Soweto and other happenings

Of course I could not miss the South Western Townships (Soweto). It's where over a million people live, where Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu used to live, where teenage students were massacred or interned in 1976. One of the seats of the anti-apartheid liberation movement. I made two trips to Soweto. First, finding out from a leaflet that there's a jazz listening tradition. On the last Sunday of the month, jazz enthusiasts gather at a community hall or someone back yard with their music - formerly LPs, now CDs, I presume - and play it. How cool is that! Not a live band, but surely friendly people and an 'open house for all' atmosphere. I asked around for accompaniment - Soweto is a labyrinth of narrow lanes - til finally Molefe, a research assistant at the centre I've been based, agreed.

We were held up a few hours due to his car overheating, but we went ahead after changing our rendezvous point. Interestingly, I got a sense of the layering of the greater Johannesburg area. We started out in a leafy suburb, invariably with tall and high-security walls, mostly white but increasingly mixed, then passed by houses with low fences. Mostly coloured (blend of black and white) area, I was told. A ha. Nearing Soweto, of course the built up terrain changed, in a predominantly African area - though it must be said that class lines are distinct: middle class and rich Sowetans there are.

We arrived at Mapedi Hall about 6pm, close to dusk. To my dismay, no one was playing jazz. A choir was singing, and it was donation upon entry to sit down and enjoy. I was not in the groove for that, great as African gospel music is. So we hung around in the yard.

Now the sighting of a oriental face is a rarity in these parts, so greeting and conversation is easy to come by. As has happened many times, I was asked if I know Bruce Lee and those captivating moves. It's either Bruce or Jet. As usual, I said he's my uncle. I doubt that confers any protection, but if it doesn't strike fear, at least it breaks ice. Well on this night I was blessed to speak with two affable guys from a choir for half an hour. They shared their choral commitment - rehearsal twice a week, performing three 1-hour gigs on Sundays. They can net 4000 Rand, which is spread around. Most hold full-time jobs, but some depend on their meagre earnings for income. So it's tough, but they want to break into bigger audiences, city stages. Too bad they were out of CDs, but look out for The Chosen, maybe in concert near you some day.

Mapedi Hall, Meadowlands, Soweto.

Director and member of The Chosen

My second trip to Soweto was more touristy. I went on a day tour that covers the standard package. Driving towards the first stop point, we passed the landmark, central Orlando Power Station, surely the most decorated cooling tower in the world.


We stop for a 15 minute walking tour in a fairly new informal settlement (started around 1994), guided by a young, eloquent chap. Here is a glimpse of the destitution that affects millions of South Africans: no electricity, no piped water into homes (only communal taps), mostly shack dwellings, though of course many make the best by doing gardening, artwork, running micro businesses.

Sowetans do have a creative flair; murals and confetti around every corner. Here's a montage of Steve Biko.

The Hector Pieterson Museum is a must see, must pause. Hector is believed to be the first schoolkid gunned down to death at the 1976 massacre. They were protesting the imposition of Afrikaans as the language of instruction in schools. They had been taught in their mother tongue. The tour also stopped at the Regina Mundi church, which was a refuge for many youth against police aggression. And Nelson Mandela's house, where he lived for 14 years before his treason trial and incarceration on Robben Island.

Hector Pieterson Museum

Snapshot from the car showing the difference across the road between poor and middle-class houses. My guide pointed out, just look at the roofs.

A week ago, I had the privilege of attending a Christmas party hosted by the Chief Justice, Pius Langa, organized by an NGO caring for disabled children and adults. It was a rain-soaked, fun-filled day. The CJ is a humble, fatherly, upright man. Hm, could the same be said of Malaysia's CJs? No, I won't go into that now. A particularly memorable moment happened as the guests were leaving and I was helping an elderly lady negotiate the stairs outside the house. It was raining generously, and I offered to get an umbrella. No, she insisted, these are God's blessings. Why, indeed, block it?