, where it always busy with traders, shop owners and consumers selling and buying their goods everyday.
Molaba said primary business sectors within Kliptown need to assist with the formation of a secondary economic trading sector/industry such as a recycling business started by fellow Kliptownians. “These are opportunities that are not being exploited. There quite a lot of development that needs to be done,” said Molaba.
In the last few years, Kliptown has seen a huge injection of funds towards its heritage status, with business developments centred on the development of Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication. However, majority of the Kliptown residents still do not have access to land that can be effectively developed for development and entrepreneurship.
However, resourceful individuals like Albert Mmbengwa has found an “interesting” ways of providing food services to consumers and creating his own opportunity of employment by turning to the gamble of entrepreneurship.
After being unemployed for almost three years, 54-year-old Mmbengwa took his future into his own hands, starting his fried chip business six months ago on the side fourth street, about 150m away from the Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication.
ORDER NO. 1: Chip seller Albert Mmbengwa.
Attempting to support his family of four with the R350 he makes a day from his chip business Mmbengwa said in isiZulu, “I took the decision to buy the necessary equipment to make the chips and open my business so that I can survive and have something to wake up to everyday. My goal is that one day I will have my own fast food store and make it a franchise.”
According to a Gordons Institute for Business Science (GIBS) 2015 report on entrepreneurship in South Africa, the entrepreneurial activity is improving but still falls short in comparison with other parts of the world.
THE DESTINATION: Come taste some African goodness and have a fine dining express at Boja Nala, located at the Walter Sisulu Square in Kliptown.
The GIBS report claims that aspirant and existing entrepreneurs still face huge challenges and frustrations. GIBS said South Africa’s financial and operating environment is not supportive enough of entrepreneurs, particularly in terms of regulations, policies and access to capital.
Loyal customer of Mmbengwa’s chip business Manfred Thompson said, as a causal unemployed worker he loves to support the local business in Kliptown.
“I buy here almost every day. It’s something cheaper for us because most the time we can’t afford to buy the R15 packet of chips at the store. There is no time for us to sit and eat, so the little we got we use for Albert’s chips,” said Thompson.
After Thompson gets his chips, he and Mmbengwa exchange brief parting words. Mmbengwa takes a deep breath and lets out a fatigued puff. The harsh Kliptown spring sunshine illuminates Mmbengwa’s tired, worn face, wrinkles boring deeply into his skin. He smiles to himself, happy with his earnings for the day thus far.
Many consumers who live in the townships enjoy the convenience of being able to find the same services and goods that people in the city have access to. Since, Kliptown is a primary trading space, Boja Nala restaurant brings the city flair of fine dining and eating experience.
Boja Nala serves steak and other various cuts of meat with a side starch of your choice – ranging from R90-110.
The atmosphere in Boja Nala is laid back, warm and inviting with a cosy lounge feel. Although the restaurant is dimly lit, the high beaming ceilings, earthy African décor and works wonders for the ambience.
After being around for only three months at the square, Boja Nala 39-year-old self-funded owner Mike Menyasto said he chose Kliptown in order to bring South Africa’s buying power to the impoverished but improving township.
“We are starting to attract people with buying power. We don’t want to attract just anyone but the people who make the market. We have not reached the level we want yet. Success is affordability and making money and that is what we aim to do. Currently we are making a turnover of R21 000 on average per month,” said Menyatso.
HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS: Boja Nala has an eclectic African décor, which gives warm and inviting atmosphere.
Loyal daily customer, well-built vivacious Beefy Q. Rayners speaks highly of Boja Nala and the great potential it has.
“There is no coffee shop here in Kliptown and the food they serve here is different. It is exciting coming here every day finding something new.”
Boja Nala which means destination in Tshwana has become thee food destination for Rayners. “Everyone else is selling pap and meat. The chefs at Boja Nala compile their menu thinking what it is new that they can do to attract each and every customer that walks by the board, which keeps me wondering ‘ooh what’s for lunch’. Soweto Hotel has not seen me again.
Manyatso has learnt that entrepreneurship one has to be able to roll with the punches and adapt to the unpredictable climate of business. Initially starting as a coffee shop, Manyatso expanded with the demand to a fully-fledged restaurant.
Slowly the economic developments driven by the township economy are finding entrepreneurial prospects more viable as a means to create one’s own opportunities.
‘Passion to enterprise’ is quickly outweighing the desperation to make ends meet, proving that Kliptown has an enterprising spirit.
“Mike’s ideas and what it is that he wants to achieve with the restaurant is very good over a long period of time. So it’s going to take some time to get to where he needs to be.” Said Rayners.
