No vote for false promises - 01/09/12

Dear X,

"No vote for false promises". That was what I saw graffitied on a sign in Soweto, the largest shanty town in Jo'Burg. We went there today. A raucous group of young white tourists, out on a day trip. We get our kicks from observing other people's misfortune, you know, and the tour guide is paid to show us. We're contributing to the economy, that's what it is.

Soweto is out of this world. I don't think I've ever seen poverty on a scale like that before. You see it on T.V. and in films, but actually being there, standing eye to eye with a man wearing nothing but damp, ripped trousers and shoes that he clearly found in a dustbin is heart stopping. Here, in the thick of it, you can feel it. Everywhere reeks of destitution. I can smell it.

The houses are tiny. Matchboxes fashioned out of rusting tarpaulin sheets marked by the wind and burning heat. In the summer the tenants must get cooked alive. The shacks are all packed in like sardines. The pathways between the houses are miniscule, well trodden rat runs, hardly helped by the mountains of rubbish building up on either side of the walkways. There are no doors on the shacks although some are lucky enough to have glassless windows. Small children scurry in and out of cubby holes and alleyways, little mice; unheard, unseen. I saw some little boys who had made toy cars out of old plastic bottles and put makeshift wheels on them, pulling them around, dragging them through puddles. That is what I call making the best of things.

People waved at us just because we were white, especially the children. I realise that they must rarely see white people, aside from the missionaries who are rarely brave enough to walk into Soweto, so it's exciting to see some fresh meat. I just can't help but think that if a group of black people walked past some white kids in England, they would not get waved at with the same enthusiasm, awe and respect. I feel like the native Africans have been conditioned into believing that we are superior and fantastic, and it fucking disgusts me. I suppose it is a given, something that you've just got to ignore. I see all these beautiful African people; mothers, children, grandfathers, who have more charisma and vibrancy than anybody else I've ever met and it makes my heart bleed to see them gaping at us, awestruck at the colour of our skin. All I want to do is drop to my knees, take a child in my arms, kiss their soft little cheeks and tell them that they are the beautiful ones. I cannot describe to you how shocking it is. But despite all of this, most of the local people eminate pride, it's incredible. If everybody on the planet was as robust as some of the people I've met and seen here, the world would be a very different place.

We also went to a museum today based around the shooting and kiling of students on the 16th June 1976. Research it. It's awful, yet morbidly fascinating. South Africa has an interesting history, if a little tortured. We saw Mandela's house today, it wasn't very profound. Whatever excitement and adventures that had once happened around him and his life have long since died away, extinguished by broken promises and trampeled dreams.

On a lighter note, it's been an alright day. Had a few laughs (despite being slowly more and more put off by the other PT people and their obnoxious attitudes), shook hands with a local - how exciting.

I wish you could see it. I just spoke to you on Facebook and I realise how much I'm going to miss you. The project sounds hard, verging on the extreme. My nerves are starting to fizz, I can feel it. The floodgates are going to open soon.

I love you.