Social mobility is not a walkable journey
Education breeds success, but for some Born Frees to grasp their promised freedom, parents have to make the difficult decision of placing them in schools outside the township – with or without the government’s help in getting them there.
The born-free generation
It is 6am, on a cold, dark morning in the middle of an average 2008 winter. The sun has not yet risen in the cosy three-bedroom Segoale household, yet it is warmed by the steam of multiple drawn baths. My slow movements in waking up are countered by the family of four’s frantic yet seemingly choreographed dance around the house: securing uniforms, jackets and ties in a flurry of green and red, the colours of our primary school. A 10-year-old Tumi Segoale, who had been awake for at least an hour, sits on the couch and offers me a warm bowl of cereal while I chase the sleep from my eyes. “Dude, when do you sleep?” I ask him as I sit down, exhausted from the rush. “I usually use the drive to school to catch up. You get used to it. But we let you sleep in a bit.”
Tumi Segoale’s story, navigating the opportunities available to him as a Born Free, reflects the truth President Cyril Ramaphosa attempted to allude to in his story of Tintswalo. It is not a tale of fantasy, but real struggle – and, more importantly, effort – to get into the desired middle class, which many people often find to be a mirage.
The born-free generation are democracy’s children: those “born without the burden of apartheid”, either after 1990, the year Nelson Mandela was released from prison, or post-1994, the year of the first democratic election. Supposedly, Born Frees are able to enjoy a standard of living and a recovering economy withheld from their parents.
The latest Quarterly Labour Force Survey from Statistics South Africa (Stats SA) shows that unemployment among people with less than a matric is 30% higher than among those who have graduated from a tertiary institution. Born Frees, therefore, need to access education before they can access this economic advantage.
Itumeleng “Tumi” Segoale was born in 1998 at the Johannesburg Hospital. He has stayed in the same house in Jabulani, Soweto for as long as he can remember. “Listening to my parents talk about how they grew up and how tough it was… it dawned on me just how flippin’ lucky we are that we were born at the right time,” he says.
Children’s Geographies published a study exploring the relationship between school choice and geography in Soweto. As a result of the apartheid-era Bantu Education Act, the educational policy of schools and the resources devoted to the specific institutions were wholly determined along racial lines.
What this created, even in the democratic era, is a legacy of well-performing, well-resourced schools typically found in “white” areas. “It has left behind a persistent set of geographically defined inequalities in educational infrastructure and resources,” the study states. According to South African Policy, a learner is considered to attend a “local” school if they travel a maximum of 3km from their home. The study notes that about a third of children between1997 and 2003 travelled more than 3km to school, with about 20% travelling more than 10km.
Tumi Mashiane, the executive manager’s assistant of the Southern African Bus Operators Association, contextualises the transport system before 1994. “Pre-democracy, the transport system was fragmented, largely serving affluent areas while neglecting townships. Infrastructure was underfunded and often inadequate.”
In 1996, the national government released the White Paper on National Transport Policy in an attempt to address these disparities. Former minister of transport Sindisiwe Chikunga reiterated its goal in June 2024, saying the White Paper “articulated a mission that promoted the use of public transport over private transport…. This system would be designed in such a way as to improve levels of accessibility for all.” The National Land Transport Strategic Framework outlined the national land transport strategy. It also established key performance indicators (KPI) to track the progress of policies and strategic initiatives – KPIs that the government continues to struggle to meet.
So by 2004, when considering which school to place their child in, if Tumi’s parents aimed to “escape” the legacy of apartheid, they needed to send him to a school with better resources, outside Soweto. They were not the only parents in Soweto to make this decision. In 1996, the Mail & Guardian reported that tens of thousands of parents in Soweto chose to send their children to schools in wealthier suburbs.travelling more than 10km.
2004 to 2011: Primary school begins
Bedfordview is a quiet suburb in eastern Johannesburg. Some 14,000 people populate the calm streets, with two-thirds of them being white and English-speaking. Tumi attended Bedfordview Primary School (BPS), one of the few public schools in the suburb. The well-known school is surrounded by a bright, green fence, providing just enough space to see the six-lane swimming pool and newly built classrooms glimmering in the sunlight. The opposite side of the school hosts the general pick-up and drop-off area. This is well-paved with a gorgeous exposed brick display, sponsored, in part, by the students and parents through a buy-a-brick campaign. The school takes advantage of its location in a suburb where the average cost of a property is just shy of R3-million. Tumi’s parents worked near the school and it became the natural choice to send their son there.
Reflecting on this decision, he tells me, “There’s always a weird conception about… going to school in the hood that I’ve seen and it’s not good.” Tumi felt he attended a school that forced him to take his education seriously, an experience his friends attending local schools did not receive. In 2010, Soweto had 60 underperforming schools; other townships, such as Sharpeville, Tembisa and Mamelodi, recorded only 10 each. Then MEC of education Barbara Creecy hosted a summit to address the extensive rate of underperforming schools in Soweto compared to other townships. Although many parents were now placing their children in wealthier, “white” schools, resources were not necessarily committed to match this increase in mobility.
