A Review by Nqobile Mkari with commentary from Lutfiyah Haffejee and Shandré Lummis
“Why does it seem as if South Africa swings between pleasure and pain, laughter and sorrow, joy and anger, playfulness and grief?” — Nondumiso Msimanga
Young South Africans, perhaps more than any other contemporary generation, exist in a state of instability. As the group called ‘Gen Z’, my fellow classmates and I at the University of Johannesburg, have been thinking about the artistic and political voices of our generation and trying to place ourselves. As a young, black woman born after 1996, the Gen Z category seems useful for speaking back to the privileges we have and the struggles we have in the ’Apple Orchards’ of access. I watched Sunny South Africa, a play devised by third-year AFDA Live Performance students in Johannesburg with fellow classmates in the Visual Art Honours programme. The play is set in two fictional worlds – Apple Orchards, a suburb #privilege, and eMaplankeni, a township with complex characters. Some characters work in the suburbs and the privileged family in Sunny South Africa is a husband and wife who were born in the township and now lead the country. Sunny South Africa shows an imbalanced country marked by unadulterated economic disparities and a racialised experience of class, where the have-nots suffer most. But it’s really the dividing line and the impact on those who have to cross it that inspired me to write about this play made by young artists of my generation. The play exposes the irony of a South Africa that is as warm and welcoming as its name suggests. It is directed by Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga, with assistance from Aalliyah Matintela, but it was devised by a cast of AFDA students: Mmabatho Bloem, Seabe Ebineng, Zozibini Klaas, Bandile Mkhonta, Wess Mokemane, Jabulile Msani, Kagiso Tladi, Faith Sibanyoni, and Mbalenhle Yende. The Gen Z students initially pitched a proposal focusing on two families living on opposite sides of the country’s deep inequality, leading to the commission of Msimanga to facilitate the script’s development and direct the production. Msimanga called in Aalliyah Matintela, a former student of hers to assist during the later stages of the process. In an interview, Msimanga speaks about being inspired by the Gen-Z casts’ perspective on South Africa’s class politics. She says,
I thrive on challenges and the student-cast plus their demand for comedy was as challenging as it got. I’d been in a rut and wanted permission to keep experimenting as an artist. The AFDA HOD asked me to direct for their Experimental Festival and it was kismet. Yah? But I mostly had a hunch that this group of nine young performers, who don’t seem to work well together, at all, were on to something that I could learn about this country. They had this delightful poster with apples and worms and a terrible telenovela plot and this, like, deep conviction that looking at service delivery was the way to reveal class issues in what they called “Sunny South Africa”. I heard the magic call of paradox.
I resonate deeply with the portrayal of issues in Sunny South Africa by these nine Gen-Z students, not because I am part of their generation but because the daily lives of some South Africans are filled with a paradoxical mix of joy and sadness. South Africans often pretend to be happy yet remain unsatisfied with the outcomes of our so-called democracy. And paradox is central to satire, which is the style the nine students encouraged Msimanga to explore. New to political satire’s funny-sad juxtaposition, both the students and Msimanga became researchers. The students were discovering their political voices in theatre, and the director was finding her humour. Sunny South Africa exemplifies youth activism through the arts, as the ensemble uses their voices to address issues specific to South Africa’s context. As an art student, I was also grappling with finding my own voice. I have doubted all my ideas in my Honours studies, this year. So, when Msimanga asks, in the Director’s note, “Why does it seem as if South Africa swings between pleasure and pain?” I am forced to reflect on being a young South African today, disillusioned with promises of a bright future. To me, the ‘rainbow nation’ has always been a mere refraction of light, and despite being told of our privilege, the reality for us Gen-Z’s is that the sunshine of freedom often sets too quickly.
My personal privilege of studying at a German High School on scholarship while I was living in Soweto has forced me to confront racial inequality through psychic, artistic, and political storms. So, I reflect on why young South Africans swing between pleasure and pain.
