Three decades of democracy have not alleviated the struggles of South Africa’s townships – the majority of them remain as dormitories of cheap labor.
How would you describe the significance of 30 years under democratic governance in South Africa? “Honestly, I think the situation just got worse than before,” says Daphne Malakwane, an elderly resident from a township south of Johannesburg.
Thirty years have passed since the end of apartheid and the meaning of democracy varies greatly across most South African townships. The legacies of the apartheid regime still perpetuate economic inequalities, evident in how spatial planning manifests in the majority of townships in Johannesburg.
The effects of apartheid segregation mean many people live far away from the greater economic hubs and township residents face hefty transport costs to access essential services like proper healthcare, quality education and employment opportunities. To access services, residents must spend money on transport to access affluent places in the cities and suburbs.
Increased numbers of unemployed youth in the township have resulted in a wave of drug addicts who have reverted to crime. Linganiso Sibabalwe, an Orange Farm resident, highlights how unsafe his neighborhood has become over the years. “Community members have learned to take matters into [their] own hands as far as the law is concerned: they no longer rely on the South African Police Services,” he says.
The birth of Johannesburg
The City of Johannesburg became the economic hub of South Africa long before the advent of apartheid. The discovery of gold in 1886 led to a gold rush that significantly affected the evolution of the city and surrounding regions, culminating in it becoming the dominant economic force in the country.
Johannesburg attracted a diverse population, drawn by the promise of wealth and economic opportunities, who shared common goals and coexisted harmoniously. However, the materialisation of apartheid in 1948 resulted in the enactment of oppressive and harsh policies mandating racial segregation and unequal laws that restricted where black, Indian and Coloured people were allowed to live and work.
Black people specifically were forcibly removed and relocated to areas known as Bantustans, which were exemplified by grim living conditions, insufficient infrastructure, and restricted access to essential services.
“The government had a name for the Bantustans back then: they used to label them as ‘labour reservoirs’. We were kept right next to the cities and mines so that we could wake up very early and go to work for the white man,” says Godfrey Baloyi, a long-time resident of Orange Farm.
International pressure and global condemnation resulted in economic sanctions and cultural boycotts against South Africa. Coupled with the internal resistance of freedom fighters, this led the government to eventually stop the unchecked brutality.
Apartheid’s racial segregation enforced rigid systems that institutionalised inequality, particularly in black communities. People living in Bantustans had restricted access to quality education, economic opportunities and quality healthcare.
With the introduction of democracy in 1994, the government aimed to restore the dignity of its people by expropriating farmland on the outskirts of the cities and converting it to township development. One of the earliest policies to promote this was the Reconstruction and Development Programme (RDP) which was tasked with rolling out low-cost housing in townships.
This entrenched socioeconomic exclusion of the poorest South Africans, confining them to the fringes of the greater city. According to Neil Klung, a senior lecturer at the University of the Witwatersrand’s School of Architecture and Planning, the government’s plan was focused on the development of houses instead of the development of integrated settlements. The unintended consequence was the reinforcement of apartheid spatial-planning patterns, which have manifested today in townships such as Orange Farm. The latter is a township based in a semi-rural, underdeveloped area, located about 40km south of Johannesburg.
One of Orange Farm’s more income-generating streets, everything from transport to tomatoes is on sale. Photo: Salim Nkosi
Migration to Orange Farm
Orange Farm, which was established in 1989 by the former Transvaal Provincial Administration (TPA), grew to a population of more than 70 000 people by 1991. At this time the TPA, in an attempt to edge closer to black urbanisation had begun building low-cost brick houses that were offered for sale to the community. The TPA encountered significant challenges with this programme: key issues that surfaced included severe levels of poverty and unemployment, which meant buying these stands was out of reach for people migrating to Orange Farm.
Khosi Mnareng (65) a long-time Orange Farm resident, said that he lived in Pimville before he moved to his current location. Soweto was overpopulated and Mnareng felt compelled to move elsewhere if he were to provide for his family. He says: “We all came here for better economic opportunities and stable housing. Many of us got weary of being consistently displaced and relocated by the apartheid government – Orange Farm offered a sense of permanence during those times”.
But this is not the case for people who reside in Orange Farm today. When Mnareng first moved to Orange Farm, he worked on a farm to provide for his family. His wife Mary, who together with her husband, was standing in a lengthy queue waiting for their monthly pensioner’s grant, added that she came to Orange Farm because she had found a job as a domestic worker in white people’s farmhouses. She says, “At least we could resort to that as an option back then. Now that white flight has occurred, this place offers nothing in terms of economic prospects.”
Mnareng adds that the issues began when the RDP housing rolled out, which he alleges encouraged undocumented foreign nations to migrate to Orange Farm. Land designated for residential and subsidised housing projects was frequently occupied and informal settlements were constantly expanding. Mnareng alleges that the people responsible for rolling out the RDP houses were corrupt.
The current conditions of some RDP houses in Orange Farm. Photo: Salim Nkosi
Inadequate infrastructure and municipal neglect
In 2018, residents of Orange Farm complained to Parliament that undocumented foreign nationals were paying R6,000 bribes to government officials to secure their own RDP houses. As yet, these complaints have not been addressed by the government. Delays in housing allocations have led to squatter camps sprouting around the township, such as in extension 10, where residents live in makeshift shacks and draw their power directly from the nearby railway system.
Malakwane (64) from extension 3 in Orange Farm tells me that the municipality has cut off her water supply and she has not had electricity for the past five years. She cannot pay her water bills due to unemployment and a lack of financial support; she has not worked for the past 17 years. “We were told by the municipality that each household must pay a fee of R500 to resolve these issues, but to date nothing has changed,” she says. “As old as I am, I must make means of survival.”
Some residents in extension 3 have not had any electricity since covid-19. Due to extreme pressures exerted on transformers through drawing electricity illegally from the power grid, several of them blew up and residents were required by the municipality to pay a penalty per household. Community members resisted, raising concerns about being required to pay a penalty although most households do not have breadwinners.
Orange Farm has not managed to transform itself into its own economic base, largely because of housing issues and a lack of social capital. Sello Modise, a political activist, says that the issue of mass black urbanisation cannot be fully dealt with if residents of Orange Farm are still living in squatter camps.
According to a brief by Parliament’s research unit, Orange Farm is a dormitory town with inadequate fundamental services and impoverished road infrastructure, which hinders efficient basic services, such as public transport and healthcare.
The municipality has not created employment opportunities for its people. The shops in the Eyethu Orange Farm Mall employ local residents, but the number of jobs available has little effect in addressing the youth unemployment in the township.
Economic and employment challenges
The nearest clusters for commerce and economic opportunities are in Lenasia and Ennerdale. Linganiso Sibabalwe, a recent graduate from North-West University, shared his insights on how it has become all but impossible to job hunt while living in Orange Farm. “Even if you make it to the interview stages, it is most likely that you will get there very late because of the distance or issues with public transport,” he says.
Sibusiso Mema has been working at Africa Loans, a financial service provider in Eyethu Mall, for almost a year now. He says it has been convenient to work near his place of residence, since he can pay R12 to take a taxi to get to work, and emphasises that some of his peers are required to travel to Johannesburg each day. According to demographic statistics on Wikipedia, 85% of people who live in Orange Farm work in Johannesburg. They all travel by minibus taxis and buses, since trains ceased operation during covid-19 due to cable theft.
