Oh, How I Wish It Wouldn't Rain!
DAY TWO
It's really hard for me to explain my love affair with Soweto. Maybe it's the warmth of the people--so genuine and so unaffected by what's going on in the outside world. Maybe it's because even though there's a very distinct line between the haves and the haves not, they all seem to get along.
Mostly, I suspect it's because of Soweto's history. It served as the launching pad for many of the uprisings against apartheid in the '70s. In some ways I wish I could have seen it then as I'm sure it was an extremely different vibe. Thankfully, however, there are inspirational reminders of this city's horrid past.
One of the most poignant ones is the Hector Pieterson Museum. Pieterson was only 13 when he became the youngest casualty of the 1976 Soweto uprising. There's an iconic photo of Mbuyisa Makhubo, 18, carrying his Pieterson's bloody body away from the melee along with Hector's older sister Antionette. He subsequently hopped into a car and rushed Pieterson to the nearest hospital. No one really knows what became of the driver or what happened to Makhubo as both were consistently harassed by police following the incident.
Some say Makhubo escaped to Liberia, others claim that he was killed before he could get away. Antionette, however, is still alive and works in the museum honoring her brother's memory.
It's really sobering once you realize that this was something that happened in your lifetime. The levels of hatred and violence back in the day are truly perplexing. But as the South Africans say: One must forgive but never forget.
Across the street from the HPM are vendors selling everything from handmade carvings to jewelry. With the exception of the batiks, this merchandise is not what you would call high quality. I think some of it might even be made in Taiwan! The other downside is that the vendors will harass you a bit, but you feel compelled to spend a rand or two because these are just men, women and children trying to make an honest living.
Hopefully, they used some of the funds I spent toward a good dinner. I bought a dashiki--just because i liked the colors; a batik for my friend's kids' room; one of those crazy horns left over from the World Cup; and two homemade patchwork hangings.
I would have bought more but because I only came armed with R300, which is roughly $50, I was out of cash by the time I spotted these fabric wall hangings made by the vendor's grandmother.
My friend Judy was with me and just raved about them. I, actually, hadn't noticed them until she said something but then had to have them. There was no ATM close by and Judy had no money. Friend that she is, however, she somehow found it through other sources.
Together, we jocked the vendor down from R600 to R400. Shortly afterward I saw another tourist hand the same vendor US dollars. So, after brief negotiations, I was able to buy another one for $45. Happy birthday mom.
Soweto wasn't my only stop of the day. I also went by Nelson Mandela's home, his foundation and the museum containing some of his personal effects. There I spent a great deal of time in the street watching boys play soccer with a ball that looked as though it should have been retired 10 years ago; snapped some shots of a street performer and was embarrassed that I was out of
both currencies when he passed his hat to me; and engaged in some conversations with school kids who wanted me to take their picture.
And then came the rains--again. The day had started off with a downpour but we were very blessed that the rains stopped long enough for us to explore our destinations with no need of an umbrella. Lunch was the second best part of the day. We stopped at a place called Vikali Grill. It was buffet and very, very tasty--especially with a glass of pinotage.
By 3 p.m. I was back at the hotel, desperately needing a nap before meeting up with friends for dinner at Bukhara, a fabulous Indian restaurant in the Mandela Square mall adjacent to the hotel. There I met up with Arlene, a beautiful woman with a gracious spirit whom I had met nearly two years ago in Cape Town. We were joined by Judy, her son and his girlfriend, and a jazz writer from Toronto.
Good times. The skies are clear again.
Mostly, I suspect it's because of Soweto's history. It served as the launching pad for many of the uprisings against apartheid in the '70s. In some ways I wish I could have seen it then as I'm sure it was an extremely different vibe. Thankfully, however, there are inspirational reminders of this city's horrid past.One of the most poignant ones is the Hector Pieterson Museum. Pieterson was only 13 when he became the youngest casualty of the 1976 Soweto uprising. There's an iconic photo of Mbuyisa Makhubo, 18, carrying his Pieterson's bloody body away from the melee along with Hector's older sister Antionette. He subsequently hopped into a car and rushed Pieterson to the nearest hospital. No one really knows what became of the driver or what happened to Makhubo as both were consistently harassed by police following the incident.
Some say Makhubo escaped to Liberia, others claim that he was killed before he could get away. Antionette, however, is still alive and works in the museum honoring her brother's memory.It's really sobering once you realize that this was something that happened in your lifetime. The levels of hatred and violence back in the day are truly perplexing. But as the South Africans say: One must forgive but never forget.
Across the street from the HPM are vendors selling everything from handmade carvings to jewelry. With the exception of the batiks, this merchandise is not what you would call high quality. I think some of it might even be made in Taiwan! The other downside is that the vendors will harass you a bit, but you feel compelled to spend a rand or two because these are just men, women and children trying to make an honest living.
Hopefully, they used some of the funds I spent toward a good dinner. I bought a dashiki--just because i liked the colors; a batik for my friend's kids' room; one of those crazy horns left over from the World Cup; and two homemade patchwork hangings.
I would have bought more but because I only came armed with R300, which is roughly $50, I was out of cash by the time I spotted these fabric wall hangings made by the vendor's grandmother.My friend Judy was with me and just raved about them. I, actually, hadn't noticed them until she said something but then had to have them. There was no ATM close by and Judy had no money. Friend that she is, however, she somehow found it through other sources.
Together, we jocked the vendor down from R600 to R400. Shortly afterward I saw another tourist hand the same vendor US dollars. So, after brief negotiations, I was able to buy another one for $45. Happy birthday mom.
Soweto wasn't my only stop of the day. I also went by Nelson Mandela's home, his foundation and the museum containing some of his personal effects. There I spent a great deal of time in the street watching boys play soccer with a ball that looked as though it should have been retired 10 years ago; snapped some shots of a street performer and was embarrassed that I was out of
both currencies when he passed his hat to me; and engaged in some conversations with school kids who wanted me to take their picture.And then came the rains--again. The day had started off with a downpour but we were very blessed that the rains stopped long enough for us to explore our destinations with no need of an umbrella. Lunch was the second best part of the day. We stopped at a place called Vikali Grill. It was buffet and very, very tasty--especially with a glass of pinotage.
By 3 p.m. I was back at the hotel, desperately needing a nap before meeting up with friends for dinner at Bukhara, a fabulous Indian restaurant in the Mandela Square mall adjacent to the hotel. There I met up with Arlene, a beautiful woman with a gracious spirit whom I had met nearly two years ago in Cape Town. We were joined by Judy, her son and his girlfriend, and a jazz writer from Toronto.
Good times. The skies are clear again.
