In 1991, I was living with my family in the Diepkloof zone of the township of Soweto, Johannesburg. There were four rooms in the house, and 12 of us all lived together – my parents, myself and my nine siblings. During apartheid, we weren’t permitted to move away from our zone because of the Group Areas Act. Black people had to carry passes. At that time, you were essentially confined to the community in which you were living.
The township was so densely populated that you got to know everyone by name. When we grew up, my friends and I used to toyi-toyi, stomping our feet and chanting in the streets to demand freedom of education, speech and democracy. We were also mischievous, and there were times when things got out of hand. Although our community adopted a culture of togetherness – Ubuntu, we called it – it was also a violent and dangerous place. Guns were in the wrong hands.
When I was just 15
