South Africa

Some time has elapsed since the gathering in Johannesburg. It still seems too soon to reflect fully on the event. It will be very interesting to see what emerges. It’s a challenge to maintain contact across time zones and cultures, but I’m hoping that we can build on the gathering in a substantial way.

One certain outcome of the gathering is a great expectation of what south-south exchange might bring. As an Australian, it seemed that we couldn’t match the scope of the craft sector, certainly in size. But we do have a quite evolved cultural infrastructure which consists of organisations and policies. Now that South Africa is continuing its process of Black Empowerment, it seems a good opportunity to offer support through knowledge and skills transfer. This is particularly relevant to the practice of putting craft objects in art galleries.

It seems that this kind of partnership in developmental activities might be of particular relevance right now. One of the many sayings that was circulating around the gathering was numbo liya kade – ‘magic takes time’. We shouldn’t expect exhibitions and publications to appear magically as a result of the gathering. But we know have the beginning of a history that we can evolve across the south. The real work begins!

Saturday began at the African Cultural Centre, where Benji Francis presented the raw work by nine young performers who each told the story of their lives for the first time to an audience. These were ordinary stories of people in townships. One was a boy who had shot his stepmother after daily beatings. Another was a girl whose best friend overdosed from drugs she had sold her. Another boy’s parents had died in a car accident and was then caught up in the crime world in order to survive.

But the most dramatic story was the girl whose teacher had thrown a rock at her for coming to school while they were still on strike. The police had returned soon after and tried to disperse the teachers with guns. She fled the shooting and hid at home. The police eventually knocked on her door and uncovered her hiding. They then commanded her to stand with her back to them while they shot her mother. When her uncle turned up, he raged against them and threw rocks. By that stage they had run out of rubber bullets and shot him dead with real bullets.

I asked this girl, Linda, if she knew why the police were shooting, and she seemed to have no idea. While the tragedy of her uncle’s death was bad enough, the absence of any political context to it was quite shocking. Why were the teachers striking? Or perhaps it was a very different response to lack of social services. Talking to Benji Francis afterwards, I leant that many of these police were white Afrikaaners. So what has changed since the end of Apartheid?

This morning’s performance was graced with the presence of the first lady, Zanele Mbeki, a great supporter of South African craft. The young actors seemed unfazed by this official presence. Mrs Mbeki was very gracious and commended the actors, saying that their performance opened her eyes to the problems that still beset South Africa. The reluctance to delve further into the shooting at Protea South might have been due to an concern not to embarrass the first lady.

We walked out of the theatre for a lunch of chicken biyrani. Almost immediately, we were entertained with a troup of jive dancers from the Katherus township. Their dancing was amazingly energetic and infectious. The stories we had just been privy to gave us as a sense of the individual challenges that township children face. It was very moving to be immediately hit by this wall of energy, showing an immense capacity to overcome tragedy and keep moving.

I then moved with my group to the Bus Factory for the craft workshop. As we entered the building, we were greeted by women in traditional Zulu costume who were singing and dancing. We were handed programs that listed us as official guests. No one had told us. It was the official re-launch of the Craft Council of South Africa, which has just undergone a black empowerment revolution.

I was asked to the platform and made some remarks on south and craft. I kept my comments short as there was a translator, Mamma G, who put my English into Zulu. While my sentences were short, her translations seemed to go on much longer. I learnt afterward that she made her own speech in response to mine. While I might have said, ‘It is important for crafters to understand the gallery’, Mamma G would say that ‘You must listen to this important message and take your work seriously. You need to value your work more and stop being so lazy.’ It seemed to go well enough, and we played a small but fraught part in the new organisation.

The workshop was challenged by sound problems, but it worked well enough in the end. There were an interesting variety of participants, from crafters to government trainers. We ended up focusing on the pragmatics of exhibition, talking about how someone might create a gallery of their own rather than wait to be invited into someone’s stable.