Yes, Kliptown has shabby run-down third-world streets lined with dirt, and unemployed people but do not be fooled by the poverty and restlessness in the old township.
There is an incredible spirit of resilience and creativity that will help Kliptown become a part of Johannesburg’s entrepreneurial heartbeat.
WINNING BARGAIN: Vegetable seller at Walter Sisulu Dedication Square sucessfully bargains with a customer.
The deputy chairperson UBEN Molaba agreed with the sentiment that entrepreneurship empowers citizens and is required for any emerging market to move forward.
He said the “black industry needs to thrive and need to circulate the rand. The rand doesn’t circulate enough times in Kliptown. This will assist in alienating the depression of Kliptown. Trust and buy black products and services in order to grow Kliptown entrepreneurship.”
Township entrepreneurship is important to South Africa’s economic and social development. Entrepreneurs create innovative and sometimes new competitive markets and businesses, which can lead to job creation and community upskilling.
FEATURED IMAGE: Kido’s Design and Upholstery co-owner Nhlanhla Maseko prepares to make a new couch, cutting the piece of leather before sewing it.. Photo: Nomvelo Chalumbira.
In Kliptown, Soweto’s oldest residential district, the Oushun family has played a significant role in the community for over 50 years. Peter Oushun has made it his mission to keep the art of drinking traditional beer alive. The 87-year-old man’s tavern remains the longest standing tavern, providing solace to the employed, unemployed, young and old community members of Kliptown.
“Kan ek ‘n plein een kry? (Can I get a plain one please),” a 66-year-old coloured woman by the name of Margret Wax asks the bartender. He passes her a one-litre carton of Chibuku plain through a small window with metal burglar bars. She shakes the carton, opens it up at the top corner, careful not to tear the paper fabric of the carton. She then takes a big sip of the sour, thick malt fermented drink and sighs in relief. A thick white foam remains on her upper lip.
“Chibuku must be drunk sitting down,” Peter Oushun says to her as she makes her way to take a seat next to him. He is the owner of the shop and has a habit of mingling with his customers as they indulge in drinking traditional beer at his tavern every day from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m.
It is 11 a.m. on Sunday, September 29. Of the taverns that are open for those returning from church services, only one is busting with life. Oushun Place on Beacon Road seems to be the place to be. Vibrant Kliptownian customers come in one by one, old with a few young ones, either ordering a Chibuku plain or the banana flavour which is the most requested by customers.
Customers sit on benches in the dark tavern with just the light from the sun making its way through the doorway. They sit in groups conversing and laughing about their stories from the weekend as if replicating the traditional customs of families conversing over a jug of traditional umqombothi. The tavern is simple and the atmosphere is peaceful. Everyone is laid back and relaxed, sipping their own “khathun” (carton) of Chibuku.
Margret continues to drink hers. She doesn’t seem bothered by the fact she is the only woman drinking in the tavern at that time. She has been one of Peter’s loyal customers since 1976.
“I prefer Chibuku more than bottled beer. Bottled beer is acid,” she says. Peter nods his head in agreement just as he is about to give a breakdown of how he believes that Chibuku can change Africa’s problems.
The 87-year-old man loves to talk about the traditional beer business that took him and his family from rags to riches.
SELLING SORGHUM: Peter Oushun’s family has made a living from the sale of traditional sorghum beer to the Kliptown Community for decades.
Beer built my home and family
To the left of the bartenders’ window, there is a black gate which divides the tavern from Peter’s home, in the style of many of the homes connected to businesses in Soweto.
There are two doors. Behind one is the storage room for all the Chibuku bought from South African Breweries (SAB), and the other leads to Peter’s home.
Peter sits in the sitting room on a green leather sofa watching the crime channel via his DStv decoder on a big plasma television. On the walls hang photos of his family and quotes about African culture and freedom.
A rotating fan blows cooling air, although he is dressed in a winter hat, black sweater and thick red woolen trousers.
“You know I started this business with just five cases in 1976,” he says. Peter explains that in those days, people didn’t want to drink Chibuku. “It was very low among the coloured people.
They used to call it kaffir beer.” He knew an Indian man named Chunara who owned a Chibuku store which was closing down.
“I am going away, coloured people don’t drink this,” Chunara had said to Peter.
FILLING FLAVOURS: The banana-flavoured Chibuku is the most requested by Oshun Place customers.
At the time Peter had just left his job as a vendor selling sweets on the train. He then bought the land and shop from Chunara.
According to Peter’s granddaughter and heir, Shoenelle Ogbonmwan, Peter slept in the empty shop for six months trying to protect it from thieves. It was the year that beer halls in townships were burnt down.
