March 24, 2007: Soweto

Today, March 24th, is Tessa’s 26th birthday and she has decided to celebrate it in Soweto, which is a township outside of Johannesburg. Tessa, whose capacity to organize community events is unmatched by anyone I know, began working with her friend Gino and a non-profit called S.K.Y. (Soweto Kliptown Youth) to have an event. Tessa and I had been planning on travelling during my Easter break and since her birthday was so close I decided to leave Cape Town a week early, extend my break and celebrate her birthday with her. Lightbulbs appeared above Tessa’s head, knocking around the halo for a moment. She asked me if I would want to perform for some kids in Soweto and of course I said yes... and then the organizing began. Tessa’s Dutch friend Tikvah, who is teaching in Pretoria for a few months, plays guitar and so her and I had been exchanging emails—“What songs do you know?” “How about this song?” “Sorry, I’ve never heard of that musician.” “Really!? That’s not popular in the states?” and on and on, until finally we decided on the set list: “Sing” and “Lemon Tree” by Travis, “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley, “Heart and Shoulder” by Heather Nova, and “One” by U2.

So yesterday, Tessa, Tikvah and Grace (Tessa’s friend from Uganda) picked me up at the Johannesburg airport and we returned to Tessa’s apartment and ran through the songs. Ouch! Wake up call for Nathalie—I need to start singing more often here. But we managed and were pretty optimistic about what Tessa came to name: “International Music Day: Kliptown”.

Tessa pulled some money together from her organization Cucu (www.cucu4children.nl) and bought cartons of bananas, apples and oranges and 3 great, big, chocolate cakes! She also rallied a few of the international students she was friendly with to come along with us to Soweto to see the township and share in the experience.

Before we set out for Soweto, Tessa receives a call from Gino’s girlfriend—a friend of his from Soweto has been shotand killed, so he won’t be organizing the day. A warning? A sign? We all look at each other unsure and call SKY to see if we can still bring food and play a few songs. Bob, the founder of SKY gives us that relaxed African invitation as through Kliptown was his living room—and it sort of is, as we’ll see children run about his driveway, hang out on the back patio and peer curiously into the kitchen.

Packed up, the caravan sets out—Tessa, myself, August (from Ghana), Grace (from Uganda) in one car and the Dutch car: Camille, Manuel, Tikvah, Esther and Melissa. We were led to Kliptown by Papi—one of the men from Kliptown who works with SKY. The city of Johannesburg fades into the background as the city highway turns into road, turns into unrepaired pavement, into a brick red mud alleyway alongside train tracks. We enter the labyrinth of Kliptown driving slower and slower at each step to soften the dips into the potholes or avoid a group of children until we are crawling along. A parade of outsiders? A caravan of voyeurs? We are witnesses but also being watched. WE are a spectacle—as we drive through some people gossip, some children smile and wave, some kids give us the stare. I’ve seen this stare before in Khayelitsha and I’ve yet to understand fully what goes on behind those eyes.

Finally we arrive at the SKY building, park, meet and greet, then set out for the recreation building which is a short walk from the SKY house. The sun had started poking through the clouds and the mud began to dry as we leisurely strolled through the Kliptown streets—a boy pushes a smaller boy on a very old bike, a soccer game erupts in the wide point of the road, music blares from a delapitated shack, a local boy scares one of the Dutch girls with a rubber snake, some curious kids join our walking group, a few men stand over a rusting bbq that has scrap peices of chicken grilling. There is life here. There is trash strewn everywhere, the children are dirty, the rusting walls of each shack nearly touch eachother but there is life in this place—and this life may be more real than a lot of the life and culture of other places I’ve travelled to. I am happy because although I am a visitor, I don’t feel like a tourist.