After a drink in Newtown, we made our way back to Soweto for the live coverage of the Rugby World Cup between South Africa and England. Apparently the South African President Thabo Mbeki had encouraged his team by telling them that they were in Paris not just representing themselves, but they were ‘representing all countries of the south.’ In his ANC letter of the week, Mbeki writes:

I also know that the Springboks know that they will walk into the Stade de France, on 20 October, carrying the hopes and best wishes of the rugby nations of the South, who sent their best fighting squads to France to bring the Webb Ellis Cup back to the South, away from its temporary sojourn in the North.
(ANC Today Vol.7 No. 41, 19 October 2007)

What a perfect drama for the South Project in Johannesburg, otherwise known as Mzantsi (‘south’).

We found ourselves in the local Soweto shabeen with a couple of hundred others drinking around a projector that was beaming the game onto a screen. I had thought that rugby was a white man’s sport, so it was surprising to see a largely black crowd getting so excited about a white game. The broadcast was part Afrikaans. They seemed to start speaking English, but lapse into Afrikaans when the action became too exciting. When the game finally finished, there was mayhem in the shabeen. Everyone got up onto the tables and started dancing. They kept up the rhythm for hours. Sometimes, the audience would erupt into live singing over the top of the recorded music. The excitement of victory was so powerful.

The conversation around the evening was to do with how rugby has been embraced by blacks. The amabokaboka (the people of the Springboks) seemed to completely identify with this white team.

The day began with stories of seemingly hopeless struggle, and ended with a great collective celebration. We heard from Zanele Mbeki in the morning about the need to attend to individual hardships, and then saw Thabo Mbeki in the evening celebrating his country’s triumph on the world stage.

That’s South Africa.

Thursday was a more collective experience of Johannesburg. I set off on a bus with the other visitors associated with the South Project gathering. We were mostly Australians, with a few locals thrown into the mix. The director of the African Cultural Centre, Benji Francis, was our guide through Soweto. He explained to the bus the intricacies of obtaining rooms as a coloured person during the Apartheid government. We saw a full range of housing, from the brick houses in Orlando to the corrugated iron shacks in Freedom Park.

We drove into central Joburg and visited a traditional African market, which was a real feast particularly for the fibre artists. An amazing variety of herbs and plants were on display. But arriving as a group was more awkward than appearing as an individual. We descended on them with wide-eyes, gasps and plenty of cameras. All of a sudden they were a spectacle, and it was very clear they didn’t appreciate it. Our Zulu speakers conveyed the complaint that we were taking all these photographs without buying anything.

There was no spectacle available in the next part of the journey, to the white gated suburbs of Sandton. Strange even in this area we did not see one white person on the street.

After an apocalyptic thunderstorm, we went to the Origins Museum at Wits University. This was a slick informative telling of the beginnings of humanity in South Africa and particulary the story of the San people, who are the indigenous of the country. It wasn’t so much the museum that was interesting as seeing the experience of this through the eyes of the women from western desert, Ina Scales and Ivy Hopkins. There were obvious commonalities between the Aborignal and San peoples, but I think they were a little shocked at the way their secret myths and objects were on display. There was much made of the magic associated with rain-making and how this was eventually incorporated into Zulu and Xhosa cultures as the San assimilated into local African communities. Given the amount of rain in Joburg, it seems certainly a successful integration. Perhaps Australia can put San on the immigration priority list.

The last stop was the Credo Mutwa place of stories. We would probably call this a ‘community museum’, though it was more the museum of one man’s imagination, the Zulu prophet and leader Credo Mutwa. The manager of the park Mighta Mutukhle shows us around the surreal and massive concrete statues depicting mythical Zulu creatures, including the aliens who abducted Credo in Zimbabwe and fortold the coming of the AIDS pandemic. The potter Philip took us into his cave and showed us his figures, but we were most curious about the painting by Credo Mutwa that seemed to depict an alien coming to South Africa. Philip told us that this was about his prophecy that there would be five female Presidents leading African countries by 2015. Part of the canvas included a dragon trying to eat the sun. For Philip, this was a case of ‘Ole Bande Lenga Shone’, or ‘do not allow the sun to move’. When I inquired later with some Zulu speakers about this phrase, it seemed to be a call to action. For instance, if a buyer wanted to defer making a purchase, the seller could utter this phrase to encourage a decision.