“I then went to Langlaagte to speak to the white man,” Peter continues. “I asked him, ‘How can I promote this business?’” The ‘white man’ offered him five cases to sell. “I went there to a coloured street called Pampam to promote it there, especially to young people, and it was sold out. I went back and sold 10 cases. I asked for more until I ended up with 5000 cases.”
One of the tavern employees comes in and asks Peter if he is ready to have his lunch. She brings him some biryani and beetroot.
A FAMILY AFFAIR: Peter Oushun poses with his granddaughter, Shoenelle Ogbonmwan, who will inherit the tavern, and her son, Amadeo.
“But, you see, people undermine me; they think ama-khathun,” he says laughing, as he holds a spoonful of food. “Everybody undermines me but they don’t know kanti I’m doing it! Do you see my home? Even my children in town have nice houses because of this business. I’ve got one who drives a BMW and the other has a nice house in the suburbs. It’s all because of me!”
Shoenelle confirms this when she says, “He bought me my first car, my first townhouse, because of this shop.” Oushun Place has sustained three generations: Peter, Peter’s daughter Shyanne, and her daughter Shoenelle.
The beer necessities
It is now 1pm. Different faces can be spotted back in the tavern, many of them elderly coloured men. They stare at me with bewildered eyes.
They seem to be wondering what a 23-year-old girl black girl dressed in polka-dot a skirt, holding a camera and notebook, could be doing in this tavern?
Marget is sipping her third round of Chibuku. This time she is seated at a table with two gentlemen, very quiet men who have travelled from Johannesburg to Kliptown for a drink at Oushun Place. I join them, and Peter joins us.
“You know, ever since I have been drinking this, I do not get constipation,” Margret says, looking at me with a wise, wrinkled face, and eyes with the irises circled with grey lines. Peter jumps in the conversation to add more benefits of Chibuku.
He has philosophies about them written up on the walls inside and outside the tavern. “Sorghum beer is good for pregnancy, breastfeeding and high blood pressure”; “One Africa One Hair, One nation”; and “Chibuku, one mashangane, the beer of Africa”.
n 2014 the Gauteng Liquor Board (GLB) introduced new regulations which significantly affected Oushun Place. One was that, “Taverns and pubs have been merged into a single category licence” and another, “Shebeen licence traders will only be allowed to sell alcohol until 10 pm. during the week”.
These were attempts to curb noise pollution in residential areas and to limit negative exposure of children and residents to beer.
Peter does not agree. He insists that because Chibuku is a traditional beer it should not have the same regulations as regular alcohol.
“Chibuku is a breakfast for blacks before they go to work!” he says passionately.
“I’m not selling beer, I am selling sorghum!” he added. Through this logic, it makes no sense for the tavern to open at 10 a.m. As a result of his belief Peter says he once had to sleep in jail because he refused to get a liquor licence.
“Oupa will always believe that Chibuku beer is natural. He even refused to get a licence because of that,” Shoenelle says. “We lost a lot of money because of that. They took away 250 crates every second day,” she adds.
Peter even wrote letters to the presidency. In one letter, written on May 20, 2009, titled “Promoting sorghum beer” and addressed to President Jacob Zuma he advocates for sorghum beer and its benefits.
Written in blue ink, and neat cursive handwriting, a section of the letter reads: “I was the one who promoted this sorghum through clinics, suggesting to them that it cures illnesses regarding high blood pressure and kidney problems as well as ulcers.”
According to production manager of United National Breweries (UNB), where Chibuku is brewed, Chibuku falls under alcoholic beverages because of its percentage of alcohol after the fermentation period.
“It produces a maximum of 3% to 3.5% of alcohol after 3 days,” he says.
“We don’t sell it as alcohol but because of the properties it has it is classified as that,” he adds.
According to a report from Eye Witness News in July 2017, “Government wants to tighten the screws on the production and sale of malt and sorghum beer, including traditional African beer.” This may cause further problems for Peter’s business.
However, after the jail incident, Shoenelle says they managed to “pull through” and finally obtain a liquor licence and Oushun Place became a big name with UNB.
“They [UNB] offered Oupa to become a distributor for the whole of Soweto, but he declined,” she says. She blames his decision on being very “set on his ways”.