Research by former journalist and anti-apartheid activist Dr Thami Mazwai found that township commuters spend 90% of their salary in the greater city, which means that there is little money circulating in the townships themselves.
One of the crumbling businesses in extension three of Orange Farm, a hair salon owned by a resident. Photo: Salim Nkosi
Matshidiso Selepe currently works in the city of Johannesburg. She tells me she spends R84 each day to travel to and from work. She earns R6,500 a month and commutes to the city six days a week. She says, “I spend R1,680 monthly on transport alone. It is as if I am working for a taxi fare because I do not have enough money left for myself and my family. But somehow it is better than sitting at home without employment, especially here in Orange Farm where there are zero hopes of employment.”
The effects of marginalisation
The isolation and marginalisation of townships have led to higher levels of crime, unemployment, drug abuse, and illiteracy, and hinders social mobility, particularly among the youth. Crime levels have surged dramatically in Orange Farm. France Matshinye, a University of the Witwatersrand LLB student from Orange Farm commutes to Johannesburg. He says he avoids travelling very late at night in his neighborhood because of the potential violence.
The scarcity of recreational activities and deficient education systems are evident throughout the township. Themba Khumalo has lived at extension 3 of Orange Farm his whole life. He recently completed his matric and he is currently unemployed. Khumalo says the shortage of schooling facilities and unavailability of economic prospects in his area is a contributing factor to the youth idling in the streets. The idea of being landlocked in one area has created a space in which the aspirations of the young people are limited to what is within their reach. “They tend to look up to the gang members as aspirations because it is who they are exposed to daily,” Matshinye says.
Young unemployed street sweepers make an income from the people who drive on the road daily. Photo: Salim Nkosi
Local solutions for local problems
Despite the challenges faced by Orange Farm and its residents, the township’s population is mushrooming. Action needs to be taken to address the inequalities that exist in this community. Mr. Modise is in his early 40s and has recently enrolled for a politics degree at Unisa. He believes there is hope for Orange Farm and that the only people who can solve its problems are those who live there.
The local municipality says it is aware of the issues in Orange Farm, and has put initiatives in place to combat them.
When I ask Bongani Ndlovu, a community leader in Orange Farm, about such initiatives made to upscale the community’s economy, he mentions the concept of social capital and developing value chains, neither of which have been championed so far. According to Ndlovu, these two concepts have been a big challenge, particularly in a township as culturally divided as Orange Farm. He adds, “The initiatives have only been executed better in taverns, basically places which add no value to the youth.”
Despite being neglected by the municipality, many young people have taken matters into their own hands and informal businesses are sprouting up around Orange Farm. Ndlovu is running an initiative that seeks to strengthen existing businesses in his neighbourhood by hosting social markets where small businesses showcase their products to the community. “I believe that this is one of the ways local residents can create their own economy in Orange Farm,” he says.
A sprouted squatter camp in a township of Orange Farm – Local businesses here tend to crumble because of the lack of monetary circulation in the township. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
A mother and her young daughter walking to their container home in extension three of Orange Farm – Some of these people have not had electricity, proper sanitation, and running water ever since they moved here. Photo: Salim Nkosi
Improper housing infrastructure – Backrooms have overpopulated Orange Farm and to the residents, they serve as means of monthly income. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
An example of a transportation business – Like in the villages, most neighborhoods in Orange Farm still use horse carts as means of transportation, this is also rooted from the cultural presents of the Sotho people. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
One of households which draws electricity directly from the power grid – Shacks built next to railways have connected to the powerlines illegally, with electrical cables cut loosely, this signals danger to the young children. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
A sprouted shack without basic services such as water and electricity – These type of informal housing are circulated throughout the townships sub-locations. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
An example of Orange Farm’s income generating street – Local residents tend to leave their homes and open stalls next to the busiest roads of the townships to target people commuting daily. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
Pap and cow head fast-food business in extension three – Due to the unavailability of working and job opportunities, some people have been highly relying on their own businesses for quite sometime. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
A form of street vending vegetable stall in extension three – These kind of stalls provide basic like cooking supplies to the local residents since shopping centers are located too far from their neighborhoods. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
Conditions of the RDP houses in the township – Since construction in the 1990s, RDP houses are now breaking down, this is also due to lack of resources and the cheap material used during construction at that time. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
A Christian church which is continuously in operation every Sunday. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
Livestock grazed directly from neighborhood trees. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
Livestock feeding amongst many of present dumping sites. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
Young boys playing on top of high stones – The lack of infrastructure deprives the youth of access to parks and other recreational facilities, which ultimately leads to unpleasant dangerous situations. Photo: Salim Nkosi.
A homeless Orange Far resident picking up recyclable material to make ends meet – This is very common since there are countless illegal dumping sites in the township. Photo Salim Nkosi.
FEATURED IMAGE: A common informal business in Orange Farm townships. Photo: Salim Nkosi
The face of tourism has undergone a makeover since the dawn of democracy some 30 years ago, but whether it is a big enough change remains to be seen.
Stepping off a monstrously sized and noisy aeroplane at Johannesburg’s OR Tambo International Airport, warm air blows into your face. Your eyes squint while trying to adjust to the blinding sunlight. There is an immediate atmosphere of hustle and bustle, and you can hear several different languages being spoken around you.
Touring the city, you make your first stop at the Johannesburg Zoo for a glimpse of the Big Five up close and personal. A stroll around the Botanical Gardens leaves you parched, so you find yourself on Vilakazi Street for some authentic South African food and beverages. Feeling adventurous, you abseil down the Soweto Towers and ride a bicycle through the Johannesburg central business district and its arty Maboneng Precinct.
You have an early flight out tomorrow morning, but there is still so much left to uncover; so much more still to experience.
However, looking down at the skyscrapers from your tiny aeroplane window, you realise something: if you had visited Johannesburg 30 years ago, the city would still be bustling with tourism, but you would view all the attractions through the eyes of a fractured society.
The Soweto Towers are the peak of adventure tourism in Johannesburg, with the tiny bridge offering a unique bungee jumping experience to locals or internationals. Photo: Victoria Hill
Contextualising tourism: More than 30 years in the making
Tourism has existed for centuries, even if it constantly redefines itself. Tourism did not become a concept only when trains, boats, cars or aeroplanes were invented. People have been moving from one place to another for different reasons for as long as mankind has inhabited the Earth, which is one early definition of tourism.
Tourism is different from expeditionism in the sense that tourists follow set paths or visit already discovered areas. Tourism can thus be for business, sports, medical, leisure, cultural or religious purposes.
Geoffrey Wall and John Towner say the history of tourism encompasses three themes: tourism in the ancient and medieval worlds, the Grand Tour era of the 17th and 18th centuries, and the growth of spas and seaside resorts.
These themes have some factors in common, mainly that individuals who participated in these kinds of tourism were powerful and wealthy.
Until 1994, tourism in South Africa had these two commonalities as well. Only people of an upper-class, white status could indulge in movement from one place to another. Black individuals were issued with a dompas: an internal passport that restricted their movement on foot. Thus, they could not indulge in free travel around a city like Johannesburg, never mind for leisure to a seaside resort.
This is what led to the White Paper of 1996, which described “diversity [as] where the country’s tourism attraction lies” and stated that the end of apartheid “opened the country’s tourism potential to the rest of the world and, indeed, to the previously neglected groups in society”.
Yet, tourism only really redefined itself in later years. Black people were now granted human rights, but they could not exercise in these rights until they were given a platform to practise them.
