What I learned from visiting Soweto and its people

There’s a distinct undercurrent of energy in Soweto. As we drive through the busy streets on a golden Friday afternoon, there’s a buzz of excitement in the air. Small groups of locals gather together with bottles of beer and broad smiles, ready to celebrate the weekend. We’re welcomed with laughter, friendly waves and the cheerful Zulu greeting, “Sawubona”, and I can’t help but smile because this is the kind of travel moment I live for.

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In a world shaped by Instagram and social media, travel can easily be reduced to snapping the perfect picture. It often becomes about showing off a luxury resort, a floating breakfast or a perfectly toned body. But for me, travel has always meant something different. I started travelling because I felt stuck and restless, like I needed something to happen in my life. I didn’t know what that something was, only that I needed it. Moments like this, rolling through Soweto, are when I feel it most clearly. It’s a rush of freedom and adventure, a deeper connection to the world and the people in it, and a sudden awareness of myself, my life and what actually matters. It grounds me, opens me up and fills me with gratitude.

Those moments don’t happen every time I travel, but one is happening right now. I try to slow my thoughts and soak it all in. We’re sitting in the back of a bright yellow tuk tuk and our local guide, Lungile, is singing happily from the driver’s seat. His voice becomes the soundtrack to our two-hour tour, adding another layer to an already memorable experience. We pull over on a street corner and step out to take in our first proper view of Soweto. Kids ride past on bikes, waving as they go, while Lungile starts telling us about the neighbourhood.

After the discovery of gold in the 1880s, Johannesburg swelled rapidly with people seeking opportunity. In the decades that followed, displacement, housing shortages and harsh racial policies forced many black South Africans to settle on the city’s outskirts. By the 1940s, informal settlements had formed to the south-west of Johannesburg. This area became known as the South Western Township, later shortened to Soweto. Today, it’s home to roughly 1.5 million people and is far larger and more complex than I imagined. A vast sprawl of homes stretches to the horizon, broken only by distant hills and the brightly painted Orlando Towers, which now draw thrill-seekers for bungee jumps and urban adventures.

Back in the tuk tuk, we head deeper into Soweto along dirt roads lined with Matchbox Houses, four-room homes built by the government during apartheid to provide basic accommodation for black workers. Locals have turned these spaces into hubs of enterprise, with hair salons, barbershops and food stalls operating right from the street. Everywhere I look people are smiling, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It’s infectious. Before long, I’m waving and calling out “Sawubona” to anyone who catches my eye, each greeting met with an even bigger smile in return.

We stop again and a group of kids rush over, full of curiosity and excitement. The girls giggle and pull me down to their level, wrapping their arms around me. With fingers dusted orange from snacks, they start playing with my hair, twisting and braiding it with total concentration. The boys bounce around us with boundless energy, throwing imaginary kicks and demanding high fives. At first, I’m hesitant to take photos, conscious of consent and respect, especially with children. But they insist, posing, laughing and directing the moment themselves. Their joy is unfiltered and contagious.

South Africa’s history is impossible to ignore. After the National Party won the 1948 election, apartheid was introduced, enforcing racial segregation and systemic oppression. Learning about it in school made me uncomfortable then, and standing here now, it hits even harder. I’m acutely aware of the colour of my skin and ashamed that people who looked like me were responsible for so much suffering. Looking into the eyes of a little girl holding my hand, all I can think is how fiercely I hope her future is brighter than her country’s past.

Before visiting, I’ll admit I felt a quiet apprehension about coming to Soweto. I wondered if there might be resentment, if it would be better to stay quiet and observe from a distance. But that fear dissolves almost immediately. Surrounded by warmth, laughter and openness, I realise how misplaced it was.

Despite everything the community has endured, the people of Soweto radiate joy and generosity. After so much injustice, it would be understandable if bitterness lingered. Instead, everyone we meet goes out of their way to welcome us. For a place shaped by struggle, there’s an overwhelming sense of pride and belonging. Even as visitors, we’re made to feel at home.

Lungile explains that Soweto still faces serious challenges, including overcrowding, unemployment and strained infrastructure. Rubbish piles up in places and access to adequate housing and sanitation remains uneven. And yet, this township has produced global heroes. Nobel Peace Prize laureates Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu both called Soweto home..

We move on to Mandela House, now a museum and one of Soweto’s most significant landmarks. The modest red brick Matchbox House still bears bullet holes and scorch marks from past attacks. Inside, it’s filled with personal items, photographs and gifts from around the world. After 27 years in prison, Madiba chose to return here, despite being advised to live somewhere safer. Nearby stands the former home of Desmond Tutu, who declined an official residence in a wealthy suburb in favour of remaining in the community he served.

The longer I travel, the more I question the value we place on wealth. True power doesn’t live in money, it lives in people. Time and again, it’s those with the least who give the most. Here in Soweto, that truth feels undeniable. When money isn’t the focus, connection becomes everything. Happiness shows up in shared moments, not possessions.

Our final stop is the Hector Pieterson Memorial. Lungile tells us about the Soweto Uprising of 16 June 1976, when students protested against the enforcement of Afrikaans as the language of instruction in schools. Police opened fire on thousands of unarmed students. Hector Pieterson was just 13 when he was killed, one of many who lost their lives that day.

Photographer Sam Nzima captured the moment Hector’s body was carried away by Mbuyisa Makhubo, with Hector’s sister Antoinette running alongside. The image, published by The World newspaper, became one of the most powerful photographs in history. Nzima hid the film in his sock to escape police detection. Shortly after the photo was published, Mbuyisa disappeared. His fate remains unknown.

It’s difficult to comprehend how a community recovers from that kind of trauma. And yet, Soweto has transformed pain into strength. Rather than being defined by tragedy, its history binds people together. Visitors are welcomed with the same dignity and respect the community fought so hard to reclaim.

This is the kind of travel moment I crave. I’m aware that I’m standing in the middle of Soweto, perfectly lost and completely at peace. Hearing these stories and walking these streets creates a deep sense of responsibility. I leave feeling grateful for my privileges, committed to using them well and reminded that happiness has very little to do with money and everything to do with how we treat one another.

That energy I felt when we arrived is still here. It’s in the laughter of kids, the greetings shouted from the street, the colour splashed across the Orlando Towers and the quiet weight of history etched into these places. As the sun sets and the sky turns soft shades of pink and blue, it’s clear that Soweto’s energy doesn’t just surround you. It stays with you.

Our visit to Soweto was part of our incredible #SquadSQ trip. A huge thank you to Singapore Airlines for flying us to Johannesburg, South African Tourism for taking such good care of us and the amazing team at Lebo’s Backpackers for a life-changing tour of your hometown.

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