My Beautiful Violent Country

A short story about my experiences particularly in and around Soweto, South Africa. Focusing on every day life. It was supposed to be a poem....I was encouraged to write a positive poem, sorry!!

(Instructed to write something positive by Social Work; this was the best I could do.  I wrote it with paper and pen first obviously, then decided to type it up here as a short story). 

I am not able to write good things about myself, I never have done, and actually feel it is disturbing and wrong.  I feel ok when other people say positive things, but I won’t write them.  All my music and poetry has come from misery, so I find it impossible maybe also culturally wrong for me.  So I can only write positive things about other people �" I have one poem, but this is not a poem, it is just stored in my head.

 

I still don’t know where to start because there is so much, which is why I belong there.  So I will try to give an overview of the truth �" rather than what people will tell you about the place and her people.

 

I have been travelling through South Africa for a long time �" decades to get to and from St Helena.  It is much changed nowadays to pre-1994.  But I was too young to remember much about that period.  All I can say is that it was confusing, weird, and brutal.  As are the strange people who claim the country was “better then”.  It may still have its issues but I don’t think you can terrorise an entire population for 60+ years then expect it to be “normal”.  So I won’t write about its history because I only have this one pen.

I (and others) have a long connection with Soweto (which stands for South Western Townships and is made up of 52 townships to the South West of the CBD of Johannesburg (Jozi is easier for me to write...).  Soweto is now incorporated within Jozi itself and is where nearly 70% of the city’s population live.  I would describe Jozi as a much bigger and much more violent version of Glasgow i.e. it has very friendly people regardless of its issues.  The CBD is also laid out like Glasgow so that you can’t get lost.

 

There are many misconceptions about Cape Town an Durban being safer �" these are false but I do not want to write about them.

People do not agree with me but in terms of property �" it is far safer to stay in Soweto than in other parts of Jozi �" as the city has the biggest problem with unequal wealth in the whole country and therefore people staying in rich suburbs have big houses with security gates and fences �" this indicates that you have something worth breaking in for.  In Soweto where I tend to stay, we do not have this problem on the same scale.  Where there is nothing to steal �" there is no point in breaking in.  Until recently, there has been little / no security where I have stayed.  The majority of break ins do happen in rich places.

Other crime however is very high in Townships due to poverty and desperation.  I still consider myself very lucky when I was grabbed and dragged along the road by my hair; so does my friend (a local) �" because we were very very  lucky.  There were no weapons involved.  It was after dark, it was my fault for being out on the street after getting caught up late with work.  I could have stayed with my friend but I wanted to get back to where I had left my medication, but now I know that it was a mistake.  I don’t know why I decided to take the risk.  By the time I got to my medication I needed more than I actually had after that incident.  But the perpetrator was one of many unfortunate “prisoners of Nyaope”.  I do not think badly of him, if people see an opportunity to feed themselves / their families / or in many cases relive pain it makes complete sense to do this.

The community are both very protective of me and also aware that they need to police themselves �" and will do whatever it takes to punish this person and stop them from reoffending.  I still feel very sorry for him and guilty, but I also totally understand the need for mob justice / kangaroo courts.  He was tied up, taken away and badly beaten; much worse than myself or my friend.  Just a few days later.  It does seem barbaric �" but he won’t do it again.

If “Spooks” (R.Leo �" the man who assaulted me on St Helena ) had been in Soweto �" he would have been necklaced.  As rape is one of the worst (and most common) crimes in SA.  The community supports the victim (partly out of fear) rather than the perpetrator �" unlike St Helena.  Necklacing is where a car tyre is placed around the neck, filled with petrol, and set fire to.  Obviously horrific, but I would have preferred it to him hanging himself.  I am sorry if that sounds terrible. 

I will explain a bit more about the Nyaope because it is unique to Gauteng Townships. And it is one of the things we are trying to keep the children away from amongst many others.  Nyaope is the most cruel drug I know of.  And people’s poverty is exploited because it is made of a combination of cannabis (legal), poor quality heroin, washing powder, rat poison, and even anti-retroviral drugs.  The bulking agents make it cheaper than bread. So young people get addicted, but when it wears off they suffer extreme pain due to the rat poison �" and it drives them to do anything to purchase more to relive the pain.  It is very sad.  They will steal anything from their own families just to relieve the pain.  These are people who would not be criminals otherwise.  They are very upset about what it makes them do �" but it is almost impossible to stop.  As well as smoking it, many also now share blood with it to save costs, injecting each other’s blood �" these people are often HIV positive. 

