Saturday, May 17, 2025

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The Art of Growth

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By Todd Pengelly

Though his birthday isn’t until May, Thabang, 14, is quick to add the extra year to his age. “I’m 15,” he says when asked his age. “But maybe I’m the kid that’s 200 years old. You know, science says the first 200 year old has probably been born.” It’s an interesting idea, especially coming from a teenager as mature as Thabang is at 14. As Thabang, English name – Kevin, sat sketching in my notebook, I asked him if he was afraid of dying. “Of course I am!” he exclaimed.

Thabang, who can be found drawing at nearly all times of the day, wants to be an architect when he grows up, although he doesn’t seem too keen on actually growing up. Before realizing his dream in high school, Thabang says he wanted to be a pilot. “But then I went to a jetlab and realised flying was too risky. I can’t do that.” So, he turned away from his risky, high-flying dreams and took up the arts instead. Even though he’d been drawing since he was 8, it wasn’t until high school that Thabang really decided illustration was what he wanted to pursue. “High school changes everything.”

“Everything?” I ask.

“Everything,” he answers.

And while “everything” has changed for Thabang and his personal and academic interests, he is still extremely self-conscious about his work. “I’m not that good,” he points out to me repeatedly. “My friend, he’s good. Your big brother, Siya, oh man – he’s really good. Me, I’m not that good.” It’s not exactly humility. It’s more akin to insecurity. When I pressed him on why he continued to draw if he didn’t think he was good, he responded by saying, “I do art for the sake of art.”

As I sit and watch Thabang’s passion for illustration, a quote from Kurt Vonnegut works its way forward in my memory. “The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable.”

And seeing Thabang sit with his work, drawing to stay in the moment and not grow old, breathes a new life into the quote swirling in my head. I find out later though, that there is another part to this quote, a part I had forgotten or never known. As if responding to Thabang’s insecurity of his art, Kurt Vonnegut continues, “Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for Heaven’s sake.”

So, that’s what Thabang does. He sits, and he draws, and he grows, whether he wants to or not.

Mac Maharaj discusses diversity issues with American students

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By Desi LaPoole

Sathyandranath Ragunanan “Mac” Maharaj is a man who has been integral to the liberation of South Africa’s oppressed peoples from the apartheid system and instrumental in creating the country’s true democracy that exists today. For his efforts to abolish apartheid as a member of the African National Congress, Maharaj was arrested and sentenced to 12 years in prison, which he served at the infamous Robben Island alongside other revolutionaries, most notably Nelson Mandela.

One might expect such a man to be hardened from his time in prison and years of fighting crippling oppression, however within minutes of sitting down with Maharaj, his casual, almost grandfatherly demeanor lifted any tensions and heavy expectations from the room. In his burgundy Nike athletic shirt paired interestingly enough with black slacks, the now elderly man swiftly cracked one joke after another, generating hearty laughter from the crowd.

He began today’s discussion by allowing the students in the crowd to connect their experiences at home to what they observe and experience in South Africa. His lens of choice to explain how the students might connect these differing experiences was by raising an issue both South African and American society are grappling with: the topic of diversity. Although both countries are commonly regarded as among the most diverse on the planet, they both struggle with unifying under a single national identity. By linking disconnections between different groups of South Africans that American students may observe during their stay in the country to their own experiences of negotiating personal and national identity, they might better understand these issues within the South African context.

Maharaj went on to explain the incredible difference between issues of race and diversity between the two nations. One of the most obvious of these differences is the fact that while a white majority enslaved and oppressed black and native minorities in the US, the people of colour of South Africa were subjected to a racist system perpetuated by a white minority. At the end of Apartheid, Maharaj, Mandela and other political leaders were tasked with building a bridge from that white minority rule to a system that represented everyone in the country. One way they were able to start reconciling with the past was by not only bringing the truth of the crimes and atrocities committed under apartheid to light, but also by including the victims of those crimes in the process of reconciliation. However, Maharaj made a point to say he believes this process in incomplete, and as a nation South Africa should continue to dig up the past in a way that builds up the esteem and unity of the country as a whole.