Watch the opening of Sunny South Africa: ’It’s Like’ poem
Sunny South Africa’s use of irony reflects the paradox of celebrating 30 years of democracy while sensing the rot beneath. In the opening ’It’s Like’ poem, the young actors maintain a sinister smile throughout, highlighting how South African issues are often masked by humour. Msimanga notes, “My political sense of humour, in trying to make satire, was what we call irony.” The play repeatedly ‘welcomes’ the audience to this sunny South Africa, and Msimanga drilled the actors to deliver genuine, big smiles each time they welcomed the audience to Sunny South Africa. Thisemphasises the performative nature of their roles. It is ironic that the cast keeps welcoming the audience to this sunny South Africa, but never arrive there. The smiles show the irony of constantly pretending this country is happy, Msimanga says.
In my own work, I use collage as a form of activism, cutting up and rearranging photographs of old classmates from German School. This technique allows me to express the manipulation I felt during that time. Collage, like irony, can expose where things don’t make sense. Msimanga says, “I think my theatrical ’writing’ style”, mixing devised theatre with hyper-real documentary theatre, is influenced by collage techniques. When the students struggled with their narrative, I had them write a poem to, or as, South Africa”.
Watch a monologue in Sunny South Africa: ’Ndlela’s Letter to South Ah’
From an activist perspective, the personification of South Africa in the monologues is particularly powerful, allowing the viewer to focus on the complex relationships between people and the country. When a teenage schoolgirl addresses South Africa/South Ah as if it were her toxic boyfriend, it is deeply unsettling. This challenges us to confront our own complicity. Ndlela, the young woman, recognises the toxicity of her relationship with South Ah, but still expresses hope for their future together; reflecting how, as young people, we continue to wait for the benefits of democracy even though South Africa abuses us. I wonder if Ndlela’s character (Faith Sibanyoni) suggests that young people of my generation and positionality are trauma-bonded to this country, unable to escape its toxicity. I believe, to some extent, that I am. As a citizen, I am affected by the issues raised in Sunny South Africa and are participants even when trying to ignore the toxic dynamics of our access to privileged spaces. As an observer of the play, I sense that Ndlela’s experience mirrors my own complicity, yet I cling to the hope that enduring the status quo will somehow improve things. The irony is clear. When I was struggling at German school, I knew that speaking would be a heavy burden, but how do we navigate harmful relationships we can’t leave? What is our responsibility when we are young and want a better life? My fellow art student Lutfiyah Haffejee reminds me that,
Art is an essential building block in shaping human existence through its ability to document history, preserve culture, shape our present, and inspire our future. One might not consider their work to be activist art but rather art about their reality. For example, Miriam Makeba labelled her work as “telling the truth”, rather than activist art. She sang stories of the scene of apartheid’s violence. Given the context at the time, her work was seen as activist in nature because it challenged the oppressive regime and told of South Africa’s societal injustices.
Telling the truth or activism. Whatever we call it. It doesn’t always end well for people in this country. The play also shares a monologue of an ordinary young man dressed in a shirt as though he is going job-hunting. He asks the audience, “Kanti wena uthanda abanjani Mzansi?” which translates to “But what kind of people do you favour, Mzansi?”. I found this line impactful because the theme of belonging is the biggest part of my art activism. I have been documenting how other students feel a sense of alienation as people of colour at a German School. It struck me that it’s not only black students. In the words of another classmate, Shandré Lummis,
I resonate with Sunny South Africa in that they speak about issues that have personally affected me, being a coloured minority and doubly-othered in the country. It has been said that the current government is using the old regime’s blueprint to run our democracy, which is why it seems discrimination against the poor and their volatile living circumstances will never change. I find Sunny South Africa especially interesting as marginalised groups and poverty mean we are still experiencing a sense of apartheid. It’s just not as harsh or obvious.
In the Nzuzo monologue, I felt that the character is giving-in to the apartheid blueprint that says you have to sell out your people to gain access. Nzuzo (Wess Mokemane) asks what kind of people South Africa cares about. His line of questioning is rooted in the fact that he is unemployed, yet he has obtained a degree. He says earlier that there is nothing he has not done from the rulebook he was given to succeed, and yet he finds himself a beggar when he seeks jobs. Being a Gen-Z of this country feels like a weight to give in or give up, daily. As a young person today, I know that getting a degree doesn’t guarantee getting out of poverty. This leaves some youth resorting to the “change gears,” mentality like the young man in a shirt expresses. Nzuzo resorts to taking bribes from the Sunny South Africa leaders. He sells names of protest leaders as his means of making ends meet.
