What Happens in Soweto

“What happens in Soweto stays in Soweto” Igi whispered in my ear. But what happened for me in Soweto is something I will take with me far beyond the crumbled brick walls of the sprawling township. We were dropped off at Florence Mondi’s Bed & Breakfast in Pimville Zone 1, which is more or less directly in the center of Soweto. Florence has been a host mother before and over the past few years with the arrival of the World Cup she decided to convert her home into a B&B. Florence, 57, was incredibly welcoming and eager to share her story with us. We spent the first evening getting to know each other and hearing about each other’s lives and families around the globe. Flossie’s side business was selling airtime, which is the equivalent of minutes for a cell phone. The doorbell would ring every 10 minutes or so and she would make her way to a little window by the front door where she would print out a receipt with a code for a certain amount of Rand (SA currency). Florence was a very powerful motherly figure both inside her B&B but also around the neighborhood. Many of the surrounding young men had been employed, scolded, or fed by Florence so there was always a healthy concentration of young men outside on the curb.

We awoke on Saturday to hear the news that we would be attending a funeral for a local “community pillar” as they called him during the service. We arrived and were seated first row, right beside the casket, with roughly 500 other Sowetans behind us. The service was entirely in Zulu and was vibrant and loud from the very fist word. The most breathtaking part was that the moment someone would finish his or her words, the place would erupt in song. There was a method to this beautiful music, an elderly lady would usually stand and belt the first line of a song while the rest of the room would fall into harmony to complete the song. This happened about 15 times and most of the songs ended with people dancing and waving their arms in the air. I felt so out of my comfort zone that I was comfortable being completely absorbed by the experience. I knew no one, I understood no one, but I understood the music and I understood the purpose of why we were there. In that sense it was all I needed to experience it, and because of that it was an incredible window into township culture. As the funeral ended I was immediately separated from Momma Flo and my friends and thrown into a stampede of dancing and singing Sowetans filing out a single door. I was taller than everyone around me but that did not stop the glare of lower eyes looking at me like what the hell was I doing there. That said, the reception we got from the people in Soweto, including the Funeral, was very special and welcoming throughout the weekend. After the service we went to a local shop for lunch, which exclusively made Quarter which is pronounced “Quottta.” Quarter is a quarter of a loaf of bread hollowed out and filled with french fries, cheese, various meats, veggies, and ketchup. A massive amount of food for 8 Rand (there are 7.25 rand to a dollar). It was delicious.

The afternoon, and the rest of the weekend, began while we were sitting on the curb and were approached by some men from Pimville. The men had worked for Florence in the past and said they wanted to show us “the real Soweto,” to which we nervously obliged. Igi was a cop, Don (aka James Bond) was a manager of a cleaning service, Bona I’m pretty sure was a drug dealer, and there were twin brothers David and a name I never understood, who were drivers for a bank. We walked with the men, hand in hand, to various drinking and soccer viewing locations all around Pimville. Castle Lite was their beer of choice because they were convinced you could drink it all day long and never feel it the next morning. Needless to say both of the following mornings (afternoons) we didn’t see the boys until lunch time. We talked for hours and hours to these men all of whom could not have been nicer and more concerned with our safety and comfort. Each would take turns asking “You good nick? You ok golden eye?” And of course I was, it was amazing. We met dozens of people and discussed countless others from presidents and soccer players to beautiful women (ie. Maddie).

The two major parties in South Africa are the ANC (African National Congress), which is Mandela’s party that emerged and rescued the country from Apartheid, and the DA (Democratic Alliance), which stemmed from the National Party who was responsible for the Apartheid starting in the 50’s. The ANC today is riddled by corruption and getting very little done while the DA party is growing both in support and progressive anti apartheid ideals. The problem is that no one has the confidence to vote for anyone other than the ANC in fear of another Apartheid. That said, the ANC has gotten in between 65% & 75% of the votes the last decade. Our Sowetan friends acknowledged they agree far more with the DA and would love to vote for them but there is a colossal cultural blockade to do so. Igi the policeman also gave us great yet horrifying insight into the corruption of the police. He said in almost every situation they can be paid off which is why you see most of them riding around in BMW’s, like many of his friends we were hanging out with.

We went to a mega church the next day, probably 3,000, which was eye opening to say the least. Filled with singing and hands violently thrown towards god, my Sunday morning was filled with dancing and getting in touch with Jesus (we never talked). In the afternoon we were again greeted and taken around town by Igi and gang. We watched an Orlando Pirates game, one of the most popular SA teams based in Soweto, in a converted garage with a handful of other well-served vuvuzela blowing fans. After a few Castle Lites (legal at age 18 here) we headed back home, blowing our vuvuzelas and celebrating the Pirates victory, to have our last meal with Momma Flo. The van came to pick us up Monday morning and we told them to come back in an hour after we ate another huge breakfast with Florence, they laughed and we heard another honk an hour later.

My weekend in Soweto was one of those times that forced me to realize not only what we live for as humans but also no matter the race nor the economic status, we all live essentially the same. The vital things that emerge are the connections in life. Whether that be four grown brothers walking down the street holding hands or their generosity to take a few American boys around for the weekend, it is the relationships that are responsible for the joy in our life and in that way they bring us together.