 

Old hospital set to heal Cape Town’s apartheid wounds

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By Natalie Elliott

Sixteen years after a Cape Town hospital closed‚ the site is a step closer to becoming home for thousands of families.

The 22ha occupied by Conradie Hospital‚ between Thornton and Pinelands‚ is set to make way for 3‚602 houses‚ two schools and a commercial centre.

The Western Cape government wants to sell the site to Concor Construction for R202-million. Just under half the houses the company builds in a R3-billion development will be social‚ subsidised and rent-to-buy units. The remainder will be sold on the open market._____________________________________________

Read more at TimesLive

Becoming a Muslim in Prison

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By Natalie Elliott

He used to carry R1000 at a time in a roll in his throat, and in his jacket pocket he would smuggle cell phones to the prisoners on the inside. He used to be on the outside.

Many of those around him at the prison eat the sugary strawberry-flavoured biscuits on the table, but not Bonginkosi* He doesn’t put “just anything” into his body any more.

Now, he drinks only water and milk.

He drinks it with purpose. “Allahu akbar” is followed by three intentional sips.

He weighs every choice.

At the beginning he got into fights. First, they landed him in prison and then in solitary confinement. The first time in solitary, it was for 9 months, for violence. He did nothing with his time. The second time, it was for 90 days, out of choice and for his own protection. He fasted and prayed.

These days Bonginkosi considers it a privilege to choose what to do with the R1 400 he receives every month from sponsors. It was when he began swimming that his determination to change his world got him noticed. That was at the last prison. Now there is no pool but he still dreams about it, and the sponsors have stuck with him.

“When I’m in the water, I feel free,” he says.

And the money he gets now is more than he used to make from his last gig – secretly growing marijuana in the grounds of a high security prison.

Homes in the area near the prison are simple, often surrounded by sugarcane.

At first he would spend this money on snacks and cigarettes. Last month, he used it to order 56 Qurans instead. Thirty people converted to Islam, just like he had.

He used to be in the highest security prison in the country, and now he is in the lowest. He used to have contact only with members of the 26s, and now his family comes to visit him every weekend.

Bonginkosi’s world has changed since the day one of his friends shot and killed a man during a robbery. Bonginkosi was there, and that’s why he is now here.

For several years the man’s son sought a gang that would help him avenge his father. Then he came to the prison and met Bonginkosi face to face. With their extended families present, the first meeting was tentative. But the young man has persevered.

Now, he is Bonginkosi’s Muslim brother, and visits him every week. They have made their peace.

Rural Dreams

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The life she lives is one she appreciates, mostly because it’s all she’s known, but that doesn’t stop her from dreaming. It’s her ability to dream that keeps her grounded while allowing her to be free, as freedom is the only thing she truly seeks.

The rural landscape of Dokodweni, which is home to a few hundred South African natives.

Just a few hours outside of the bustling city of Durban is the rural town of Dokodweni. Like anywhere, it has the four necessities for it to function; a church, a school, a clinic and a grocery store. The residents work both regular and odd jobs, most unaware of what lies beyond their homestead.


The same can be said for Lindelwa Dube, who has gone no further than a few kilometers into town, never venturing further.

She finds freedom in her ambitions. Because of the burden of expectation that comes with being a Zulu woman—namely being a homemaker and the requirement of marriage— she spends a good amount of time submitting to the wishes of her mother and father.

The main house on the Dube plot.

 

“I always have to be available to help.” she says. “Even if there are things I don’t want to do, I do them because I don’t want to disappoint my mother.”


Humility and respect are two concepts that govern Lindelwa’s life, both of which challenge her daily – on the one hand, submitting to her parents, while on the other rebelling against school to the point where disrespecting teachers is a daily activity, most times to the detriment of her education.

