Soweto

On the outskirts of Johannesburg is arguably one of the most famous "townships" in South Africa. Although the natives refer to it as a "township" , the 2.5-3 million people seem to have me searching for a different word. If Soweto is a "township", I don't even know where to start in finding a description of Tontogany. This particular area is completely black and is comprised mainly of the Zulu tribe, with a little !Xhosa mixed in. Since this is the place with the #2 crime rate in SA, we were given an extra safe hostile covered in barb wire, and locked up at night. How unsafe? The average woman in Soweto averages two rapes in her lifetime. Inside, to my surprise, was a little paradise with a sandy backyard, a hammock, a fire, a bar, a pool table, and a foosball table. Not exactly what I expected right way in this very poverty stricken area. I was almost ashamed of being there because I felt like the classic rich, pretentious American. Honestly, it cost only 20-25$.
Once we got settled in, a park right outside the house was filled and waiting for anxious kids. As soon as we stepped onto the park, we were mobbed by kids screaming in their native language, and sticking their hands down our pockets in search for digital cameras for pics. They knew little english, but the do know, "Shoot me." While I was wondering at the emotional state of these children and the poverty that had driven them so crazy as a need for someone to kill them, I was informed by my RA, Moses, that they simply wanted me to shoot a picture of them, not to kill them. I obliged. Finally I had to put away my camera, but these children did not bore easily. Since we are so tall compared to the natives, they lined up asking us to pick them up and thrust them skyward. Again I obliged, but unfortunately, my arms are not used to run, thus are not used at all. I left the task to those stronger in arm and joined in a nearby soccer game. The soccer field had a 15 degrees slant to it, so one team would have the distinct advantage. I was on such a team. I truly enjoyed myself. While each child moved with the ball fluidly and with finesse, I powered down the field in the typical American way. These 50lb-100lb children were no match for my power. I defintly pulled some moves deemed in need of a red card, but they knew it was all in good humor. Maybe they didn't understand the humor as much as my need to compensate for my define lack of skill. Playing with these kids made me feel as if I had not played a day of soccer in my life.
After an enjoyable night in the hostile, we woke up, ate breakfast, and mounted bikes, as a group, and began our 3.5hr bicycle tour of Soweto: both the good areas and the bad. Here we really saw poverty up close and personal. We saw houses that were the size of two twin beds put side by side and would sleep roughly 8 men. Children ran through the streets and scavenged through piles of trash gathered alongside the streets in search for food. This picture to the right is the local butcher making deals with the locals. We would see him dissect an animal before our eyes, sell them, and wrap them up in newspapers. From this very shop we tasted the delicacies of Soweto. The first was a homemade corn beer served in a large white bucket which we shared with some locals. It resembled brown milk and was very sweet. The second thing was a drink of curdled milk which I could best decribe as sour yogurt, and finally the cheek of a cow. While they only use cow cheek because richer butchers do not fully utilize the heads of cows, they also hold the meat as sacred and call it "Brain meat." It was not to different from your normal beef. We biked by Nelson Mandela's house where he lived for many years while working in J-burg.
We biked back finally, and got into our hostile. There I got into a discussion with one of the locals and an obvious drug dealer. He spoke of the ease of using weed. He was right. Although the drug is illegal, you would see policemen pass by people smoking weed and not even hesitate to stop for even as much as a reprimand. He told me where to find my own weed. About 400m away from our hostile, past some railroad tracks was a secret field of pot that he told me about, just in case I wanted to steal some. I told him I was grateful for the tip, but I wasn;t interested. Again he said he could sell me some, for about 5 rands a joint (70 cents). I was blown away. A single joint in the state runs at least $50 dollars more. Drugs are an obvious problem. I fear, and almost got the sense that most youth in Soweto were involved in drugs. Drugs are a root for most of the violence in Soweto, so it is a sense of helplessness to see a problem, but have no idea how to even go about starting to fix it. Regardless, the dealer and I sat under the night sky by the fire exchanging stories and huddling closer to the campfire. He smoked at least 1 joint per 10 minutes. I could see no way he could ever make it past 50. I finally retired to my bed, ready to make a trip to Kruger Park.