THE BIG READ

SA’s born-frees are the children of the same era but have different realities, writes Ilvy Njiokiktjien

Born Frees through a multifaceted lens

Ageneration of young people has grown up since SA abandoned its oppressive apartheid system. Yesterday the country celebrated the 25th anniversary of its first democratic elections, which ended white minority rule, made Nelson Mandela the first black president and gave all citizens equal rights. “I can do anything I want, study anything I want, go anywhere I want. There are no barriers now,” economics student Mzimkulu Ntakana, 21, sums up what being born free means to him. “Born free from what?” asks Candice Mama, 28. “I don’t believe that people can be born free until economic inequalities are set right.”

Mandela’s vision of a thriving “rainbow nation” raised high hopes 25 years ago, but many in the born-free generation struggle. Estimates of youth unemployment range between 35% and 50%.

“If you don’t get a job, you create your own. You need to hustle,” says Innocent Moreku, 22, who sells secondhand clothing at the roadside.

Most of the young people interviewed feel that white South Africans still have better opportunities.

“Their grandfathers and greatgrandfathers have been working and saving up, whilst our grandfathers have been fighting,” says Zinhle Mfaba, 24.

When black South Africans do make money, they often have to provide for less-fortunate family members, a phenomenon known as “black tax”.

Fashion designer Cindy Mfabe, 27: “We have to work double time, because we still have all this damage that we have to fix.”

Most say they would be happy to mix with other race groups, but past segregation still holds them back.

“I don’t live in a place where I can meet a lot of white people and have white friends,” says Mfaba, who lives in Soweto, once designated a black township and still largely black today.

Says Kevin du Plessis, 28: “I have a lot more white friends, because in Gauteng you don’t find that many black kids that speak Afrikaans.”

Very few of those she spoke to are planning to vote in next month’s election. Some feel bad about their apathy, knowing their right to vote was hard won, but say the corruption scandals of recent years have made them lose faith in politics.

Despite the challenges, many remain optimistic about their future, and that of SA. They feel 25 years is simply not enough time to repair the troubled past, and their generation is only a start.

Wilmarie Deetlefs, 24, who has a black boyfriend, says: “SA needs a clean slate. I think that’s our generation. We are the clean slate.”

‘SA NEEDS A CLEAN SLATE. I THINK THAT’S OUR GENERATION. WE ARE THE CLEAN SLATE’

Kevin du Plessis.

Mzimkulu Ntakana.

Aspiring rapper Phumlani Gongo, 18, with his mother Nosandile Margaret Gongo and father Eric Saziso Gongo in Khayelitsha, Cape Town. “We have been in this house since 2005. My mother and father have voted since 2005, but there is no change. So what would be the reason for me to vote?” says Phumlani.

Wilmarie Deetlefs, 24, and her boyfriend Zakithi Buthelezi, 27, on their way to an exhibition of the work of photographer Jodie Bieber in Joburg. Deetlefs and Buthelezi describe Joburg — where they both used to live — as a “pocket of perfect unity”, where people of different race groups, genders and sexual orientation mix together in ways that would not have been possible during apartheid.

Jason Noah, a forex trader, leans on his car at his 21st birthday party. Noah grew up in a middle-class family, with both of his parents police officers, but he witnessed from up close that many of his friends in Soshanguve outside Pretoria were less fortunate. “We all played soccer in the street. If my friend goes home to a household where there’s no food, obviously that’s not right. But that is part of what SA is.”

Darshana Govindram, 24, goes shopping to prepare for Diwali festival in Durban. “Everything is so close-knit and close by and everyone just gets along with everybody,” she says of life in Chatsworth, the Durban suburb that the apartheid government designed to segregate the city’s large Indian community.

Students of Merensky High School in Tzaneen, Limpopo, make up their faces for a performance during Animato, a school choir contest, held in Randburg. The Merensky students did not win the contest.