He walks up the main street of Zone 6, Pimville. Behind him is a veld littered with cooldrink cans, burned fragments and torn paper. He looks ahead at cars passing by and at the neat little houses with their lush gardens. He introduces himself: ‘I’m John. I love Africa.â€
His pale complexion amid the dark-brown population is a rarity. Thin, of medium height and slightly bent, he smiles. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of large aviators that he takes off as he opens his arms to offer a hug.
‘Soweto rocks,†he says cheerfully. John Nelmes has lived in the township for more than 10 years, having moved to South Africa from the United Kingdom after he fell in love and married a local woman. When his marriage ended in 1995, he chose to stay on.
The sight of this white man standing next to me, a black woman, brings no curious stares. Life continues on a hot Saturday in the township. The boys sitting at the street corner continue to listen to jazz playing from an open car. The little girl in a pink-and-white striped T-shirt smiles as she strolls by.
It’s now a reality: white people are living in Soweto. The numbers are small, but their assimilation into the community is significant.
Until 15 years ago, it was against the law. In 1904 black people were forcibly moved to the council’s vacant land from Johannesburg in a bid to separate the races. They were set up in shelters of wood and tin that, hurriedly, had to be made a home. Entire lives had to be fitted into a shoebox.
Soweto is the microcosm of South Africa’s hate-filled past. Families were held together and broken apart here. For black people life began and ended here. And today, John, a white man, sits in the home he shares with the Motseis, unapologetic for living here.
‘I’ve got my own little part to play,†he says, ‘and I play it to the full.†His ‘part†includes being a member of the local St Peter Claver Church.
‘John is arguably the most popular guy in Pimville,†says housemate Junior Motsei earnestly. Not everyone understands him. Not everyone will like him, but with his wit one cannot help being captivated by him.
Another white man sits in his township living room and tells me: ‘South Africa is a beautiful country.†Martin Jonkers has been living in Soweto since 2002. Originally from Holland, he came to South Africa seeking a change after his second divorce. He has found love in the community, with his wife, Busi, and their son, Fana.
‘I wouldn’t want to live in the suburbs,†Martin says about Soweto’s special brand of communal magic.
Martin and family live in Orlando West. They attend Grace Bible Church in Pimville. Occasionally he will go next door to Kedibone’s Tavern for a drink with his neighbours.
He is unafraid of Soweto’s streets, loving the energy that permeates the air. The township’s wizardry has found its home in Martin’s soul and today he peppers his sentences with the words ‘sharpâ€, ‘woza†or ‘yoâ€.
His wife says his white skin and blue eyes make him noticeable by Sowetans but, generally, he is one of them. He is known by name and moves easily on Lembede Street, sharing greetings while playing with his son.
Brenda Seitisho wanted her son to be raised in a home with a backyard. So she persuaded her husband Werner Nagel and they made Pimville home. A white South African, Werner cannot see himself living anywhere else. Since moving to the township in March 2005 he has found camaraderie and ubuntu. Soweto, like any South African neighbourhood, has its bad spots, but Werner says: ‘It is very peaceful here.â€
The question remains, though, why live in Soweto? Don’t these whites see Soweto as a step backwards? It would seem not. For John, Martin and Werner the place is, characteristically, a melting pot of cultures and theirs have now entered the mix.
Then there is Swedish immigrant Maria Westlund, a Soweto resident for two years. With her partner, Lebo Malepa, she runs a B&B called Lebo’s Soweto Backpackers. She sums up her first experiences of the township: ‘The people welcomed me —â€
But the language barrier is challenging. Nonetheless, a simple ‘hola†or ‘heita†is the key to new friendships. When the white Âarrivals bridge the gap with a simple ‘sawubona†or ‘ngiyabonga†smiles break out and barriers are quickly broken down.
This is in contrast to the fact that post-apartheid racial integration has been slow. How ironic that in Soweto — the very place created to enforce segregation — integration is happening.
But that is the thing about Soweto — you cannot actually live there alone. You live with an acute consciousness of your neighbour. You live on top of the family of six in the house ‘back oppositeâ€. You live with the mother raising her sons alone. You open your door to your umakhelwane (neighbour) who comes to your house in the darkness when he needs help.
When asked why more white South Africans have not chosen to live in Soweto, let alone visit it, Martin says it’s because they would have to face their past if they did. ‘Do you want to be confronted by the things you did wrong?†he asks.
It is more than that though. Soweto is African. Yet, before its Africanness, Soweto is human. It makes room for inconsistencies. It makes room for those things that cannot be put into a box. It allows individuality, an uncharacteristic beauty and dreams.
It is now dark. Evening settles over Soweto. The sounds of cars and people chatting fills the air. Werner walks to the gate, trailed by his son, Temoso. His wife Brenda stands next to him. Werner’s brother and his other son, Edward, look on as goodbyes are said.
In a few minutes Werner will walk to the supermarket. A blond man who has found his place in a black city.