OneWayTicket

Day 81: Tales of liberation--and the best mutton curry--in Soweto

Remember 1976?

India was in the midst of a long vacation from democracy - we were trapped in the Emergency - but for South Africa this year marked the first real landmark in the struggle against Apartheid. The uprising that started in Soweto in 1976 gathered momentum and spread all over the country for the next 10 years or so.

We're spending the day in Soweto, the township that was born more than 100 years ago when living in the city became out of bounds for black workers who powered the mines and other industries. It was the hub of segregation and it later became the place where the people first said they had had enough.

Our hosts Noel and Sylise's kids, Mika and Khensani, have already wandered vaguely through the disturbing Apartheid Museum with us (there's even a scary recreation of the gallows and of bare rooms where prisoners were placed in solitary confinement) and they can't understand why we are scheduled to go to another museum today. "Hey this is South Africa," Noel tells his daughter Khensani.

Noel grew up in Soweto so he's full of gripping facts on the drive there. It's the most densely populated area in South Africa, he says. And as we enter he points out how the area is ringed by the newer, more affluent homes; some even have swimming pools. If you're a tourist you might actually drive by and wonder what the fuss is all about.

Believe it or not Soweto is a tourist hotspot now. There are B&Bs for all those tourists, mainly African American, who want to experience history for a night or two. There's even a Holiday Inn perched above the Soweto Freedom Square where the people congregated to sign the freedom charter all those years ago.

As you drive further into the 10-15 km long township, you see more of the original, four room, brick with corrugated roof structures. Of course, in the midst of these squat houses you spot the occasional three storey palace - one even had a white limo parked up front.

Notice how there are no trees in Soweto, Noel says, just as I'm trying to put my finger on what's missing from the landscape. Electricity came here only 10 years or so ago; before that, trees equaled firewood.

We drive up to Winnie Mandela's high walled mansion, across the road from lots of modest houses. Noel's been inside in the days when he was a journalist and he assures us it's as ostentatious as it looks.

Then there's the street where Archbishop Tutu and Nelson Mandela have their houses-the only street in the world where you can find two Nobel laureates. There's a restaurant just outside the archbishop's house. Soweto is firmly on the tourist trail you know.

Our next stop is the Hector Pieterson museum. Hector was a 13-year-old boy who was shot dead on 13 July, 1976, when the students of Soweto threw their textbooks out of the windows and marched to Miram Makeba freedom songs to protest the use of Afrikaans as a teaching medium.

They carried boards scrawled with "To Hell with Afrikaans" and "We're not fighting don't shoot"-the museum actually has some of these original placards and they send a shiver down your spine. It was meant to be a peaceful march but the police released tear gas and fired live ammunition. Hector was one of the 200 plus victims of the 13 July massacre.

You may remember the iconic photograph shot by Sam Nzima in which Soweto resident Mbuyisa Makhubo has scooped up Hector's body and his walking down the road with him in shock, with Hector's sister Antionette is wailing as she runs alongside him.

The museum has a record of all sorts of horror stories from the past. Of how people used the metal dustbin covers as shields to block bullets and so the authorities changed them to rubber. Of the 3800 Green Chevy that everyone in Soweto lived in fear of because of its sniper who took out anyone he saw on the streets.

It may be a neighbourhood museum but it's totally world class. There's even some brilliant footage of the Saturday night subculture called Swanking. Ordinary workers saved their money, spent it on suits and other fancy outfits and walked the ramp in a 10pm to 4am show every Saturday night.

Noel has already announced he cannot bring himself to take us to the ultra touristy Wandies restaurant. We are scheduled to have lunch at his mother's house, where he grew up and where his brother James and his wife Maureen now stay. But the museum was gripping and by the time we walk out we notice it's now nearing 4pm. Suddenly Noel announces that we are possibly getting a little late. We were expected for lunch at around 1pm!

When we get there, his family has understandably eaten. But they are still super warm - Noel apparently has a reputation in these parts.

For the next two hours, like in any old fashioned Indian home, Maureen doesn't come out of the kitchen. After eating the mutton curry - the BEST he has ever eaten -- the husband has to go in to befriend the chef and snag the recipe.

Maureen says she just threw in a bit of rosemary, some Indian spices and garlic. Later, when she realizes the husband is not going to give up until she hands it over, she goes into the bedroom and comes out with a long list of ingredients and a box of Rajah masala, a mysterious mix of spices roasted and ground somewhere in South Africa.

And even though Maureen didn't know I was vegetarian, there is a huge spread with several vegetarian dishes.

James, a television addict, introduces us to David Kau, a young stand up comedian who makes fun of Zulus, Afrikaaners and, yes, Indians too. Indians in South Africa, we gather, are perceived as the ultimate hagglers who can negotiate birth, death and everything in between. It's the original "bania" stereotype.

Later in the kitchen we hug and kiss Maureen and thank her for the wonderful hospitality. "We love you. Please come back," she says.

We're definitely coming back Maureen. And next time we'll be there on time (Noel please note).