I had to write about some of these things to explain why the project with the children is so important. The children that I have spent time with are mostly orphans, many are also HIV positive.  Some are not orphans but cannot afford to attend school or have no food at all.  They now attend the Umbuyisa Art and Cultural Centre which is part of the Mandela Legacy Project.  Its purpose is to provide a safe place for these children from all over Soweto for them to develop skills socially and technically.  It is run as an NGO so has no funding.  The project is extremely poor but does its best and the staff and children are always full of hope.  It keeps them away from gangs, drugs on the streets, train surfing (many die doing this), and teaches respect and good behaviour at the same time as nurturing them, giving them love, and even feeding them.   They now grow their own vegetables, cook and eat them, and take some for their families. 

The only income the project gets is on Thursdays.  This is when they invite visitors who are on day trips to Soweto, to visit their project and sell their art pieces.  I had always wanted to do everything I could for these loving children.  This is why I took the electric piano.  It was over a metre long, heavy, and I only had a tent bag for it.  The airline carried it as fragile cargo for me free of charge and I was amazed to get it there.  It travelled on a bus, a train, a taxi, three more buses, from Glasgow to Cardiff, then two planes and a minibus to reach them.  I had to get an SA adaptor and was afraid of switching it on with 36 children staring in silence.  But it still worked.  They were very happy and I taught them how to play it over a couple of months.  It was very chaotic but very rewarding.  I have never witnessed more grateful people in my entire life.  By the time I left some could play the first part of Nkosi Sikelele on both hands.  Some had learnt to spell their name, some played with just one hand but they all learned something.  They have since used it to play for the public on Youth Day 16^th June. 

I was glad I could do it because I had no other use for it, and I cannot help them financially.  Now some of the children teach others.  I feel like all 36 of them are “my own” children �" and they called me “mama Emma”.  It was very difficult to leave them.  They spent a whole day crying and so did I, which was expected.  One of them taught me Zulu in return for piano.  Her name was Mbalienhle which means “beautiful flower” in Zulu.  There was also Ntandokazi, Lhele, Phumzile, Lwandle, Naledi, Kwanele, Zanele, Nomceba, and many many more.  They spoke a mixture of Zulu, Sotho, Tswana, Ndebele, Xhosa and English with a little Afrikaans.  That part of the anthem I had trouble writing for them because after the first 4 languages it changes key before going into Afrikaans and English.  I sent it to them later, I don’t know if they managed.

The amount of love I felt from the children I have never found anywhere else. And in fact they did more for me than I did for them �" they just do not realise.  I still do not understand the people who do not visit them.  And I am very disturbed by the people who pass through on air conditioned buses staring at these people like they are in a zoo.  It is very upsetting and rude.  These children became very much part of my life, ever since I first met them when before my boyfriend died.  I still miss them very much.  Last year when I ended up in SA without intending to, I also visited them.  Two have since died.  And although it is very sad, because it is so common it is almost expected at any time.  Soweto is full of death.  It is sad but Soweto also thrives on death.  Businesses dealing in tombstones, and ceremonies are displayed everywhere on large signs on bridges, buildings, combis, and I lost count of how many “After the tears” I attended.  People are either unemployed sell whatever they can on the streets �" or they work in the death industry.  In other parts of Jozi security is the biggest employer.  It is sad that SA now actually relies on crime in order to provide employment.  Security is very big business also because the police went from brutal, evil and corrupt, to brutal, useless, and corrupt.  And they are known to “avoid crime” for their own safety.

I always stay close by the children often with friends when I am not at Lebo’s.  They have become my accepted family.  The living conditions are basic but fine.  Although disease spreads easily.  The toilet is communal, no seat, no flush, no door, and a long way away �" so night time often pee in a bucket. 

Electricity is off 50% of the time in winter �" which causes more upset when people are cold, and more crime.  Jozi is at 1700m above sea level so in winter it is below 0C at night often and above 20C during the day.  Fires burn in the streets as people both protest and desperately try to keep warm.  The buildings are not well insulated either �" many constructed of corrugated iron and anything else that can be found.  Even the better built houses are not well insulated.  My friends oven is also dangerous �" when you forget to stand on the small square of carpet in front of it, it electrocutes you when you touch it.