Watch the monologue in Sunny South Africa: “Nzuzo”
Classmate, Shandré Lummis shares my unsettled feeling as a young person today. She says that,
The current youth, in different countries, hold a shared sense of ‘generational curses’ in the sense that they have similar experiences of unfairness and have decided to do something about it. It should not be underestimated that for the youth to have the opportunity to show how they feel or create awareness on issues important to them, is to essentially begin to break the cycle, which in turn can inspire the next generation to follow suit.’
Lummis reminds me that restlessness among our generation is a global phenomenon. As classmates, we often discuss how we’ve inherited both generational curses and global conflicts. The characters Ndlela and Nzuzo, in my view, reflect the attitudes of my classmates and I as South African youths. However, Haffejee highlights a different scene: “When watching Sunny South Africa, I was struck by Captain Leruo’s words, ’We tried to give the poor people a democracy, but they do not know what to do with it.’” At the end of the play Captain Leruo, a defender of the political class, responds with military force when protests have made the country ungovernable. For Haffejee, “Sunny South Africa underscores the failure to understand the deeper need for dignity among marginalised communities, beyond mere political change—it’s a demand to be recognised as citizens”. The people of eMaplankeni protesting from the play’s start, and when Captain Leruo warns, “You risk a Marikana,” it’s a moment triggered by the protests over a domestic worker’s suicide. This reminds the audience that the democratic right to protest is tolerated only until the people reclaim their power. My classmate continues that, “Sunny South Africa challenges us to ask: Was democracy our ultimate goal? What comes next?”. Haffejee emphasises that “While we live in a democratic South Africa, many still suffer from lingering power and class imbalances. As a young artist, Sunny South Africa makes me question how equal equality really is when we all have the freedom to fly, but only some have the fuel to soar.”
Watch the monologue in Sunny South Africa: “Leruo”
In engaging with the term intersectionality in my work, I’ve realised that oppression varies in its impact. Ibrahim Abdullah, who studies marginalised youth in Sierra Leone, and Kieran Mitton from King’s College’s Department of War Studies, both researched Umlazi township in South Africa. They argue that poor, marginalised individuals navigate “blurred boundaries between formal/informal, legal/illegal, and acceptable/subversive in their daily struggle for survival,” highlighting how Africa’s growing cities often continue apartheid’s blueprint of structural inequalities. The researchers emphasise that this pushes many, like Nzuzo, into “insurgent” forms of citizenship. Their understandings in Citizenship, marginality and urban (in)security in contemporary Africa clarify the play’s impact when Captain Leruo stops welcoming us to ‘sunny South Africa’, and the cast abandons their smiles. We’re finally welcomed to the Republic of South Africa, a place that clearly excludes the poor from belonging as true citizens. South Africa embodies extremes—legal/illegal, pain/pleasure. As a black woman, I find the play resonates with me, as it effectively portrays different aspects of my black South African experience, especially the paradox of consuming South Africa’s rotten apples.
Watch the closing of Sunny South Africa: “Case No. 30 Years of Democracy”
Lutfiyah Haffejee says,
In a world where mainstream media often perpetuates harmful stereotypes and misinformation, I believe art activism is a powerful tool to combat this. Art, in and of itself, is such a powerful form of expression. When combined with activism, I believe it is a powerful catalyst for change. This intersection allows for communication on complex social issues in an accessible and emotionally resonant way. Art as activism matters because it has a unique ability to connect people on an emotional level. As young people, we live in a world shaped by our predecessors, yet with our art, we hope to plant seeds of activism that may grow into the environment we wish to live in.
My engagement with art and activism has challenged my own motives for making art by showcasing the impact of youth advocacy in driving change. From the 1976, June 16 protests against apartheid to the Sunny South Africa ensemble highlighting ongoing struggles for citizenship and belonging, I am inspired by the courage and determination of young activists then and now. I feel that Gen-Z artists are unseen activists. Thinking about Sunny South Africa reinforces the importance of having a meaningful motive in my artistic practice, ensuring that my work contributes to the ongoing struggle for justice, equality, and societal change. This is my heritage.
Nqobile Mkari, Lutfiyah Haffejee and Shandré Lummis are interns working in the Visual Identities in Art and Design Research Centre (VIAD), and a Visual Art Honours students at the University of Johannesburg.
