Khayelitsha is the largest township in South Africa. It “houses” roughly 400,000 people within a stifling 15 square miles of space, about 10 miles east of Cape Town. Seeing it for the first time, months ago, jolted me. A sea of tin shacks, jammed like sardines in a can, stretches in all directions. Heaps of trash pile up outside the barrier wall built to initially keep inhabitants in. Thousands of rusty electrical wires run above the metal town in a poorly assembled effort to provide the smallest amount of energy. Most unsettling, dozens of tiny children as young as two walk unsupervised alongside busy streets, some dressed and others not. It is a chilling symbol of poverty, with the average annual income, I’m told, of under $1,000 a year. It is also a perfect reminder of Apartheid, the systematic and forceful relocation of human life, matched only by the holocaust in terms of abject violence and scope.
So when Carolyn and I were invited to visit a non-profit organization in the center of Khayelitsha, all I could imagine was more metal huts and diapered vagrants roaming the streets. The organization is called SportsCode, devoted to planning athletic tournaments and clinics as a way of keeping kids off the streets and giving them hope. For over a week, I had played email tag with one of the two founders, Ayando, until we finally hammered down a firm meeting time. That morning, as we drove through the back streets of Khayelitsha, I was struck by how different the homes appeared. Unlike the van-sized hovels that confront passerbys on the highways, these were freestanding, solid structures. Amazingly, most had actual one-door garages, small yards, and many large glass windows. This made no sense. I was eager to meet Ayando so he could set me straight.
Several turns later, we pulled into a long driveway that led to what looked like a small stadium. Waiting for us at the security gate, Ayando, dressed in a white basketball jersey, loose khaki shorts and sandals, smiled warmly, shook our hands, and welcomed his office building. Just a few steps in, he turned to me to say that he had had a tough night. Asking him why, he informed me that his friend had been mugged by two other young men that they knew, and that he had spent most of the evening trying to get his friend’s belongings back. He then proceeded to detail the entire situation, pointing out that “families in Khayelitsha take matters into their own hands because the police are useless.” He was clearly tired and frustrated, confused about what to do. Nevertheless, he quickly pushed that aside, escorting us into the sporty building he called the Barn.
We signed in at the front desk, walked through a small hallway, and entered a well-lit office space with about a dozen desks and a comfortable sitting area in the far corner. That’s where we went. Calling his partner to join us, named Abuntu, we all grabbed a seat and began to discuss their organization. These two guys instantly impressed us. At around 30, with no formal business school training, it was remarkable what they had accomplished. They spoke candidly about their upbringing, citing sports as a source of ongoing motivation and direction in their lives; they wished to offer the same to others. To fund this venture, they started a touring company called ABCD Concepts. For roughly $20 a person, they provide a 3-hour guided tour through Khayelitsha, either driven or on bikes. They then explained their overarching goal of designing a sports complex nearby, at which kids could regularly meet and participate in a host of activities, both athletic and educational. There enthusiasm, however, was checked by the politics that kept the project at bay. Too many people weren’t on board, simply because they “didn’t have authority.” Carolyn, with her MBA background, asked great questions to help them see additional possibilities. Without an MBA anything, I just applauded their perseverance and intuition. Here were these two young guys, obviously faced with enormous uphill challenges, financial and logistical, determined to realize their dream. What’s more, they were two of the brightest, most-purposeful people I’ve met in a long time. They were well aware of their plight, but they were no less committed to doing right by their community.
After finishing our 1-hour chat, Ayando and Abunto brought us outside to the back of the building. There, at the center of a large courtyard, stood a winding 300-step, wooden staircase that climbed up to a giant deck overlooking Khayelitsha. Once at the top, we could see in all directions. On the outskirts, we could vaguely make out the thousands of tin huts that I thought comprised the entire community. But closer to us, the homes were actually quite nice. When I asked Ayando about the contrast, he told me that everyone from Cape Town thinks the same, that Khayelitsha is nothing but poverty and despair. Abunto added that, though those things are more than real, people who never visit Khayelitsha only see it from the outside. They do not understand the good that exists beyond the walls.
Driving home, I felt genuinely ashamed. I had assumed that Khayelitsha was nothing more than a lost world of disrepair - how easily we judge from fleeting, first impressions. Abunto and Ayando are two of the most inspirational people I’ve met, naturally good at heart and committed to improving their world. And from that high balcony, I could see that Khayelitsha neither wanted nor needed my pity; plenty of people were doing well enough to buy homes and cars, and to raise strong families. Carolyn and I are excited to help Ayando and Abuntu in whatever ways we can. With years of coaching experience, I’m happy to blow a few whistles, and Carolyn can provide business expertise along the way. Whatever I do, I am eager to understand and respect Khayelitsha for what it truly is before jumping to any more rash, dumb conclusions.
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