Itumeleng Rabotapi, director of strategic management, monitoring and evaluation at the department of tourism, says: “The above advantages notwithstanding, South Africa has not been able to realise its full potential in tourism. As such, the contribution of tourism to employment, small business development, income and foreign-exchange earnings has been limited.”
The White Paper says: “Had its history been different, South Africa would probably have been one of the most-visited places in the world.”
Johannesburg is seen as a microcosm of South Africa in this report, which investigates whether touring the city has changed since democratisation or if it will take 30 more years to master.
State of tourism pre-1994
If you went back in time to revisit apartheid South Africa, you would find a vastly different City of Johannesburg than the one to which you are accustomed.
A tourist in South Africa was typically a white, wealthy, powerful individual or family. To take part in tourism activities pre-1994, academic IB Mkhize explains that a person needed to have disposable income, leisure time, means of transport, freedom of movement, access to facilities and destinations to visit. The apartheid regime deprived all South Africans, except white people, of these things.
Jane Skipsey, a former hotel general manager and guesthouse owner, says: “The hotel industry was very glamorous in the 1980s, with lots of glitz. The five-star Carlton Hotel [now closed] in downtown Johannesburg was buzzing with international guests.”
The abandoned Carlton Hotel stands tall as a landmark of Johannesburg’s skyline despite no longer having glitz and glamour as in pre-1994. Photo: Victoria HillIn comparison to the internationally renowned Carlton Hotel, a small guesthouse in Yeoville offers rooms starting from R70 for one hour. Photo: Victoria Hill
Academic Christian Rogerson says the crisis tourism experienced until 2010 has roots in the policies of apartheid. He places emphasis on the Soweto Uprising of 1976 and the declaration of a state of emergency in the 1980s, which led to South Africa being politically isolated from the rest of the world.
However, despite this, Skipsey says, “Business still had to be conducted and holidays were still taken. There were not that many prominent hotel groups at the time and Southern Sun dominated the market, with business and leisure hotels aplenty.”
Justyn Spinner, managing director of Hello Lifestyle Magazine (formerly Hello Joburg, Hello Cape Town, Hello Durban and Hello Pretoria), says that in the 1980s, when his father pioneered the company, “There were no reliable sources of lifestyle and entertainment content.”
This is what inspired Spinner senior to create a guidebook-style publication featuring lifestyle and attraction spots in Johannesburg. It was targeted at people who had the freedom of movement and choice to partake in leisure activities.
Christo Nicolopoulos, a restaurateur in Johannesburg, says that pre-1994, “The process of opening a restaurant was less bureaucratic.” Nicolopoulos opened many high-end restaurants and he was also involved in “black eating houses… and opened the first eating house with proper plates and knives and forks in Kempton Park”.
“Black eating houses”, or restaurants for black people, show the depth of apartheid segregation in the tourism sector. Black people were not granted access to mainstream tourism activities and were often left undignified and underprivileged in what they could pursue for leisure.
Although Johannesburg was a world-class city with beautiful hotels and restaurants that international businesspeople or tourists would travel to see, its status was maintained on the foundation of apartheid.
State of tourism post-1994
The numbers say South Africa’s tourism sector has been on the mend since 1994. With international sanctions lifted, and the eyes of the world on South Africa’s new democratic state, tourism experienced a boom.
The inception of South African Tourism also helped to rebrand the country and manage its reputation. The body was instituted with the hope of allowing historically disadvantaged South Africans to benefit from the sector.
Rogerson says, “Domestic rather than international tourism is the backbone of the South African tourism economy. While the major component is accounted for by white South Africans, steady growth is occurring in the black tourism sector.”
The tourism industry is more diverse now in terms of ownership and clientele. The introduction of small to medium-sized enterprises and the department of tourism’s enterprise development and transformation programme allowed locally made products and services to enter the tourism market.
One example is the Yeoville Dinner Club, pioneered by Sanza Sandile. For Sandile, who grew up in apartheid Soweto, this dinner club “has become a vision and a direction of [his] childhood dream”. After moving to Yeoville at the dawn of democracy, he wanted to redefine what was once called “a derogatory shebeen in [his] grandmother’s day”.
Sandile’s dinner club “is about celebrating this piece of history through food socials”. The dinner club has “enjoyed a whole mix of international guests and real local foodies from a slightly higher LSM [Living Standards Measure]”.
Locals often describe Yeoville – and Hillbrow – as the geographical centres of deterioration and crime. However, Sandile says his patrons view the now “accidental pan-African suburb” as “one of the most popular cultural and topical spaces in Johannesburg”.
Despite being described as the cultural heartbeat of Johannesburg, Rocky Street in Yeoville also represents the decay of infrastructure in the tourism sector post-1994. Photo: Victoria Hill
Nicolopoulos says black economic empowerment policies created a group of black diners, colloquially known as “Black Diamonds”, who enjoy splurging on champagne and cognac on occasion.
A tourist of colour who often frequents the streets of Johannesburg is 21-year-old Uyanda Tyusha. After growing up in Johannesburg, Tyusha moved to Stellenbosch to finish his tertiary education.
He says: “Having previously lived in Johannesburg, I often travel back to visit friends and family… I mostly find myself going out for something to eat, either lunch or dinner… I also go to attend musical festivals or concerts… I am interested in.”
As a student on a tight budget, Tyusha dreams of “visiting the lesser-travelled areas in the country and discover[ing] more” in years to come.
Being a Born Free, Tyusha “can’t image having restrictions on the sort of travelling that [he] does”. He says if had been born during apartheid he “would most likely be restricted to movement within [or] between the townships”. There would be no chance of him visiting an establishment like the Yeoville Dinner Club.
At the National Job Summit in 1998, tourism was recognised as “the sector which had the greatest potential for reducing unemployment in the country”, Rogerson says. This potential was envisaged as manifesting through community-based initiatives and township, rural and cultural tourism.
Tourism in Johannesburg now has an economic, social, political, cultural and educational value. In 2024, the city has endless tourist attractions, most either born from apartheid, in remembrance of apartheid and the people who lived under it, or an attempt to advantage previously disadvantaged people.
Tourism as a a socioeconomic sector
According to the 1996 White Paper, South Africa relies on tourism to increase the rate of employment, promote equality in all aspects of society, and contribute to the overall gross domestic product (GDP) and investment in the country’s economy.
South African Tourism, the marketing arm of the department of tourism, says tourism promotes “the sustainable economic and social empowerment of all South Africans”. Tourism is a multi-sectoral industry, which means its growth allows multiple sectors to grow too and for more jobs to be created.
The White Paper found that tourism contributed 2% to the GDP in 1994, which increased to 4% in 1995. In 2024, Statistics South Africa (Stats SA) says tourism contributes an estimated 8.8% to the GDP. In 30 years, tourism has more than doubled its contribution to the economy.
Spinner says “we should see the tourism industry as a major contributor to our GDP”, due to its diverse offerings and the welcoming culture of our country to international visitors.
There were an estimated 70,000 working in the sector in 1994 and 1.7 million in 2024. Globally, one in every nine jobs is in the tourism sector, which is about 10.7% of the global workforce.
Skipsey says there is still a massive educational divide that limits equality in the tourism sector’s workforce. The majority of management positions were previously held by white people and unskilled positions were given to people of colour.
“This started to change with employment equity, brought about by the new government post-1994,” Skipsey says. “There are still hurdles. Some black South Africans are assigned jobs for which they are not qualified and this can end up messy.”