Local vendor Johna Mabasa set up her small shop across Oushun’s Place selling roasted chicken feet to community members and some of Peter’s customers.Unemployed Sylvester Ntukela used to own a store which sold carpets called Bio Industrious. He likes to shake his chibuku carton for at least a minute before drinking it.Pensioner Margret Wax has been coming to Oushun’s Place ever since it was established in 1967. She is one of Peter’s close friendsUnemployed Khaya Phantshwa originated from the Eastern Cape to Johannesburg to search for a job. He often visits Oushun’s Place for a drink or two.Supervisor Bridget Peacock is Peter’s oldest existing employees, and she runs the day-to-day sales of Chibuku at the tavern.Maponya Mall Vendor Samuel Manona usually sells super glue and stickers on crown reef road near Maponya Mall. He can gulp down a carton of chibuku in one go.Domestic helper Samantha Anthony is often asisted by her son as she takes care of Peter’s house and tavern. She makes one of the best Briyani meals.Merchant Moses Chisi, works at a community center behind Oushun’s Place and enjoys the chibuku plain flavour.
Preserving African traditions and cultures to Peter is of utmost importance. But what’s even more important to him is his loyalty to his customers. They love Oushun Place. It is one place that they seem to get a break from all the troubles they experience. At least one community member thinks so.
A local security guard named Patrick Shongwe says the tavern is always packed.
Even in Soweto they do sell this drink but here [in Kliptown] it is very popular,” he says as he waits to collect his shoes from the shoesmith neighbouring Oushun Place. Although Patrick doesn’t drink, he is convinced that the community members drink as a way to escape from their problems.
“The problem is that they are not working, that’s why they can enjoy themselves. And it’s cheaper, unlike buying beer. So whatever they get, that amount they buy the beer,” he says waving one hand in the air while the other tries to fit his refined shoe on his foot.
Unemployment is a huge issue in Kliptown. According to the most recent statistics from Wazimaps and Stats SA, as of 2011, Kliptown’s unemployment rate is more than 60%.
This is evident as young and old people can be seen loitering along the streets. That’s if they aren’t Chibuku drinkers. “Crime is very rife here; you cannot take chances, especially at night,” Patrick adds, as he carries his shoes away.
Across the street from Oushun Place a woman named Johna Mabasa sells braai’d chicken feet, called ‘runaways’ by locals. Her stall is held together with torn cloth and wooden sticks, shading her from the sun.
Drinkers from Oushun Place like to buy there. “Ekuseni, nasemini, kugcwele kakhulu, and bayathenga amakhathun (In the morning, in the afternoon, it is always full and people buy the cartons),” she says, turning the chicken feet on her small braai stand.
Oushun Place is a source of business for Johna. She has been at the same spot for three years now selling BBQ-spiced ‘runaways’ to Peter’s customers as well as by passersby in order to support her two daughters.
“He was very strict, I used to read a page for R5 because at the time Barbie dolls cost R5,” Shoenelle says reminiscing about growing up in the Oushun home.
After Peter showed me the letters to the president, he took out from one of the drawers in his room a photo of Shoenelle. He stared into it like she was his prized possession.
“Everyone knows he is close to my heart,” Shoenelle says. “I’m sure they wonder how hard it would hit me when he is to die. He is my father figure.
If I have any issues I don’t lack with him,” she says about Peter. Shyanne, Shoenelle’s mother was a single mother. They moved to the city when Shoenelle turned 12. The shop continued to finance their family, taking her to the best schools and giving her the best education in the suburbs.
Although Peter would love for her to move back to Kliptown to run the business when she takes it over, Shoenelle doesn’t see herself living there. “There’s nothing there for me, sweetheart. He has been buying these flat screen TVs, and tries to make everything nice for me,” she says.
Shoenelle would rather stay in Johannesburg with her husband and one-year-old son. They have adopted the suburban lifestyle of the affluent Winchester Hills. “I can’t take my husband to move there, he has his pride and he has also built a home for us here,” she adds in a frustrated voice.
At the moment Oushun Place has been transferred to Shoenelle’s name while Peter continues to manage the tavern.
“All I am waiting for is for him to finally rest his eyes in the next five years, my dear.” She says she would like to keep everything the way it is so as to keep her grandfather’s legacy of Oushun Place: “One Nation, one mashangane, the beer of Africa”, and ensuring that it remains a place for Kliptownians, non-Kliptownians, the old, the young, the jobless and the employed to come and enjoy an affordable, thick, malt, fermented taste of Africa’s favourite sorghum beer.
FEATURED IMAGE: Peter Oushun poses with his granddaughter, Shoenelle Ogbonmwan, who will inherit the tavern, and her son, Amadeo. Photo: Karen Mwendera.
Will we ever have peace and friendship within and across our borders? In this episode of We Should Be Writing, the Vuvu team takes on the final promise of the Freedom Charter: There shall be peace and friendship. We unpack how this vision clashes with the growing issue of xenophobia in South Africa today. Our guests […]