We enter the large, colorful recreation room whose walls are filled with books and posters of NBA players (the NBA sponsors SKY and build the rec room a few years back). By now, roughly 50 kids have gathered. But before our performance, we receive a surprised gift from SKY—they’ve arranged for the “flowers of Kliptown”, a children’s dance troop that performs all over South Africa to make money and promote SKY, to perform for the community’s kids and us.

Two young teenage girls take a seat with their drums and they begin pounding out a fast beat. A tiny girl explodes from the side door and begins dancing, expertly twisting and turning each limb. A tiny boy follows her and they act out a little lovers quarrel until she motions for her girlfriends to join her. A dozen girls, all in pink flirty skits and matching bandeau tops run out into the center of the room. They dance in a messy unison that is at once disciplined and fun and free. Their tiny bodies and the boom of the drum beat together until they are mockingly run offstage by the boys’ group, who wear old, oversized fisherman’s boots. The boys begin to drum their own beat by stomping and slapping their boots. The sound bursts from their small hands and these tiny men tease the girls until both join together and the room is filed with their energy.

All the kids applaud and we also holler and clap for these amazing children. I am truly impressed by the way they gave all of their energy to the dance—you could see it in the beads of sweat on their foreheads, the stomping easily heard from far away, and the strength of the kicking leg or control and technique of the swirling hip. I felt honored to have such a performance given to us. Last, the maestro had all the kids sing “Happy Birthday” to Tessa and Tikvah (who was turning 25).

Next up was our performance. Tessa had made some copies of the lyrics so that the kids could sin galong if they wanted. At first shy, it took a lot of encouragement and repetition to cajole them into singing or clapping along, but soon they go tinto it—singing the chorus to the Travis song: “For the love you bring, won’t mean a thing unless you sing, sing, sing”.

We also invited two of the kids who had been playing around with the guitar and drum to play a song with us. Tessa had all the kids stand up and we sang Marley’s “Three Little Birds” together (a universal classic). We all began to dance and sing and laugh together in a circle. It was a great time.

Afterwards we went back to the SKY house and gave out an apple, an orange, a banana and a piece of chocolate cake to each child. Papo wanted to take us around Kliptown but we ended up spending most of our time at a shabeen in a nicer area of Soweto. A shabeen is someone’s house that they’ve made into a restaurant or bar. A mixture of soul music, American and African jazz pumped on the patio and we were welcomed by the whole family: Joe was the dad and owner, his wife was the chef and the two younger daughters were the waitresses.

I was standing in the front yard talking to a few people when Papi came up to me and pointed to this small old lady sitting in a dark corner, a felt hat tilted stylishly on her head. He asked if I know who it is-- I look again and she looks back at me, two bright wide eyes peering out from the shadow under her hat. "That's Tandi Klaasen--she's a famous jazz singer. Come over and meet her". We walk over and Papi says to Thandi-- "This is Nathalie, she's a singer too. She has the voice of an angel. She sang for the kids today". Rhandi, roughly 70 or so, stands up to shake my hand and begins asking me about my music!

Throughout the night we talk sporadically about music and life. She started singing in Soweto and doing shows with various jazz acts, eventually singing with the likes of Miriam Makeba (one of my mother's favorite singers). One night after a show, she was leaving a club when some men threw chemicals on her that burned the skin on her face (there are some conflicting stories about why this exactly happened-- including from Thandi herself. Some say it was racially motivated, some say there was a love triangle and this was revenge). But there was triumph in her voice. I know because she sang for us that night. She said that she thought it was beautiful that young people were coming into the townships and crossing boundaries-- everyone was really quite surprised to see such an international mix of young students (white and black) at a shabeen.

So before we left she sang a Xhosa song for us that is traditionally meant to be sung when friends are leaving. Everyone gathered around--foreigners and locals together-- in a circle around her. She lowered her head and it seemed her voice rose from under her and her arms floated out to the sides as the melody announced itself. She is a true performer. The drama in her swelling voice and slow movements captured your attention completely-- we were all hers for those few moments, standing in Soweto, inside its history and its song.