Rogerson estimates that 50,000 international tourists visited South Africa in 1986. When 1994 rolled around, the White Paper estimates South Africa welcomed 4.48 million international tourists. Stats SA estimates this number to be 10.7 million in 2024.
Stats SA says tourism is set to grow 7.6% annually over the next decade. This is above the overall economic growth rate of 1.8%.
To residents of Johannesburg, this might come as a shock. The city is not seen as glamorous by its inhabitants, but rather as deteriorating by the second.
Restaurateur Nicolopoulos says, “our economic hub, Johannesburg, is avoided by tourists”, due to the “lack of law and order, corruption and high levels of crime”. The city has simply become “a transit port of entry for Cape Town and the Kruger National Park”.
Overall, the department of tourism’s Rabotapi says tourism is “well-positioned to link under-developed regions with the developed ones as it transcends spatial and geographic boundaries”.
Tourism has a unique ability to promote and maintain harmony on the premise of a shared love for one’s country.
A peek into the next 30 years
Although tourism is classed as a leading socioeconomic sector in today’s South Africa, it still has unlocked potential.
Rabotapi says: “Growth of tourism to and within South Africa requires the portfolio to provide an enabling environment.”
This includes improving tourism assets and infrastructure, ensuring tourism safety and access to basic services, and developing a culture of travel among South Africans so the sector is supported domestically.
Throughout South Africa’s 1.27 million square kilometres, Johannesburg’s province of Gauteng takes up a mere 18,000. Yet, it has made significant strides in transforming the tourism sector during the 30 years of democracy.
Touring the city was once a privilege; now, doing so is a reminder of what humanity went through to be alive today.
International tourists are entranced by a tour guide at Constitution Hill, where they soak up the suffering of wrongfully incarcerated individuals in the apartheid era. Photo: Victoria Hill
Just metres away stands a school tour at Constitution Hill, creating a stark contrast between the domestic and international groups. These local visitors are here for an educational purpose that provides insight into their city’s history. Photo: Victoria Hill
A group of Zulu dancers entertain the international tourists on Vilakazi Street with a cultural display of song and dance whilst cameras were at the ready.
On a pavement in Vilakazi Street, local artists sell their crafts to all visitors. South Africa needs more of this domestic tourism where talent becomes a livelihood. Photo: Victoria Hill
International tourists poured onto the Soweto Hop On & Hop Off bus after visiting Mandela’s House, and were easy to spot in their red contraption. Photo: Victoria Hill
Locals commemorate those who died for their country by visiting the South African National Museum of Military History, and marvel at what it would have been like back in the day. Photo: Victoria Hill
International tourists photographing the infamous Hector Pieterson Memorial in Orlando West had cameras swinging from their necks in their classic dress of shorts and t-shirts. Photo: Victoria Hill
Where international tourists would visit the Kruger National Park, locals in Johannesburg simply visit the metropolitan zoo to spend a day in the sun with roaring lions and grazing rhinos. Photo: Victoria Hill
The infamous open-top City Sightseeing Bus is visible most days in Johannesburg. When locals are hard at work, internationals sit atop the red double-decker and view the city in its holistic form. Photo: Victoria Hill
Residents of Johannesburg call the Maboneng Precinct their artistic playground with its vibrant stores, boutique cafes, and entertainment centres that provides locals with opportunities to relax after work or over the weekends. Photo: Victoria Hill
FEATURED IMAGE: Johannesburg is known for the spotting of Jacaranda trees all about its suburbs, and they have become a tourist attraction in Spring time. Photo: Victoria Hill
The covid-19 pandemic, and corresponding health restrictions placed on hospitals and funerals in South Africa, have completely changed the way we grieve and say goodbye to our loved ones.
“Standing there in the cemetery, looking at the deep holes all around me, I just remember being overwhelmed with anxiety,” recalled Margarida Khadhraoui about the day of her brother’s burial.
“They’re probably all filled now,” she reflected.
Khadhraoui, a 50-year-old mother of two young boys, is just one of the many South Africans who have experienced loss during the covid-19 lockdown period, which began in March. The nationwide lockdown was characterised by various health restrictions, with one being a ban on all hospital visitations to prevent new coronavirus infections. These health restrictions compromised people in different ways, but for many it affectedtheir last moments with their loved ones, along with their grieving process.
Lost final moments
The ban on hospital visitations remained throughout the duration of South Africa’s strictest levels of lockdown, being levels five, four and three. In August some hospitals began to allow visitations, with News 24 reporting that covid-19 patients at the “end of life” stages would be allowed visitors, but still in line with strict safety protocols.
Khadhraoui was not so lucky. Her brother, Alvaro Jose Oliveira Goncalves, passed away right before such exceptions were established, so she was unable to visit him before he died.
“The most difficult part of it all was that when my brother was admitted, we weren’t able to visit him. Usually when someone is ill, you go see them and it almost gives them that push to fight and carry on, but we couldn’t,” said Khadhraoui.
Khadhraoui remembered her brother having flu-like symptoms a few days before he was admitted to hospital, but he had not thought a covid-19 test was necessary. He assured Khadhraoui that he was fine and, because he had no pre-existing issues that would put him at a higher risk for covid-19, she let it go.
Early one Friday morning in late July, Khadhraoui received a distressed phone call from her sister-in-law, who exclaimed, “Margi, Alvaro can’t breathe!”
Khadhraoui told Wits Vuvuzela, “It was all so sudden. He had some symptoms, but he was fine, and then her couldn’t breathe two days later. We managed to get the paramedics to the house that morning.”
She added, “His oxygen level was at 56, which is really bad. Your normal level should sit at 94 or 95, so they immediately put him on oxygen and rushed him to the hospital.”
Goncalves was first diagnosed with bacterial pneumonia, which is an infection in the lungs caused by bacteria. It was later confirmed that he had tested positive for the coronavirus as well. Goncalves stayed in Linksfield Hospital for two weeks, and remained on a ventilator throughout.
The day before he passed, he was intubated and placed in an induced coma.
“I knew he wasn’t going to make it. I could feel it. I told my husband, ‘my brother’s leaving us,’ and I got the phone call 10 minutes later,” said Khadhraoui.
While rummaging through her bag for tissues to conceal tear-filled eyes, she said, “I couldn’t be there to hold his hand, tell him that I’m there for him or tell him to not be scared. I don’t think he necessarily needed it … I was the one that needed it.”
Stefanie Bove, a clinical psychologist of 16 years, explained that the covid-19 restrictions, and new circumstances created by the pandemic, will have an effect on the grieving process experienced by individuals who have lost loved ones.
“Grieving under these circumstances will definitely affect one’s general mental wellbeing, more so than usual. And the restrictions will play a role in the prolonged grieving process,” said Bove.
Bove, who consults for Saheti School in Senderwood and has her own private practice in the Bedfordview area, confirmed that she has had more people coming in for grief counselling than before the start of the pandemic.
Bove told Wits Vuvuzela, “I think that most grief now will result in complicated grief because there are so many new factors that have come into play. For example, not being able to have contact with loved ones or not really being able to say goodbye.”
Complicated grief refers to a prolonged grieving process, as described by Mayo Clinic, an American academic healthcare company. It is associated with, for example, difficulty in recovering from loss and resuming one’s normal life.
While psychologists may have different versions of what a normal grieving period is, Bove explained that a normal grieving period usually lasts three months. With the new circumstances created by the pandemic, however, Bove believes new factors have made it more complex and difficult to predict.