She tells how she  and her schoolmates sang and danced during a lecture. And how one week the teacher decided not to show up. But education remains part of her plan – Lindelwa still wants to be a doctor.

 

Lindelwa Dube, age 15.
gracefully smiling after being caught off-guard.

She smiles as I ask why. All she knows is that her mother deserves a bigger house and her father a new car. As we sit on the sofa, eyes glued to the TV set where Imbewu: The Seed tracks the daily drama of a Zulu family caught in a big city tale of ambition and tradition, she can see herself living this life – fast paced and glittering. But her ties to her rural homestead remain powerful. She breathes and says, “One day I’ll go to America…but I want to stay here forever.”

By Corey D. Smith

Durban Driver Traces his Routes

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It’s usually the passenger whose trip takes priority. But what about the person behind the wheel? Fifty-one-year-old Virash “V” Tiloki has been driving international visitors in South Africa for thirty-three years, and he’s had quite a journey.

It rains on the way back as Tiloki’s bus drives International students from Mozambique to Durban.

“I was born in Durban to a family of two brothers and a sister. My dad passed away at an early age. We grew up in a poor suburb called Chatsworth,” Tiloki says.  

Going to school didn’t come easily. “I never really enjoyed school much back then.”   

Tiloki attributes this to being the youngest in the family—kids would bully and poke fun at him in the schoolyard.

After dropping out of school, he says, he started working as a shoe salesman “at R5 a day”. But privately, Tiloki had plans in the works.

“I said to myself, I’m going to achieve every single dream of mine and prove everybody wrong.

“I could show them that without education, if you put your mind, you put your heart and soul into anything, into a dream… (that dream will come true).  

“Driving has become my passion.”

Tiloki puts his other hand on the wheel, “You know, I’ve only read one book in my entire life.”

But his lack of formal literacy hasn’t steered him away from learning.

“My passengers are my teachers. I’m passionate about learning. I want to learn about anything and everything that comes my way.”

As a boy, Tiloki wanted to learn to how to read and play music in the footsteps of his father, who died when he was just 8.

However, the local music teacher turned him away because he didn’t have an instrument. His family was too poor to afford one.

But driving musicians on tour in Durban has given him  a taste of the music scene his father introduced him.

“I ended up meeting all of my favorite singers from India. I met every great Indian artist and got to interview them personally.”

Then he tells another story about how his love for space travel unexpectedly rocketed into his backseat.

Tiloki’s white van sits parked in one of Maputo’s streets, waiting to pick up students from their hotel.

In 2004, he drove one of the Columbia Space Shuttle commanders for a week but conversation never led to revealing his identity. One night, the man pointed out Mars to Tiloki from the car window. He wondered why his passenger would mention such a trivial fact.

When the visitor forgot an important parcel that Tiloki was able to return to him, Tiloki discovered the man was as an astronaut.

And soon after the man returned to the US, Tiloki received a letter in the mail.

It read, “To V, thank you for returning my present. If you ever come to Cape Canaveral, the tour’s on me.”

“I got the shock of my life,” he says.

Moments like these are what makes this Durban driver happy to be on the road.

 

Managing Waste in New York and Globally

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“Do you really need one more seashell?” During Nell Pearson’s senior year of high school, her classmate posed this question to her.  They were visiting Assateague, a island off the coast of Maryland and Virginia known for its wild ponies and beaches, but her classmate worried about the retreat’s environmental impact. She used a seashell to symbolize tourists who took shells and other articles that didn’t belong to them, which hampered with the park’s natural decomposition processes.

