Soweto Township

There are no words.

That’s what I’ve been telling myself these past 5 days since I arrived in South Africa.

I’ve had a mild case of writer’s block, which, in my experience can only be cured by the occurrence of an epic moment, something that happens that touches your soul, and inspires passion, re-conceiving that special transformation of thought and feeling into words on paper.

Let me go back to the beginning.

I woke up quite early this morning to take a trip into a township just outside of Joburg –it’s called Soweto. Having seen widespread poverty in India, I felt prepared for what I might experience in South Africa.

I was wrong.

No matter how often you’ve seen it, as long as there has been a span of time in between, you realize that you never get quite used to seeing people living in poverty. This time around, the impact hit me just as hard as it did the first time.

Our guide pulled up to an open space lot covered with reddish brown dirt. The lot went on a downward slope containing miles and miles of rundown shacks divided into vertical sections and separated by dirt road alleyways. Before going into the township our guide explained that it’s best not to give anyone cash in hand, but to instead offer to buy food. I immediately wondered why, and my mind went back to India where organized crime rings employ street beggars and collect their proceeds at the end of the day. It was not advisable to give them cash because the money went into the hands of mob bosses rather than the beggars themselves. I asked the Soweto guide why cash donations were not recommended, and he simply said that there is a chance that cash would be spent on frivolous items at a nearby shopping centre rather than on the necessities of life. This, he explained, was particularly true for Soweto’s youth who, in spite of being poor and at most times hungry, desperately wanted to be “cool” and sport updated clothes and costume jewelry.

As we walked a 15 year-old boy approached me, introducing himself as Otto and welcoming me to Soweto. He had a cocoa brown complexion with freckles and light brown eyes. I noticed he wore a single earring in his right ear with a blinged out stone in the centre. Otto was definitely one of the cool kids. I immediately began to tease him, asking whether he wore the fancy bling to get noticed by some young lady that’s caught his eye. He confessed that yes, he had a girlfriend, and was hoping one day to marry her. At that moment I noticed about 5 other boys of the same age who burst out laughing at Otto’s remarks on marriage. They shouted at me that he was far too young to even think about marriage and a couple of them fell on the ground holding their bellies in laughter.

The group of us continued on with the tour and the guide brought us down the dirt alley and into the home of an older woman. The house consisted of wood board siding and a rusty tin roof. When we walked into the house, there was nothing more than a plastic board floor, some shelves that held bowls and plates and to the right was an old, old mattress that was falling apart at the seams. That is where this woman and her 5 children slept –on a single run down mattress. The house had no heating system, and the tiny gas tank that existed in the corner was used to provide heat for cooking. I saw frustration in her eyes as she looked at the well-dressed tourists in front of her.

My heart bled.

With no nearby food stands I had no other option but to give this woman cash in hand, which she accepted graciously. Even though I gave her just about all I had, I felt guilty. Guilty for standing there in her home wearing my expensive sunglasses and designer jeans. I understood that the cost of these items could likely feed this woman and her family for months, but this initial guilt deepened as I realized that would not be enough. This woman and her family was just one of the hundreds and hundreds of people in this part of Soweto who are in need. And one of billions worldwide. How on earth can anything I do suffice when there are so many others who need the same, if not more?

Compassion for me is an emotion, and like all emotions she rests sleeping in the bottom of my heart, waiting for an opportune moment to arise. As she lays there in silent slumber, the heart forgets just how profound her impact can be felt when she awakes. Today I promised not to let her sleep so soundly anymore.

It’s 1:00 p.m. and we are now leaving Soweto and heading towards the Apartheid Museum, dedicated to telling the story of South Africa’s once legalized system of racial segregation and it’s abolishment thanks to the efforts of the country’s greatest leader –Nelson Mandela.

I’ll write my thoughts on that experience in a separate post, I think I’ve shared enough emotions for one day.

:)

Priscilla