Khadhraoui recognised the covid-19 health restrictions, which prevented her from seeing her brother, as a big challenge for her.
“I needed that comfort,’’ she said. ‘‘I still struggle to come to terms with the fact that he is gone. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.”
Rushed goodbyes
Another area disrupted by the covid-19 pandemic and lockdown restrictions in South Africa was the funeral industry.
The health restrictions placed on funerals denied many South Africans control over the way in which they laid their loved ones to rest. Funerals play a big role in how we say goodbye to our loved ones and so, according to Bove, can also have implications on ones grieving process.
“Rituals are so important because it’s essentially saying goodbye officially. Covid has meant that those rituals are thwarted, resulting in an even deeper sense of loss of control, and death already has that effect,” said Bove.
In many religions, white candles are often lit during funerals or after someone has died, as a symbol of remembrance for the soul that has passed on and in order to strengthen prayers. Photo: Catia De Castro.
The first restrictions placed on funerals began before lockdown, on March 15, when President Cyril Ramaphosa announced a national state of disaster. Restrictions included a limit of 50 attendants at funerals. When lockdown began, further restrictions were added to the government gazette, such as a one-hour limit on funeral services and a ban on night vigils.
South Africa is known for its cultural diversity and so naturally there are many different funeral rituals. Consequently, health restrictions have disrupted these rituals.
Nelisiwe Makaringe, a 19-year-old first-year student at the University of Johannesburg, studying public management and governance, was affected by these restrictions during her nephew’s funeral.
Makaringe and her nephew, Sifiso Mo’koena, were the same age and grew up together. She often referred to him as her brother when talking. Mo’koena passed away suddenly in May from an unknown cause.
“He became really sick one day and started having cramps in his stomach, so he went to Thelle Mogoerane Hospital [in Vosloorus]. We still don’t know what his cause of death was because the hospital records say, ‘natural death’, but he was negative for covid,” said Makaringe.
Although Mo’koena did not pass away from the coronavirus, Makaringe disclosed that the family was still affected by the pandemic due to the funeral restrictions, as some of their African and Christian rituals were not allowed.
Makaringe told Wits Vuvuzela, “With African homes, the deceased usually comes home in the casket a day before and stays overnight at the home. We then have the funeral and memorial the next morning, and afterwards people usually cook and have a celebration. We weren’t able to do any of that.”
Makaringe said the inability to bury Mo’koena the way they had hoped to, had an impact on the way she and her family have grieved.
“The funeral was so rushed. We weren’t even able to have a memorial service. How can you have a funeral in one hour?” exclaimed Makaringe, an air of frustration in her voice.
“I was very close to him and I feel like I wasn’t able to say goodbye. We weren’t able to grieve properly.”
“Afterwards, I felt like he hadn’t died,” Makaringe added.
Funeral home workers have been on the front lines during the lockdown, so they have witnessed the way in which families have been affected by funeral restrictions.
Willem Schuwte, an assistant manager at AVBOB Funeral Parlour for the Johannesburg Central Business District branch, has been involved in funeral arrangements during the lockdown period and has had to interact with, and assist, families throughout.
AVBOB is one of the few funeral parlours that offer grief counselling to the families they assist.
Schuwte told Wits Vuvuzela, “A lot more people have requested [grieving counsellors] during lockdown. I definitely think that families have been affected by these restrictions.”
Dealing with families during this time has been extremely challenging for Schuwte due to the families’ reluctance to accept the new health restrictions. Schuwte explained that the body should go straight from the mortuary to the grave site, as outlined by covid-19 health regulations in South Africa.
“[The new process] doesn’t fit in with some beliefs, and families don’t always understand or want to comply when they are told that their loved one can’t be transported or buried the way they want,” said Schuwte.
Bove reiterated the importance of funerals in relation to grief. She said, “When you’re not given a chance to attend or pay your last respects correctly, it complicates the grieving process.”
Technology: A saving grace
Technology has proved to be helpful in many ways amid the pandemic. One such way has been through the ability to livestream funerals when family members or friends have been unable to attend.
Schuwte has seen many families utilise technology to livestream funerals via Zoom, Facebook and other online platforms. He said, “A lot of families have been livestreaming. It’s become the new norm, and I think it’s a trend that’s going to stick around.”
Livestreaming funerals has not only provided a way for those who cannot attend to say goodbye to their loved one, but has also eliminated the high risk of being exposed to the coronavirus when attending physically.
The high risk of funeral gatherings has been continuously seen throughout the lockdown period in South Africa. During the initial level-five lockdown period, three funerals in Eastern Cape accounted for more than 200 covid-19 cases, as reported by News 24.
Sumentha Naidoo, a 45-year-old mother of three and logistics manager at Whirlpool (a home appliances company), personally experienced the benefits of technology when she was able to attend her uncle’s funeral online.
Naidoo’s 71-year-old uncle passed away from the coronavirus in August. He had previously attended a family member’s funeral and his family believes he was exposed to the virus there. Due to the unfortunate circumstances, the family decided it would be best to have the funeral via Zoom.
“The family did it over Zoom because they didn’t want to put anyone in that position, especially since my uncle had gotten the virus from a funeral,” Naidoo told Wits Vuvuzela.
She added, “We would’ve been scared too, because we (Naidoo, her husband and children) had just recovered from the virus ourselves.”
Sumentha Naidoo acknowledged the difficultly of not having, or being able to give, physical comfort following the death of a loved one during the national lockdown in South Africa. Pictured: Sumentha Naidoo and husband, Jogi Naidoo. Photo: Catia De Castro
Naidoo explained that, although technology had been extremely useful, she wished there was no need for it, as physical support and comfort are important when grieving.
“With Christians, but especially in our Indian culture, friends and family come together the very same night someone dies. There are always people around, and that support is so important. The family was missing that embrace of a loved one, and it’s a big part of mourning,” said Naidoo.
Bove highlighted the way covid-19 restrictions have changed the expected behaviour at funerals and prevented people from conveying compassion during the sensitive period after loss.
“Social distancing makes it so difficult when you’re not able to extend normal gestures of love and care. And even afterwards, there’s no celebration. This could all prolong the normal grieving process,” said Bove.
Many South Africans have experienced loss under the already stressful context of the global pandemic, but all have been unique in their own personal way.
Khadhraoui struggled to hold back tears and subtly wiped her nose as she described her experience.
Tearfully she said, “We were only a year apart but, being the oldest, I was almost like a mother to him. Whenever there was a crisis, he knew, ‘Margi will fix it’. I felt like it was my responsibility to look after him, and I couldn’t even be there to hold his hand.”
FEATURED IMAGE: The Braamfontein Cemetary in Johannesburg remained quiet over the weekend of October 31, despite the rise in deaths during the covid-19 pandemic. Photo: Catia De Castro.
Primary school teachers at government schools in Benoni and Actonville, Gauteng,have gone beyond the call of dutyto ensurethe class of 2020 have been protected, educated and well-nourisheddespite the threats of the covid-19 pandemic.
As an Arbor Primary student raises a victory sign during class, pupils around South Africa celebrate their own victories of receiving an education despite the threat of covid-19, thanks to the endless dedication of primary school teachers. Photo: Niall Higgins
Arriving at the silver gates of Arbor Primary School in Benoni, Gauteng, it isnotdifficult to understand from where the school derives its name and crest:Strong and sturdy oak, elm and ash treesline the perimeter of the lush grounds.