This past summer Pearson designed and constructed a prototype three-bin system for composting at Plimoth Plantation in Massachusetts. The system is currently being utilized to help the museum become a zero-waste facility. Photo: Plimoth Plantation Staff

The illustration stuck with Pearson, not that she was a novice to conservation or waste management. Since a junior in high school, the New York City native has worked with several organizations that promote recycling, composting, and environmental protection. It all began with her internship at the Brooklyn Historical Society, where she learned about Brooklyn’s sewers. The project led to her joining The Billion Oysters Project the following summer. As a partner organization to Earth Matters, The Billion Oysters Project replants oysters into New York’s rivers. “Actually New York was a huge spot for oysters originally,” Pearson explains. “Oysters can naturally filter the waste generated by New York City.”

Besides her oyster-centered work, Pearson spent the same summer composting, practicing urban agriculture, and teaching New Yorkers to improve their personal waste management strategies. Peterson reflects, “It was really cool seeing and understanding waste on a larger scale. In New York you’re not really thinking about it and just put your trash on the sidewalk for someone else to pick up. ” She laughs. “I’m now the waste enforcer of my house!”

At Plimoth Plantation, Pearson collected a variety of waste to be composted, including these food scraps from the museum’s kitchen. Photo: Plimoth Plantation Staff

This past summer Pearson applied the skills she learned to an original project. At Plimouth Plantation in Plymouth, Massachusetts, Pearson initiated a composting prototype for its horticultural department. After contacting the museum’s gardens, kitchen, and offices, she collected scraps for composting. “Looking towards the future, I think the museum can become a leader among neighboring institutions to live more sustainably,” Pearson states.

As Pearson completes her semester in Durban, South Africa, she looks forward to pursuing waste management research in a new context. After observing plenty of waste along the roadside and few collection bins, she knows the area has potential. “I think it’s really important to not only be aware of the problems in my community but also what’s going on at a global scale.”

Cato Manor from the Outside-In

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Some of its houses are meager in size, tin-roofed dwellings that seem claustrophobic to the outside eye. Other homes look more sophisticated  – orange, yellow, and tan mud structures, accentuated by tall gates with barbed wire and sharp glass on top. Here you might at one moment catch the infectious scent of meat grilling, but soon after sniff a strange mixture of smoke and decomposing refuse. This is Cato Manor.

Cato Manor is located 7 kilometers from Durban’s city centre. Although Indian gardeners originally settled there, it has since been dominated the black working class. Photo: Aaliyah Wells-Samci

The homes of this Durban suburb may not be imposing, but its people present a striking contrast. In the early hours of morning, black African women bustle on the sidewalks on their way to work, their dresses well-ironed, their hair impeccably arranged, and thick handbags giving off a final stylish touch. “Sawubona!” they greet each other as they go their separate ways. Now and then uniform-clad children run to the sidewalk, their small backpacks hanging around their shoulders, as some carry a couple of rands for the mini-bus taxi. Men rise early too, some beginning their daily Taxify and Uber rounds, while others descend the streets to the city on foot, their meager clothing in sharp contrast to their female counterparts.   

Outsiders are wary of Cato Manor, with its reputation as a dangerous place, but with the sunrise, danger is not yet on the horizon. Come evening the suburb becomes a different place. The distant city lights, combined with glow from street and home lamps, prevent total darkness from engulfing the area, illuminating men and women who walk alone or isolated groups of young men venturing into the unknown. At the nightlife heart of Cato Manor, Mojo’s Car Wash hosts a DJ and serves cheap shisanyama, pap, and drinks through the wee hours of night. Young people sit, chat, and occasionally get up to dance to old-school western beats.

Although Cato Manor’s informal settlements have scared many upperclass South Africans from the area, the settlements’ residents go to the city everyday for work. Photo: Kate Irwin

Come Sunday morning, Cato Manor transforms again. Neighbours are to be found greeting each other, this time as they make their way to church. The work outfits of the week are replaced by lavish, colorful dresses and heels, ironed suits and polished dress shoes. Those from the poorest of homes mingle freely with those from the most sophisticated homes as they all praise the same God together. This is Cato Manor.

 

How the Sun Rises

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By Corey D. Smith

The sun sets in beautiful rays of reds, blues and yellows. In the distance the cars pass on the highway. Tail lights bright red, the headlights showing white. It is evening and from atop the hill at my Cato manor homestay, peace abounds.

