Soweto, "Ghetto Paradise"

Surrounded by Bob Marley posters and Rastafarian flags, we arrived at our hostel in Soweto, the largest township in South Africa outside of Johannesburg. The temperature was high and so was Edward, the Rasta man playing guitar in the backyard. We arrived at Lebo’s Soweto Backpackers and were greeted by a sign that read: “Welcome to Soweto, Ghetto Paradise.” The girls occupied the entirety of Lebo’s while the boys stayed at another backpacker’s down the street, across from Nelson Mandela’s and Bishop Desmond Tutu’s houses. Completely worn out from traveling back to Johannesburg all day, the girls relaxed around the hostel: playing cards, reading books and playing music with the Rasta man. Our backyard looked like Roots, one of our favorite reggae clubs in Cape Town: completely covered in sand, fully stocked bar, Rastafarian décor, a fire and plenty of sitting space. There was also a cornucopia of African instruments to choose from.A few of us sat with Edward and jammed. We jammed as the sunset and the temperature dropped. We jammed for the next six hours, only stopping to refresh our drinks and to move by the fire. The boys came back all showered to a group of giggly girls going wild on drums, shakers, guitars and a plastic horn. Lull, Diana and I attempted to rap total nonsense. We rapped about everyone in our program: making cheap shots and poking fun, sparing no one. Edward loved this. We rapped, sang and jammed all night long. I think we all needed this time to have fun and unwind after the previous adventurous days.The next day we went on a four-hour bike ride through Soweto: we met the locals and danced with the children. SOME of us ate from a cow’s head; once I stared into the eyes of that bloody thing, I had to walk away. Because Soweto is the site of the 1976 uprisings against apartheid we heard stories of resistance and defiance, of strength and community. Our guide was an incredible storyteller and I learned more from her than I did during my entire history class.

When we returned home, there was a playground full of children awaiting our arrival. We played in the park for the rest of the evening. I hadn’t showered in days and was exhausted but it didn’t even phase me. We sang and danced with them, took them for rides on the bikes, played soccer and ran around with them. When I was relaxing in the grass, a boy came to me, laid with me and held onto my arm. We didn’t exchange words for the next hour; he just held onto me, petting my arm. I shared my water with him and we remained still as the others played. Later, a girl did the same thing to me. These kids just wanted to be shown affection: they weren’t pushy or hyper. I laid with them and really thought about this. After I bid them farewell I laid in my bed and cried a little. I can’t offer any explanation other than that I was caught completely off guard by these kids, and I felt emotionally overwhelmed.
The night ended with a group dinner and a shabeen (bar) crawl through the township. My favorite part of traveling is the people I meet along the way. Before going to bed I went out back and sat by the fire with Edward. We talked about life and music, and he gave me a lesson in philosophy. I said goodbye to him and he smiled through his coke-bottle glasses and lightly pounding his chest he said, “Much love and respect, mah sis-tah. Always.”