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"You went where?"
Such were the incredulous gasps I received from the white Jo'burg locals when I told them of my little excursion. Many had lived their entire lives in the city without ever having seen the sprawling suburban shanty town just twenty kilometres to the south.
To be truthful, I was more than a little apprehensive about venturing into a township with such a brutal and bloody history, but couldn't leave Johannesburg without at least having made an attempt.
Robert is a trusted taxi driver at my plush hotel in the relatively safe northern suburb of Parktown. A native of the northern provinces, he has been living and working in Jo'burg since 1973. He speaks nine languages, is a former policeman, stands about 200cm and carries a gun and walkie-talkie.
"Robert," I asked with obvious self-consciousness, "could you take me to Soweto?"
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