We had to rush back to Orlando West and quickly change for the opening of the imbizo. It was a relaxed event with drinks outside the Hector Petersen Museum (juices in a glass, and sherry in an enamel mug). We then went inside for some dancers and speeches. William Kentridge has some interesting things to say. He reflected on the experience of visiting the Art Gallery of New South Wales and finding the Aboriginal art kept in a totally separate floor from the other Australian art. He noted that this kind of division was exactly what they were trying to avoid given the legacy of Apartheid. He also reflected on the experience of the cultural boycott that affected South African in the 1980s. He said that this had the effect of strengthening the voice of local artists. They weren’t distracted by the lure of metropolitan centres, but had to focus their energies on local audiences. He associated this challenge of provincialism with the aims of the gathering.

Then Ma Kushu spoke, who runs a craft centre in Zululand. Her speech was quite rambling and tested the patience of the audience, but she did provide an important voice of rural women. I’d been speaking with her earlier when she explained to me some of the basics of craft education in her region, where the very basics of measurement have to be explained so that they know how to fulfil orders. She said that few of them had had an education and some had never even held a pen before. But she concluded her speech by giving our her email address and inviting anyone in the audience to contact her.

Then the Australian and New Zealand High Commissioners spoke. The Australian, Philip Green, really seemed to get the idea of the project and spoke very powerfully on its behalf. Afterwards, in the reception, I saw how he was speaking to some Sowetans who would not normally get through the gatekeepers in diplomatic functions. I was impressed at how this didn’t phase him and he was able to provide them with some practical advice and assistance.

Things carried on to the local shabeen where we were joined by a most remarkable man called Christof. He appeared like a Mr Kurtz on the scene — a Belgium dance director who moved to South Africa eight years ago to live in a township in Cape Town and has lived up the road in Soweto for the last year. Christof spoke with a thick ‘coloured’ accent, which has a strong Cockney character. We heard some of the less palatable aspects of life in Soweto, which made me wonder if we really wanted to go there, no matter how true they were.

Being in Soweto does put you in this moral dilemma. We are experiencing a charmed life here, amazing friendliness in the street, stories of great courage and optimism, and touching acts of ubuntu. But we know there is another reality out there — of absconding fathers, guns, AIDS and general hardship. Maybe it is better to only see the positive aspects of Soweto, and avoid the usual victim game which puts a convenient distance between us and them. We’ll see how well this strategy plays out of the next few days.

Belle Primary School had been selected as the site for the South Kids activity of the gathering in Soweto. It is situated just next to the Hector Petersen Museum and its staff seemed very keen to be part of the event. The passion of their involvement took most of us by surprise.

Emma Davies, Maree Clark, Sara Thorn and I were driven by Adelaide, one of the educators, to Belle Primary School for our grand welcome reception. We stood by the gates while two rows of children lined and started singing a song usual for greeting a wedding party:

Mme ma Sambo,
Our Principal
Ba vulele, ba ngene
Be so kind to open the gates, and allow our visitors in.
Bongena bangena
Thank you, if you allow, with your blessings then in they’ll come.

They sang this over and over with increasing intensity. Down through the centre came a group of young boys in gumboots, who performed an energetic dance for us. They then jogged back and soon came a party of little children in traditional dress waving South African flags. They opened the gates and took each of us by the hand into the school, as the corridor of learners continued their song. Eventually we made it to a verandah where we were formally greeted by the Principal. She explained to the students that they were honoured by these visitors from the other southern countries, including Australia. The learners replied in perfect chorus, ‘Good morning Principal, Educators and Visitors’. Each of the educators had come dressed in a traditional costume, including some beautiful Shweshwe prints and a gloriously beaded Zulu outfit.