With apartheid’s legacy of confining black people outside urban centres, public transport infrastructure could not adequately address urban development in overpopulated, under-resourced areas like Soweto. “We have a new tendency called the urban sprawl, meaning areas coming into existence not far outside our urban centres of work and or residence,” says Lunga Jacobs, a lecturer and researcher in the Department of Transport at the University of Johannesburg (UJ).
One KPI set out in the 1996 White Paper was an average travel time to work of less than an hour. Every morning, during peak traffic, Tumi would spend up to an hour-and-a-half on the road to get to school. The government had 10 years to make schooling more accessible for students like Tumi, who attended BPS the year after this milestone was meant to be achieved. At this time, taxis from Soweto dropped their passengers off at the Eastgate Mall taxi rank, a 35-minute walk to the school. Fortunately, Tumi attended school near his parents’ work and they could drive him.
Unfortunately, due to a budget shortfall in the billions, expired bus contracts from 1997 were renewed on a short-term basis, ranging from month-to-month to three years. Short contracts and underfunding required prioritising the maintenance of the ageing bus fleet, preventing conductors from adding additional routes to meet passenger demands. When contracts were offered, none were awarded. Therefore, any bus routes entering Bedfordview (and similar areas) did not travel deep enough into the suburb to reach Tumi’s school. “[W]e in transport… have a term called ‘sunk cost’… meaning it’s costs you forgo for the benefits you will reap on the infrastructure over the long term,” Jacobs says. But without such outlay, bus owners are unable to effectively plan for the future of urban development.
2012 to 2016: Imperfect progress
“In high school it got even worse. At Jeppe it was more strict that I be at school [on time]. So [… we] became a lot more [disciplined]. [W]e needed to be ready to leave the house at six…” Tumi says. He is not alone. Stats SA found that almost 30% of students in 2013 had to leave home between 6am and 7am to make it to school on time. “Why didn’t you use other methods [of transport]?” I ask. “[Because I’m] living next to actual thieves,” he responds.
Safety is a concern surrounding any method of public transport, whether rail, bus or taxi. “I was so terrified that once I had a phone, if it got stolen, my parents just wouldn’t have the cash to buy it for me,” Tumi says. Stats SA’s National Household Travel Survey continuously emphasises this same sentiment. The 2013 survey, specifically, demonstrated that households had to wait even longer to access public transport than previously, with their journey times increasing. This lack of reliability, combined with safety concerns, likely contributed to the increase in private vehicles on the road, directly contradicting the government’s KPI of decreasing private-vehicle use.
More than two-thirds of people in the country now use taxis as a means of transport, but the taxi sector is a notoriously difficult industry for the government to regulate. Although taxis are an affordable method of transport, the industry is marred by ‘intimidation, lawlessness [and a] lack of vehicle safety protocols’. A study on transport economics reflected on taxis’ increasing market share, saying that, should other means of transport not be developed, “The country will soon become entirely dependent on the informal minibus taxi industry.” A haunting warning of what was to come.
2016 to 2021: Independence comes at a cost
Tumi’s parents reflect differently on those same formative years. For them, their mode of transport was less about convenience and more about the money they saved by travelling together as a family. The National Household Travel Survey shows the proportion of income spent on transport has been increasing. In 2020, more than 30% of households spent more than 10% of their income on public transport. Another KPI not met.
The taxi industry, with its increasing market share in transport (almost 90% of the country at this point), is not subsidised by the government in the same way as the train and bus systems. Olga Mashilo, the director of Boleng Bontle Consultants, which specialises in transport and logistics research, says that a major contributor to the expense of transport is the cost of fuel. “We’re putting too much [in]to the fuel levy and there is no return on investment when you look at the infrastructure,” she says.
Nevertheless, craving independence, and to avoid that early morning struggle his parents still experience, Tumi began to actively explore his options during university. When he started at UJ, he discovered a web of transport allowing him to arrive at school at his leisure. Going to UJ’s Soweto campus allowed him to take a shuttle directly to the main campus. After that it was a simple Rea Vaya bus to anywhere else in the city. This is a path that many students in Soweto follow.
Near the end of Tumi’s primary school days, the City of Johannesburg introduced the Rea Vaya bus system, in preparation for the 2010 football World Cup. Its large red buses were reminiscent of the Metro bus system they were introduced to replace. With many abandoned bus stations scattered throughout the city – some of them complete, but lacking the staff and accompanying buses that populate the operational stations – many passengers pack the taxi ranks to travel home. Although the Rea Vaya system remains incomplete, it carries Tumi and many others like him from Soweto to and through Johannesburg for as little as R10 – a price possible only due to government subsidisation.
The future awaits – if you can drive there
Living in the same house in Jabulani – now by himself – Tumi is responsible for his own food, expenses and transport. After spending late nights playing PlayStation, he wakes up early to start his day. His work as a trainee auditor takes him all over the province, occasionally as far as Pretoria. The days spent in the central business district made him realise how traversable a city Johannesburg has become. Despite this, more than half of Johannesburg learners still walk to school, driven only by their resilience.
To survive this city, you’ve got to have thick soles. And, if you can’t drive, walk.
FEATURED IMAGE: The vandalised sign of the Orchards Clinic Rea Vaya station. While the structure was completed in 2020, the actual station has yet to open. Photo by: Thato Gololo
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