Like the nurturing trees, Arbor’s teachers alsostand tall and strongas they welcome their arriving learnersas if they areprecious seeds of afuturerooted in the grounds of the school.
Thepupils, of grades one to seven,with vividly coloured masks covering their noses, mouths and cheeks,sit metres apart from each other, each in a perfectly demarcated circle. They giggle as they gaze, squinting,at the sun overhead, oblivious to the dangers now lurking in our viral new world.
Actonville Primary School, however, seems a stark contrast to the apparent serenity of Arbor.Here, teacher and covid-19 co-ordinator Zuhra Balle stands at the school’s gates on a crisp Monday morning,takingeachstudent’s temperature and askingimportant questions: “Have you been coughing lately, Allaina? Feeling out of breath today,Tshepo? Had any headaches, Martin? Keep two metres apart, you two!”
The next learner in line for the temperature gunposes a profound questionBalle says she will never forget:“Ma’am, you always ask us all these questions, but why don’tyou ever ask us if we sleep at night?”
The mental and emotional wellbeing of students
Balle tellsWits Vuvuzela that this startling question madeherand other teachers worry that students might besuffering symptoms of depression,due to the effects of the covid-19 lockdown.
An article in health publicationSpotlight,published in April this year, served to underline this warning by noting, “Rather than ‘bouncing back’, children instead incorporate trauma into their growth and future lives.”
“Ma’am, you always ask us all these questions, but why don’t you ever ask us if we sleep at night?”
Balle voices her own concern. “Some of these children lost parents, some lost homes and some were abused, so we as teachers had to do something,”she says.“We are now in the process of counselling over 200 children and we have a psychologist coming on board full time.”
Seeing her students experiencing stress and anxiety left Balle in need of emotional support too: “I myself broke at one point, I had to give it up because I needed counselling myself.”
The headmistress of Actonville Primary School, Venessa Moodley,reveals that she almost lost her life to covid-19 and thereforeunderstands the severityof the pandemic better than most.
Anticipating the impact lockdown would have on her pupils, Moodleycreated a ‘’covidsurvey’’ which was distributed to every student. The survey askedquestions regarding pupils’experiences of illness, anxiety, trauma, violence and poverty.
“This really allowed us to see what was happening to our students beyond the school walls, and to take action by providing aid in any way we could,” says Moodley.
Actonville Primary school students posing in a colourful hallway wearing equally colourful masks. Photo: Niall Higgins
Counselling and care
With these new insights, teachers at Actonville Primary incorporated counselling into the everyday school programme. Grade seven English and creative arts teacher, Rani Chetty, took this course of action to heart.
“I was encouraged to really get to know the kids. Every morning, our teachers will start class with a prayer and then open up the class for a discussion on how they are coping and feeling, just so they know we are a family,” says Chetty.
“I myself broke at one point, I had to give it up because I needed counselling myself.”
Emotional and physical stressare notexclusive to lower–income schools in Actonville.Just to the north,Arbor Primaryhas taken steps to address the trauma experienced by its learners due tothe covid-19 pandemic.
The principal of Arbor, Patrick Arentson, swiftly decided to enlist religious leaders and mental health professionals to aid his pupils.
“We continue to bring in a minister by the name of Basil Panayi to de-brief the children and staff, as well as a psychologist whoworks throughthe students’ emotions and feelings regarding the lockdown,” he said.
Throughout the covid-19 pandemic, teachers watched over pupils to ensure that they not only received a quality education, but also had access to nutritious food and emotional support. Photo: Niall Higgins.
Despite accounts of learners being frightened of having their temperatures taken, Arbor Primary’s head girl, 13-year-old ShadaeFigueira-Parratt,says teachers do everything they can to comfort their pupils.
“My one friend has panic attacks sometimes and we call our teachers, who really help a lot when you’re not doing okay,’’ she says with a smile.‘’One of my friends talks to her teacher about everything she goes through.”
For manyteachers and pupils, the transition to online learning during the lockdown invoked acute anxiety and stress. Schools such as Arbor Primary knew that quick action was essential to preserve the academic year.
Online learning and overcoming data struggles
As a result, the school established WhatsApp groupsand created Google Classroom programmesto relay vital information to itsstudents. Through these platforms, the teachers worked tirelessly to put togethercourse content from scratch.
Arbor’sdeputy headmistress, Wendy Lewis,says educators never stopped working and were ‘‘incredibly innovative’’in the face of lockdown restrictions. “We would use our WhatsApp group and online classrooms to create pre-recorded videos of us re-enacting lessons, in order for students to feel as close to being taught in real life as possible,” she says.
Online learning is not an option for everyonethough,sincedigital divide statistics in South Africa are high.According tobroadband companyCable, the cost of data in South Africa is prohibitive,at an average cost of R106.20 for 1GB.
Additionally, an article in Daily Maverick in July this year stated, “The adverse effects of the [digital] divide are likely to remain a factor in education for the foreseeable future.”
Keeping these statistics in mind, the Department of Basic Education (DBE) did not provideany public primary school with data stipends toaccommodate online learning practices during the lockdown.
This was disappointing forArbor Primary grade four English teacher and head of department Colleen Liebenberg,who saysteaching has now become an expense out of her own pocket.
“Many students and staff battled with access to dataas well as affording it. This meant students would struggle to access video lessons and teachers would sacrifice income to provide classes, because we had to buy data ourselves in order to upload our lessons online,”says Liebenberg.
Arbor Primary students attending class in the school hall. Photo: Niall Higgins.
The creation of “lockdown packs”
Actonville Primary was hit hard by similardata and financialimplications. Despite it beinga proud and dedicated school,many of its students cannot afford internet access or smart devices, due to poverty and socio-economic challenges. The school’s1356 studentsbattletoeven affordthe school fee of R1100 a year.
Despite these disadvantages,Actonvilleeducatorsrose to the occasion wholeheartedlyand began to createcustomised workbooks for theirlearners.
“Actonville teachers became the authors of their own ‘lockdown packs’ and created entirely unique models of learning so that students could continue working from home,” says Moodley.“Our teachers filled the gap by doing whatever was necessary.”
Poppy Benny, subject adviser at the DBE in Ekhuruleni North,says,“We developed resources per subject, which were then shared with teachers online to assist with creating their own learning programmes.”
Arbor’s Lewis says, however, producing these workbookswas necessary but notcheap or easy:“Prepping work for ‘lockdown learners’ has been a huge sacrifice of time and effort, and printing out and delivering course packs at our own expense has been essential to continuing students’ education.”
During the lockdown, many lower-income students from Actonville Primary and beyond were not taught through online classes due to no access to data or internet devices and therefore, relied on customised learning packs created and distributed by teachers. Photo: Niall Higgins.
Changes to the academic year
On top of limited access to class time, months offormal schoolingwere lost due to the lockdown. In response, government schools applied‘curriculum trimming’ as part of their recovery plan by cuttingthe academicsyllabusdown to core learning material.
Subsequently, primary schools will set and moderate their own examination papers this year. Exam marks have, however, been reduced in most cases and class assessment marking will be increased.This does not negate the fact that many students still did not haveany schooling at all during the lockdown, and thereforehave less training under their belts.
“The pressure on teachers to perform and be trustworthy is huge now, more than ever, especially in disadvantaged areas with little to no class time,”says Memory Panayi, head of the language department at Arbor Primary.
Varyingclass schedules also led to difficulties in creating and implementing teaching plans. Some children came in on a bi-weekly basis, whereas some stayedhome. This meant teachers had to teach both formally at schooland by distancefor online students.