Sowetans generally are very warm, open and generous people.  They will talk openly about their experiences which makes me feel I belong.  Everybody is like me because every other person (man / woman / child) has been raped.  I don’t like to share this too much but out of all the adults I know in SA only 2 have not been, but only because they were lucky and escaped.  One woman whom I became very close to told me every detail of her attack with no shame.  She was kidnapped at gun point (2 people, 2 guns), driven away, had petrol sprayed in her face, and raped by both. When these people were telling me this so openly I felt at home again.  Except for the extreme level of knife and gun crime.  I was lucky on St Helena this is not a problem.  But you do get used to it in Soweto �" at night you hear gun shots, so it becomes “normal”. 

There were many days when I walked past large amounts of blood on the streets and my friend would just say “something very bad happened here”.  This information is extremely sensitive, but all the men I know were also raped as young boys. 

When I stay at Lebo’s we have “Story telling” on the last Thursday of each month.  I was asked to read my poem which I wrote to my family on St Helena.  Then there was a ceremony where I was dressed with Zulu beads and was re-named “Nomkhumbulwa”.  This is my Zulu name.  It simply means:  to remember (or also oddly “mother earth”) because they will always remember me.  They were very aware of how I am no longer British (because of my people and UK Government), the name “Emma” is just associated with torture, and they told me that they are now my family.  I have to rest for a while because now I am crying for these people.

I had to visit clinics whilst there last time �" I didn’t really know I was going until the last minute this year so didn’t have enough medication.  But my first visit was because I was in such pain I couldn’t sit down or walk.  I went to the closest clinic and my eyes were opened.  I was afraid because I am afraid of the NHS, but afterwards I was not.  I did have to sit down because I joined the typical queuing system �" first the registering queue (I was categorised as “African” which made me happy).  Then I followed the others at the back of the next queue for basic tests (where they told me I was underweight, because it is more normal for locals to be heavier).  Then to the next queue to finally after 6 hours see a medical officer.  She was very kind. Not a nurse or doctor, something else.  And she was seeing 3 people at once to get through the queue.  Luckily there was a curtain as my problem was embarrassing.  I felt so exposed; I had to show her my bottom etc.  Then she would leave me there to finish someone else and come back.  She told me I had a perineal haematoma (never had before) but there was nothing in clinic or pharmacies locally for it today so to sit on ice cubes.  So I did.  Everyone went running around searching for ice and I spent the whole night sitting on ice cubes to reduce pain and swelling. 

My other clinic related experience was finding medication.  I was prepared for the waiting time.  I spent three days registering and queuing at 6 different clinics and then being sent to Bara Hospital (got lost �" its the biggest hospital in the Southern Hemisphere �" I got lost for nearly 3 hours), because some didn’t have meds, some had only some, and only the hospital is allowed to keep diazepam to prevent break ins.  And even after all that I still have to leave Soweto to visit a pharmacy in a suburb of Jozi �" but it still worked out cheaper than using private clinics which are for the very few.  I got to see what people put up with.  There can be up to 300 people per clinic each day, waiting up to 8 hours. Patiently.  Very patiently.  It is stretched but I was comforted to see how the situation is just accepted here for what it is.  

Something else accepted was more alien to me �" but obviously necessary.  That was the desk where you hand in your fire arm and weapons on the way in.  This again is normal. Each clinic has security checks at the entrance, then the desk to hand in guns.  Obviously the size of this facility varied with the size of the clinic and so at Baragwanath hospital it’s enormous.  It greets you on the way in, a huge desk with several workers with bright yellow vests with pictures of guns on them.  It is odd �" as here at the hospital even if you have no weapon you still have to speak to them and get a ticket saying you have no weapon.  There are hundreds of shelves and containers full of guns and other weapons; it’s huge with a big yellow sign above saying “Gun Hand In”.  People are given a label to collect it on the way out.  So it is obviously very safe but also highlights a massive “problem”.  I hope that I did not look shocked, sometimes it is hard to pretend not to be shocked �" but it has also saved me lots of times from sticky situations.  I don’t believe there was any danger here but on the streets there has been and I have had to avoid looking afraid, as that is very dangerous.

The first time I went to the clinic about the thing on my bottom I was alone, but on the 3 days I spent attending 6 clinics plus hospital Tsietsi came with me.  It was very kind of him to sit and wait then travel to the next and the next and next with me all day every day for 3 days. 

In general I met so many happy cheerful people who had just been strangled and nearly killed by their own husbands the day before �" it is weird but gives me a strange sense of “freedom”.  I feel so safe around these people. They do not deserve to have to live the way they do �" but they have adapted and culturally different to people of the so called “West”.  They share stories like mine at set days and times.  At other times they live by the rule:  Don’t Complain �" Create.  This explains why Soweto is one of the most creative places on Earth with so many artists.  And also why when I cried sometimes I felt stupid.  Tsietsi makes art from plastic bottle tops which he collects from the streets and turns into mats, bench covers, bead curtains etc, and also prints his own t shirts.  He makes very little money, but is also clearing up the rubbish.

