A stroll through Yeoville

The View from Observatory Hill towards Hillbrow

Going for a stroll through Johannesburg's neighbourhoods might seem to be an unlikely occupation for a sunny Saturday, specially when the destination is Yeoville, former bohemian hotspot and more recently decried as a symbol for the downfall of the city: "Dangerous. Full of criminal elements. Dirty. Rundown. Ruined." These are some of the more polite things said about Yeoville. Well, I have already been to Hillbrow, Soweto, Joubert Park, the Carlton Centre and other parts of town that I have been told are all these things, and I enjoyed every one of them.

Public Art

So last Saturday Heather introduced me to Jozi's latest walking tour outfit: Nick and Loopy from Dlala Nje (Just Play in Zulu). Dlala Nje (their website is not live yet, so for more info go to Urban Joburg’s blog) is a cafe and art place in one of the empty shops at Ponte City, the iconic circular building on a hill in Berea/Hillbrow (more on Ponte another day - I'll just say the photos are amazing...). They have been running Hillbrow tours since October, but are now branching out to Yeoville.

Saturday worshippers on Observatory Hill

We first walk up to Observatory Hill, from where we have a great view of the CBD and Ponte. The park - if it can be called that - on the hill is pretty rough, with aloe clumps and high weeds in every dip. In between the grass has been shorn, and despite the cleaning crew still dotted with rubbish. Under a tree a huge pile of old tyres have accumulated. It's Saturday, and the hillside is filled with groups of worshippers. On the edge of the hill a man in a white tunic on his knees is blessing the young man kneeling opposite him, his hands on the other's head. Nearby a woman and small child sit, watching. Under a tree a priest kneels, hands pressed tightly together. He doesn't seem to have a congregation. Below us on a slope a dozen people stand listening to a grey-haired man telling serious parables with a furrowed brow. Off to one side a woman is playing with a small toddler, head covered under a blanket to keep out the sun. She looks the picture of Mary and the (unruly) Child. A man in a jogging outfit is sitting by himself far down the slopes. Arms wrapped around his knees, he is lost in thoughts.

Westminster Mansions

Just across from the hill, amidst the relative poverty of Yeoville and Observatory Hill sits Westminster Mansions. A confection of turrets and pillars, balustrades and balconies in cream and magnolia, it makes an incongruous impression. A grand entrance draped in barbed wire and the admonishing signs of security companies speak of an illustrious history fallen to ruin. We look up at the block, teetering precariously on the slope of the hill, and imagine the magnificent views of a city that has stumbled, trying to right itself. I guess the inhabitants must be still there, waiting for that day.

The cleaning ladies were keen to have their photo taken

Past the water tower we descend into Yeoville proper. At first the gridded streets have the relatively serene look of suburbia, single-storey houses such as the ones I see all over the colonies: porch, small front garden behind a street-side fence or wall, a car port to the side. Streets are lined with Jacarandas, quiet and shady. Then I notice that many street-facing walls have been modified with a cubby hole that is used as a little shop, called a Spaza. There one can buy anything from airtime to bananas, washing powder and bread. Some houses advertise their use as hair salons or car mechanics, undertakers or key cutters.

A Spaza shop

We arrive in Yeo street and Nick tells us that Yeoville was founded in 1890 by an Englishman named Thomas Yeo Sherwell from Yeovil in Somerset. The idea was to create a neighbourhood with clean air far above the smelly coal town in the valley, but the location didn't take off until the 1970s, when it became a hip bohemian area designated a 'grey zone' by the apartheid government, meaning it was inhabited by black and white homes. There were jazz clubs and bookshops, arts and crafts outlets and cool clothes shops, as well as drugs and crime on its main thoroughfare, Rockey Street. After the end of Apartheid the demographic shifted from 85% white to 90% black within a decade, while urban maintenance disappeared.

One of the few pictures I managed to grab before the security guards arrived

As we walk into the busy Main Street area around the Yeoville market, it is clear that today's Yeoville is a very different place. Street traders sell anything from water to sweets to airtime to fruit. It is not so busy, but we are certainly an unusual attraction. The market is fantastic, more Nairobi than Rosebank: rows of fruit and veg stalls, clothes stalls selling bright chichenji fabrics, tables spread with soap and makeup. Under cover in the central alleyway of the market an old woman sits on a stool amidst the equipment required to roast peanuts. She swirls the hot steaming peanuts in a large plastic bowl, sprinkles them with salt and carefully tips them into small R3 plastic bags. The peanuts are tiny and delicious. I buy nectarines and grapes and plums, ripe and juicy. I want to stock up on aubergines, tiny peppers, plantains, sweet potatoes, but I hold back since I have to carry everything. Security guards are everywhere, warning us not to take photos. It is disappointing, as most traders don't seem to care, but reassuring that someone is looking out for calm and peace.

Desire, one of the Dlala Nje artists, at Yeoville pool

We trundle our way along the main road, discovering one unlikely place after another: on the corner of Raleigh and Kenmere is the entrance to the Yeoville swimming pool, filled with kids gleefully jumping in the cool waters. Glorious 1930s flats line the street, with stylish balconies and cool fonts spelling out the name of the block. We are almost in Hillbrow now. Berea, Hillbrow and Yeoville all merge together into one of the densely populated areas of Africa, and it shows. The streets are heaving with people now in the afternoon, and the bars are filled with early starting drinkers.

Stylish local architecture, cool fonts

Wandering the 'bad' parts of town has been an eye-opener. As always, when I discover yet another 'no-go zone' that turns out to be not so no-go after all, I realise: I love you, Jozi!

More photos here:

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