“We essentially had two jobs,” says Arbor’sLiebenberg.“We had to constantly restructure the programme, redo each class prep multiple times and then teach the same class over again because, as time got reduced to complete the syllabus, we had to adapt.”
Increased poverty and hungry children
What is more, the academic pitfalls are not the only obstacle. As I stroll through the corridors of Actonville Primary, made colourful with posters, to investigate the unique challenges of ‘‘covid learning’’, an intriguing area catches my eye. It makes me wonder whether academics are, after all,teachers’ only concern.
The smallarea containsbuckets and patches of fertile soil in sunny locations.These are home to a rich variety of carrots, onions, potatoes and other vegetables.
Noticing my curiosity, a grade seven teacher and co-ordinator of Actonville Primary’s feeding scheme, Ellen Buthelezi,speaks with aheavy heart.“There is no way you can teach a child with an empty stomach. During lockdown, there were literally queues of students lining up outside school looking for a decent meal,” she says.
Her comment implies there are manychildren from impoverished families,and for them coming to school means getting something to eat.
Buthelezi senses my sudden gloom and speaks reassuringly. “We currently feed more than 400 students dailyand maintainthese food gardens to keep our children well-nourished,” she says.
According to aStatsSA report posted in July, more than 62.1%, or six out of 10South African children between birth and age 17 lackthe funds fordaily meals.
The DBE normally contributes to food security through the National School Nutrition Programme (NSNP) by providing meals tomore than nine millionlearners a year.During the lockdown, however, this service came to a halt, leavingmany students hungry.
Grade seven pupils from Actonville Primary tending to one the school’s food gardens. Photo: Niall Higgins.
Food packs and nutrition schemes
Arbor’s Panayi recalls that during the lockdown, teachers were worried about what was happening to kids at home who did not have food. “We went and delivered groceries to familiespersonallyduring lockdown,’’ she says. ‘‘What started as a temporary feeding scheme became a permanent initiative that now feeds more than 40 families.”
When the students finally began returning to school, teachers quickly picked up that they were arriving without lunches. “We then decided to begin an‘adopt–a–child’ scheme by assigning teachers to select and feed students in need,” saysArentson. “Suddenly our teachers began ‘adopting’ more and more children, andthey supplied lunches every single day.”
At Actonville Primary too, learnersexperienced the difference and joy one extra meal could bring to their everyday lives. “In the covid lockdownit’s a struggling time,’’ says grade seven pupil Enock Mateke. ‘‘There wasn’t enough to eat for everyone at school, butnow we get nice food packages that we take home, so no–one is hungry.”
“There is no way you can teach a child with an empty stomach.”
With justified pride, Actonville deputy head girlMicayla Pillay says,“Us grade sevens grew the food garden all by ourselves. We need energy to study, and the fruit we get everyday helps a lot!”
Each school meal adds up to one more child whose future looks a little brighter.
As the school day comes to a close in Gauteng,precious young seedlings are returned to their guardians by caring‘‘gardeners’’who toil long after their stipulated working hours,tired butunbroken.
Onecannot help but wonder: does the nation know that its teachers are true unsung heroes of the covid-19 pandemic?
Hear the voices of this story in the podcast episode below:
FEATURED IMAGE:As an Arbor Primary student raises a victory sign during class, pupils around South Africa celebrate their own victories of receiving an education despite the threat of covid-19, thanks to the endless dedication of primary school teachers. Photo: Niall Higgins
What do we really know about small Chinese businesses in Johannesburg? We might think of red lanterns, black-bean pastries, herbal teas, doll-like chiffon dresses and a fat, golden cat with a metronome paw. We delve a little deeper and speak to Chinese business owners about their struggles to fit in – and their struggles to get out. By Caro Malherbe.
Johannesburg is home to a vast number of small Chinese businesses. Crown Mines, Cyrildene and various China Malls around the city are recognised as a nexus for all small Chinese traders.
Generally offering a good deal, not many have explored how they came to be here. Chinese traders have a distinctive way of managing their money.
Not entirely integrated into the South African banking system or the tax system, Chinese business owners feel targeted and unsafe in this country.
The history of the Chinese trader
Alexander Chou is a Taiwanese diplomat at the Taipei Liaison Office of South Africa. Speaking with a slight American twang, he paints a picture of the unhappy Chinese merchant in South Africa.
“Even today there is a large group of Chinese in Johannesburg waiting for more gold to be found, wanting ‘to make it big’.”
Small Chinese businesses developed when independent Chinese immigrants started coming to South Africa in 1870, says Chou.Unlike indentured Chinese slaves who were forced to work for a fixed term and salary in the mines, these independent immigrants were prohibited from obtaining mining contracts so they turned to trade instead.
During a more recent wave of immigration, Steve Yeh arrived in South Africa with his family in 1991 when he was 10. His uncle’s family had already settled in Johannesburg and was convinced that more gold would be discovered.
Chou confirmed this by saying that even today there is a large group of Chinese in Johannesburg waiting for more gold to be found, wanting “to make it big”.During apartheid Chinese traders were affected by the Group Areas Act of 1950 and forced to operate from areas designated as “non-white”. These small businesses catered exclusively for the black community.
Chinese traders have been part of the city of Johannesburg for generations but many still feel they will return to China one day. Photo: Dinesh Balliah.
Although apartheid has been officially over for almost 20 years, Chinese traders still seem to be separated from the rest of Johannesburg, choosing to do business in specific areas.
Yeh works as a general manager and head of security at China Mart in the Crown Mines area of Johannesburg. He is a South African citizen but desperately wants to return to Taipei, Taiwan, with his wife and child.
“Asians are not safe in this country,” Yeh says. He feels that Chinese people are specifically targeted by criminals in Johannesburg. “It’s because we don’t like banks.”
The miserable merchant
According to Chou, Chinese traders do not plan to stay in Johannesburg forever. He says, if there is one thing to understand about the Chinese, it is that they are not scared to face hard times. Most Chinese put a great emphasis on education and working hard for their families, unlike other cultures.
“They will live off vegetables for the rest of their lives, to be able to afford a good education for their children. White people are so selfish. They will never sacrifice anything. They will never give to their brothers and sisters. Each and every one lives for themselves,” he says.
The honorary white
Skilled Taiwanese traders came to South Africa in large numbers between 1970 and 1990. South Africa saw Taiwan’s potential to help increase foreign investment and provided incentives to start up manufacturing companies in the rural and industrial areas of Johannesburg. This also helped the apartheid government keep non-whites out of urban Johannesburg as the Taiwanese businesses provided jobs for them outside the city.
These Taiwanese traders were given “honorary white” status. They were exempt from segregation legislation. The benefits did not seem to last long, though, as many Taiwanese immigrants later decided to leave.
This was due to the lack of job opportunities, the increase in crime, difficulties with South African labour legislation and strict laws on importing goods. In 1998 South Africa also officially recognised the People’s Republic of China, which created a strong economic relationship between the two countries, yet subsequently alienated people of Taiwanese origin.
“They [Taiwanese immigrants] were so well skilled, but they couldn’t find jobs. The unions did nothing to protect them and the South African government flushed away their investment like one flushes a stool,” Chou says.
Yeh explains the Taiwanese attitude towards government officials: In Taiwan, if someone doesn’t get an answer within 15 minutes of inquiring at official state institutions, the head of the department will have a big problem, “to the point where he might even be asked to step down. We as citizens pay your [government officials] salary. If you are not capable then you must step the hell down!”