We were then led to the classroom where Sara Thorn explained to the children the idea of the art class. They then crowded around my laptop to watch a short film from ArtPlay, where Vicki Shokoroglou told then how the Melbourne children had prepared works for them to use. The children then returned to their desks and started drawing – whatever they felt like. Once they had each made their drawing, they then stood up and explained to the class their drawing and what they would then made with the materials. We then had representations from other classes that they wanted to participate, so we squeezed some more in. The children then raided the amazing stock of materials that had been gathered by the artists yesterday with Prince Massingham and Clifford Charles.

The Principal then invited us into her office for lunch. There was a huge spread of samosas, sausage rolls, roast chicken, cold meats, tomato, lettuce, cheese and cake. Before we started, the Principal explained the concept of Ubuntu and how important it was in African custom to treat the guest well. As fits the tradition, she waited until we had eaten before she took of the food herself. A woman called for a small prayer before we began eating, which she recited in Xhosa. Then another woman brought around a small tub of water with towel for each guest to clean our hands.

After lunch, we gathered under a tree for some more performances. The little girls performed a vigorous dance with lots of leg-kicking, based on a song about keeping quiet. Then there where the gumboot boys again and then a group of girls danced to gospel music. Finally, one of the educators Talithe Maliste gave thanks to the visitors. She said that she had learned by talking with Maree about the  Indigenous people in Australia, and how their story was similar to that of South Africa. She said that there was something very special that connected the people of the south and it was very exciting that Belle Primary School was selected. I then gave my thanks and ended with the Ekasi Taal (township dialect) expression for thanks, ‘Sharp!’ which provoked the vigorous response ‘Sharp! Sharp!’

The idea of the south seems to find a natural home in places like the Belle Primary School. It fits quite well their proud history of the freedom struggle and interest in a future that they can play a role in.

We then went back to the room and the learners continued their work. They then presented their finished products in a class room and Emma Davies showed her version of the emu, which she gave as a gift to the school. Sara showed the children Australian animals and gifts from ArtPlay and the art supply shop were handed around.

There were some more speeches and much hope that the school can continue to be part of the south journey, perhaps they could take it themselves to other schools. Towards the end, a young learner took my hand and asked, ‘When are you coming again?’

It was hard to feel that we had deserved such amazing welcome from the educators and learners of Belle Primary School. Such days fill you with a kind of Ubuntu capital, and a sense of obligation to find some way of spending this debt. I did learn from the Principal, though, that the school does suffer greatly in winter because they don’t have any heaters in their classrooms. Perhaps there’s a way of raising some money to bring a little warm into their lives — a more benign version of global warming.

I caught a taxi from Bree Street taxi centre in downtown Joburg. It was like a massive car park filled with taxis weaving in between queues of commuters.

It took me about four questions before I found myself at the end of a queue. I was the sixteenth person in line, which is exactly the capacity of the combi. So I ended up in the back seat, which is a real squeeze at four people. I could hardly get my hands in my pocket to find the money for the fare. From Joburg city to Orlando in Soweto is 6 rand 50 cents, which is about $1.11 Australian.

The processing of the fare is one of the mysteries of taxi travel. A row of commuters might pool their money and then pass it down the cab to the driver. Otherwise, someone sends their money on with a little message, like ‘This is for two’. The phrase ‘This is for two’ then repeats four times until it reaches the driver, who then sends the change down the same chain.

There seems to be no issue at all about trust, even though it would be easy for someone to avoid payment. I had the sense that it is quite a self-regulated system. Perhaps that comes with being a largely unregulated industry. There’s no sense of profits going to a nameless foreign multinational, as happens in cities like Melbourne.

Though I do remember catching taxis in Cape Town where there was always a guy who acted as a jockey, collecting fares on behalf of the driver. So perhaps it’s also to do with the more cohesive township life in Soweto, where people have learned by experience to look after each other.

Speaking of which, the owner of my B&B seems to keep her front door wide open during the day. So this is the crime-ridden Soweto that everyone talks about? Let’s see what tomorrow holds.