As the crickets begin to chirp, the other animals—the likes of dogs, monkeys, chickens and goats—retreat to their resting places, only to be heard again in the morning, making way for the moonlight. Rest arrives, starlight blankets the sky.

When the doors open and shut and conversations start , you know it is time for the daily hustle and bustle. Instantly the township bursts into life. I get up, take a bite of breakfast and relax with Abongile, my homestay niece, who enjoys cartoons. They envelop me as she practices her English.

Half past seven. I head to the bus stop: immediately the honking of minibus taxis alarms me. Confused, I look down the wrong side of the street.

“Sawubona.” “Howszit.” “Awe.” “Sharp.” All said as you walk by. It is a community of love you are introduced to, all as I leave for school. These interactions continue as I make my way to the main road. I can only imagine what the day will bring for the community of Blinkbonnie.

The afternoon brings new energy as we head back into Blinkbonnie. Men and women are returning from work as the children return from school. Everyone’s tired from a busy day and ready to unwind.

Laughter fills the air, mixed with music, the aroma of food—ujeqe kanye noshukela ubhontshisi, or maybe chicken and rice—and conversation. Kids play kickball to pass the time, mothers chat with friends, fathers recline in their favorite chair, Soon, everyone will be called for dinner.

“Dinner is ready,” my host moms says in Zulu. We wash our hands, plates are dished; it is time to chow and watch soapies. Everyone has their favourite; from Uzalo to Generations. This is family time. It is not a very social hour, as we each sit captivated by the latest drama between shows. Warmness is still very much present.

We sit like this for an hour or so, before we feel it’s time to wind down. Soon sleep will come barging in. The credits roll, we say goodnight and prepare for the day ahead of us.

The sun rises in beautiful rays of reds, blues and yellows, in the distance the cars pass on the highway. Tail lights bright red, the headlights showing white. It is morning and from atop the hill at my Cato manor homestay, the night’s peaceful energy is preparing to burst into a new day.

7 am in Cato Manor. Photo by Corey D. Smith

A Town Within A City

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By Natalie Elliott

At the edge of my vision is the start of the township. Small shacks made of aluminum dot the landscape. If you were to walk there, your feet would kick trash at every step. These are the informal settlements. Take the first right, and you will arrive on my street, Blinkbonnie.

Waves of people walk home from work in the 5 o’clock setting sun, and school children in plaid uniforms run in between them. Small bare feet kick soccer balls in a car park to the left. On the right, a hair salon operates out of a concrete block with no windows and a gap in the wall for a doorway. Up ahead, the street steadily climbs a hill. At the top is my host family’s home.

Turn left into the car park you find there, and walk back down the hill a bit. A dirt path takes you past the car full of boys playing house music. They are brothers and cousins of the people who live here. Go down past Keira’s house, my sweet twelve-year-old neighbour who loves to play with my hair and my phone. Walk past the house with Hindu statues, blasting out Indian music, and onto the house with the red car. This is where I’m standing.

Behind me, a humble home sits with its door open, but gate closed. Inside, my sister Zama watches soapies while my mama cooks dinner. The smell of carrots steaming with chilli powder and potatoes wafts through the gate, and out to where I am standing.

In front of me, tall grass with glimpses of wildflowers reveals only the roofs of houses perched on the hill below. Above these houses, a clothesline holds onto long pink nightshirts, blue polka-dot pyjama shorts and an orange beach towel.

The wind feels like a soft touch, gently wrapping my body in its arms. Winter has turned into Spring and if I look far enough, I can see the ocean. Perhaps, this is where the cool air comes from. The waves crash into sand, and from there, skyscrapers erupt from the earth. A freeway snakes in between these buildings, and cars look like ants making their way home.

Out there is the city of Durban, but right in front of me is the township of Cato Manor, my home for now.

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