Avoiding tax
Yeh says Chinese merchants do not trust the South African government. They do not want to pay tax or be “on the record”.
Almost all of the small business owners in Cyrildene only accept cash. Yeh says small Chinese businesses are “barely getting by” and they do not want to have to pay extra for bank charges. Instead they choose to have a substantial amount of cash on hand daily which makes them “easy targets” for robbery, says Yeh.
China Mall in Crown Mines is a hub for Chinese wholesalers. Surrounded by containers, it is where most Chinese small business owners come to purchase goods in bulk for their stores in other areas of Johannesburg.
“I have to stay here, thanks to your home affairs.”
“A family that comes to Johannesburg to make money doesn’t want to lose money by becoming involved in the tax system when they know it is all corrupt,” says Frank Zhang, a restaurateur and clothing shop owner.
Zhang explains that when traders come to China Mall to purchase goods, they are spending hundreds of thousands of rands in cash at a time. “There is no way they will swipe for that and lose money from the bank charges.
“Of course this makes them vulnerable to crime because then criminals know they have large amounts of cash on them. That is why many people will live behind, or very close to, their business,” says Zhang.
Recognised, registered and taxed
It is not only bank charges that prevent Chinese traders from making use of bank services. Like Yeh, who says he still has not received his South African passport, which he applied for 15 years ago, many Chinese traders have a non-resident status. “I have to stay here, thanks to your home affairs,” says Yeh.
This makes opening a bank account difficult and further removes Chinese traders from the South African business network.
Chinese traders tend to avoid the formal banking system in South Africa preferring to operate on a cash-only basis. Photo: Dinesh Balliah.
According to Anile Hlalukana from the South African Revenue Services (SARS), a small Chinese business owner can only be taxed if they are registered as a sole trader with SARS.
To make use of card machines, they would need a business bank account and the only way to get one is to be registered as a business with SARS.
Alycia Jacobs, a business banker at Standard Bank, says as long as someone is receiving a monthly income in South Africa, foreign or not, they have to be taxed.
“Where does the money go if they don’t have a bank account? Are they sending it abroad? Are they keeping it in their homes? They must have an account.”Zhang says some small Chinese traders register their businesses under the name of a company to get a tax number.
This company will usually be associated with a freighting or shipping firm. Traders can then open a bank account for their business which they use “for show” as all major money transactions are done in cash only.
Unhappy in Johannesburg
For the most part, Chou believes Chinese and Taiwanese people living in Johannesburg live unhappily. He says crime is rife, unions do not protect them and, if they study and become professionals, there are no jobs for them in South Africa.
“Sacrifice for the betterment of your family is part of the Chinese spirit.”
Chou says: “Since this country has managed to deter all Chinese and Taiwanese manufacturers, some of the manufacturers decided to settle down and become importers. They know the language, and it’s easier than trying to get into the industrial division here.”
South Africa is my home
Zhang sees himself as part of a small percentage of the Chinese in South Africa who have made this country their home. “Every country has its problems and there is crime everywhere. I laugh when they try to rob me.”
Both he and his wife are from northern China. Their eight-year-old daughter is the only Chinese pupil in her school and, according to her dad, she is excelling academically and does not have any problems socially. Zhang has bought a house in Bramley, a suburb of Johannesburg, and is very happy with his job.
Yeh feels differently“You have to consider where a person comes from to understand why they feel the way they do about being in South Africa.
“Northern China can be compared to a Zulu homeland. So do the math, what is better? If you come from a shitty place, you will love it here in South Africa. If you come from Shanghai, this place is a shithole.”
Self-sacrifice
“Have you ever been in poverty all your life? Have you ever been so hungry that your hands shake automatically? Where you wake up in the next morning and think: ‘Hmm, I just made another day’? Well, the fat guy sitting in front of you used to be in that situation.
For us, sacrifice is a virtue, something to be proud of. Something you don’t enjoy, but something that you have to do. Sacrifice for the betterment of your family is part of the Chinese spirit,” says Chou.
Yeh agrees that it is part of the Chinese culture to suffer in silence in the hope that your children will have a better future. “Up until the age of 30 we are living for ourselves. After that we get married, we have kids. That is when the weight of our responsibility shifts.
We don’t live for ourselves anymore, our kids come first. Our children are the ones who will carry our family name. They are the ones who will carry on what we leave behind,” he says.
Chou explains the Chinese philosophy on work. “The Chinese and Taiwanese alike work hard, they will do anything to make money. They will sacrifice their family life and their joys.”
He says he knows of a family in Cyrildene who owns a small supermarket. The five family members live together in one room behind their store. They share one toilet and use a bucket of water to wash as they do not have a shower or bath. The family sleeps on a double bunk bed with the parents at the bottom and their two adolescent children and 32-year-old cousin on top.
“To the Chinese, these are mere hardships to go through to taste the fruit of success. In your eyes it is suffering but to them it is living. They will sell anything, all in one store, as long as they can make a profit,” says Chou.
Gordon Lee came to Johannesburg and started a nursery called Golden Rod, which has grown over the years to the point that its net value is currently R15-million.
Lee has two children who went to university in South Africa and are both very successful in their respective industries. Because jobs are scarce, he says, his son moved to Australia to work as an engineer and his daughter moved to England.
He has no family in South Africa but closing up shop to be closer to his children is virtually out of the question for him.
“The reason I stayed on is, if I close it up, I will lose everything,” Lee says.
The business of family
Simon Hong, a curtain and bedding store owner at China Discount Mall in Randburg, says he sends money to his parents in China every month. “When that money arrives it is a sign that everything is well and good and that you are thankful to have been brought up in a way where you can be a successful business owner.”
Eva Lang and her husband own a small Chinese business in Cyrildene. She lives in South Africa with her six-month-old baby and manages their family business while her husband lives in China. Her husband sees Lang and their child twice a year when he comes to South Africa to monitor the progress of his business.
Chou explains that this kind of lifestyle may not be ideal and can cause strain on family life, but it is part of the Chinese culture to have a “spirit filled with hope for the tomorrow”.
“Often the reason they stay is that they believe they have little or no choice.”
“There are many people in South Africa who are poverty-stricken and live under the worst circumstances. But they are at least in a community, with their loved ones,” says Chou. The reason the Chinese do not mind going through hardships is because they live in the hope that things will get better – unlike South Africans, who don’t see their future improving, according to Chou.
Today, some Chinese small business owners in Johannesburg may be unhappy with their situation but there seems to be very little they can do to get out of it. Often the reason they stay is that they believe they have little or no choice. Whether they are suffering or embracing South African culture, they just want a better life for themselves and their children.
Chinese culture, their traditions and history influence the way they do business. Chou strongly believes that other cultures can learn a lot from the Chinese and what they prioritise in life. Although they emphasise financial success, their professional goals also lie in education.
Small Chinese traders are part of the community that makes Johannesburg the diverse city it is today, a city that houses many different cultures, each with its own story of how they came to be here. It is these merchants and migrants who are often overlooked and whose stories make Johannesburg distinctive.
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This feature was originally produced for the 2013 in-depth project of the Wits Honours in Journalism class. See more here.
Societal expectations and experiences can often place pressure on people’s relationships. With Valentine’s Day coming up we have asked individuals questions about their views on certain relationship dynamics especially when it comes to the most anticipated day of the year for some lovers, Valentines Day. Viewers shared their beliefs and Siyanda and Katlego talk about […]