We celebrated Mothers day �" myself as a “mother” even though I am not (!).  They decided that I was a mother to these 36 children, again dressed me up, and I shouldn’t have but I drank at least 10 shots of whisky followed by Rum that I did not count.  I knew I was safe here �" I would not have consumed that elsewhere.  I told them my legs stop working with too much, they said it didn’t matter, they will help me.  And they did �" because in the end I have no idea what was happening but I ended up in my bed.  The next day was terrible.  But it rained (rare for winter and excuse to do nothing), so I sat in the bath for hours having panic attacks but not wanting people to see me naked.  A woman helped me get out, dressed, and gave me lots of tea and sat with me most of the day (Mother Mary we called her, Irish lass).  Tea will cure everything......etc.  Sbusiso then took over by the fire when I started to feel a bit more human again. 

I miss my beautiful warm loving people.  

These people, especially the children, are all I care about nowadays.  I would give everything I have to these children.  It was getting dark one evening so I tried to walk with one of them to her home for her safety but even she, at 8 years of age knew that this terrible thing had happened on St Helena last year, and she told me  no �" she would walk with me to get me to safety instead.  They do have to be very streetwise but it does not always keep them safe.

I couldn’t write all this as a poem because it is too much.  

But I hope that one day you will visit my Children in Soweto. 

Lufuno (Venda for love), and Nomhle (Tsonga for gift) took me to the airport to wait for my friend Olivia coming in from St Helena.  It was chaotic, dark, we got lost and had to ask at petrol stations for directions, they were under the influence of both drugs and alcohol (but so are most), but drove surprisingly well.  They tried to drop me at arrivals, but eventually found departures, nearly got their vehicle clamped but the man spoke Venda so she got away with it (!).  They told me I mustn’t cry because we would meet again, it was not goodbye.  And for them �" I did not cry, until they got in the car and drove away.  Then I couldn’t stop crying.  I don’t even remember what happened while I waited for Olivia except making sure I never appeared “afraid” (although crying possibly defeated that purpose ).  But OT airport nowadays is much better inside.  I cried all the way back with Olivia while she slept on me for over 20 hours.  I wanted to stay.  

Author's Note

Please excuse grammatical errors, I had to copy and paste it again as it disappeared. Thanks.

Reviews

[angel]

I'm very sorry to hear about the trials and tribulations of your people, Nomkhumbulwa. We western people don't always know how well we have things until we hear a story like this one.
All I can do is to say, take heart and promise to pray for you, which I will, immediately.
Stay strong, dear one.

[Nomkhumbulwa]

Thank you for taking the time to read my writing, I very much appreciate it.

[Robby]

An absolutely fascinating read. I am a speed reader and actually slowed down to truly absorb your so definitively described moments and experiences. I am not familiar with this region so what you have conveyed here was quite illuminating. I pray this finds you in a better place.

[SleeplessVolcano]

I can relate with your passion for the children, particularly when a nation seems to be stuck in never-ending spirals of violence and corruption. Although I share a measure of sympathy for the crimes committed by those who knew no better, or merely acted based on what they knew, a crime is still a crime, and just punishment should be the consequence. I say just, because mob justice is not the solution for a country trying to reach rule of law. Kangaroo courts will merely perpetuate all these negative spirals you've mentioned.

But love for children conquers all. I want to bless the country of my birth, but it is hard to do from a distance. Just bought a house in Cape Town, and on my next vacation I am bound to visit a local school and offer to teach the kids English. There is nothing quite like the hunger that a child has for knowledge - but it is doubly traumatic to see that while the want to learn, they barely have food to eat.

Ever read "Cry the beloved country" by Alan Paton? Describes the trauma of South African violence so well. I weep for my country. I left for purely financial reasons, not political ones, and now I'm finding it virtually impossible to return - jobs are scarce, and locals just seem so numb to the trials of life. One day I'll try to make a difference in the lives of a few children. Thank you for reminding me of that dream. Your story is inspirational.

[Nomkhumbulwa]

Thanks. Mob justice is better than "no justice". And helps people feel safer when the police will simply not get involved / do not have the power to do so. I may seem harsh but once again I wish he had not hung himself and had been subjected to that instead. I cant help that feeling.