Fault Lines Of A Color Divide

While we often partook in the best that modern Jozi had to offer after hours, we came to South Africa to also get a sense for the country’s troubled history. To this end, first on our agenda was a visit to the Apartheid Museum. Upon arriving, we were made to use separate entrances (one for Whites and another for Non-Whites). We both found the museum to be an incredible tribute to the dignity and resilience necessary to overcome a horrifyingly-inhumane condition.

Nonetheless, we found it difficult not to be enraged by the depravity of the Afrikaaner regime (which was tacitly supported as a hedge against communism by both the U.S. and the U.K. during the Reagan and Thatcher administrations). Apartheid atrocities, just to name a few, included the butchering of black schoolchildren in Soweto in 1976, the torture and murder of activist Steve Biko during imprisonment and the cowardly assassination of Chris Hani while he stood in his driveway after purchasing a newspaper. The intensity of our feelings as total outsiders underlined the strength and character of a Mandela to both forgive and indemnify his white tormentors.

After experiencing one graphic exhibit after another, the bad taste in our mouths magnified when we caught a potential glimpse of contemporary race relations in South Africa. Observing a guided school tour of the museum, we noted that black schoolchildren were engrossed by the guide and the displays while their white counterparts stood around gossiping with one another.

It was only when we came to the final wing of the museum (devoted to reconciliation) that our moods brightened. A victorious photograph of the Reverend Desmond Tutu casting his vote in the 1994 democratic elections perfectly represented the ideals of the Apartheid Museum. In the picture, Tutu is seen flashing his trademark wide, irrepressible grin while he triumphantly raises his ballot in the air. After exiting the exhibition hall, we paused for reflection at a sign asking us to consider what it meant to be able to walk away with freedom.

Moments later, our enthusiastic Soweto tour guide, Mandy, picked us up in the museum parking lot. Mandy came recommended to us via the Rough Guide; it was only after meeting her that we learned that she was the first black woman tour operator in South Africa. After giving us a candid and unsanitized perspective on post-Apartheid life in black South Africa, Mandy took us to lunch at Windy’s, a Soweto lunchtime institution. During lunch, we met two amazing native Sowetan women who talked with us about their community’s capacity for forgiveness and generosity. In keeping with the theme of the discussion, one of the women invited us to stay with her the next time we visited South Africa.

Filled with good food and warm feelings, we made our way to the Hector Petersen memorial. Petersen was the first student killed during the 1976 Soweto school protests. A famous photograph of his dead body being carried away by an older boy with his grieving teenage sister astride garnered international outrage and today graces an exhibit wall in the Apartheid Museum. Over thirty years later, Petersen’s sister spends her days at her brother’s memorial and, surprisingly, often poses in pictures with visiting tourists. Although we would have never initiated such a request at a memorial site, we were honored to stand next to the girl in the famous picture and to express in person our appreciation of her suffering.

Next, we visited the Mandela (Mandigo) homestead where we saw an eclectic collection of memorabilia, including photographs and press clippings, honorary degrees and personal effects (including the shoes from his prison days as well as the first pair he bought himself after his release). We were terrified to hear that Mandela’s children slept on the kitchen floor because their room at the front of the house had been bombed on more than one occasion. We also learned that, after his release, Mandela spent ten nights in the family home before having to move for both privacy and security reasons. Mandy drove us past Mandela’s ex-wife Winnie’s house (a woman she still held in high esteem despite some dubious conduct) nearby before continuing with the tour.

We proceeded to the Regina Mundi church, which was the epicenter of the 1976 protests. Because political organizing was unlawful, the church provided a space where students though they could gather safely. Unfortunately, the students overestimated the decency of the Afrikaaner authorities; the police forcefully raided the church causing widespread chaos and bloodshed. We walked carefully through the church, pausing to observe several bullet holes in the ceiling and a marble altar smashed by an angry rifle butt. We also saw the famous black Madonna and Child painting with a stylized map of Soweto at its underside. Ironically, the poignant painting was commissioned by the head of DeBeers (a man who will have much to account for in the afterlife). He created Soweto’s shack housing for the express purpose of keeping his black workers from taking time off to visit their remotely-located families.

Our last and most emotional stop of the day was at a shantytown section of Soweto named Kliptown. Mandy told us that most tourists never venture into Kliptown to talk with the residents out of fear for their personal safety. As a result, most stand by the freeway voyeuristically taking pictures of the settlement. Our experience, however, was quite the opposite. By making our way into the shantytown on foot, we had an intimate vantage point of the gentle dignity of the community’s denizens.

One of Kliptown’s resident teenagers showed us around, walking us past very modest ramshackle homes, a make-shift restaurant, a small corrugated tin shack and several outhouses. Looking inside the dwellings to see furniture, tablecloths and other personal touches as well as talking with various relatives and neighbors underscored the permanence and vitality of Kliptown. While some of the local adults looked at us curiously, the community’s toddlers were less restrained in their greeting. One small girl barreled straight into Kaberi before throwing her arms around Kaberi’s knees and grinning sweetly. Several children held our hands at every stage of the visit. All in all, the experience was quite moving. At the end of the walk, Vik gave our sensible young guide some money to buy fresh oranges to share with all of the children in the development.

Our dinner with Kgomotso that evening was filled with much talk about contemporary race relations in South Africa. We especially appreciated hearing her perspective on growing up in Soweto during the 1976 rebellions. Her firsthand recollections helped give context to much of what we had seen earlier in the day. It was a powerful conclusion to an emotional day and a wonderful visit to South Africa.