Sophiatown. Sometimes one word can carry a whole story. Sometimes a word feels the weight of itself. Sophiatown, a word of glory and sunshine, a word of freedom and no chains. Sophiatown, which came to be replaced by a much lesser word. A small-minded little collection of six sad little letters. The sort of word mouthed by people of tunnel vision and petty malice. C'mon everybody, give me a T, give me an R ... give me a pitiful I, give me a self-loathing O. Give me a desultory M ... oh and throw in a capricious F at the end. But no cheering please. There is no triumph in this. By TONY JACKMAN.
District Six is a miserable story, and many have told its tale, in many ways. But Sophiatown's story has a particular poignancy about it, lent to it by the horrid name the apartheid - I almost typed Nazi - authorities bestowed on the suburb that limped like a dying, defeated Phoenix from the rubble of Sof'town and coughed into life. Triomf. Spit it out, free the phlegm from its gobby lair. Triomf. A word turned in on itself. Somebody give it some rope and a chair....