There was a time when these schools were filled with children whose dreams seemed to have no limits. Then the children began leaving for schools elsewhere. What followed was a slow collapse: classrooms emptied, buildings deteriorated, and strangers moved in. Today, some of Soweto’s old schools barely resemble the places they once were.
By Jabu Kumalo
The phenomenon of migration from township schools to schools in the cities and suburbs has had cruel, unintended consequences for schools in disadvantaged areas.
The rush for “a better education for some” outside the townships has left many schools with dwindling numbers, or, in some cases, no scholars at all.
Having fewer children in classes forces the government to apply the National Education Policy Act, which stipulates that it has a legitimate case to close such schools, particularly when enrolment falls below the threshold of 135 children for primary schools and 200 scholars for high schools.
Many schools have fallen victim to this policy.
Take the case of Bakgomana Primary School in Diepkloof, for instance. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to call it a former school because it is now being called “Bakgomana Estate” by residents who have unlawfully occupied it and turned it into a squatter camp.
The rot started slowly but surely at this particular school in the late 1990s and early 2000s.
As the number of children dwindled until there were finally none left, the arts community turned the school into a “cultural” centre in an attempt to save it from vandalism. Then they abandoned the school too, leaving it to the very vandalism they had tried to prevent.
Realising that the school was no longer functioning as it was originally intended, the vultures moved in. Slowly, it became a drug den. Then it escalated into a criminal sanctuary for local small-time thugs. They robbed residents and ran to hide in the empty classrooms.
It was then that locals decided to take over the school and turn it into homes by partitioning the classrooms. One shack became another, and another, until it grew into what is now a sprawling mkhukhu township.
It is an eyesore for those who own properties around the school. They wish the tin village would vanish into thin air.
Their prayers are unlikely to be answered any time soon. Not because God takes forever to respond, but because the residents of Bakgomana Estate have dug in their heels and vowed that they will never move. They have shown both the Gauteng Departments of Education and Infrastructure the middle finger on numerous occasions.
In June last year (2025), an eviction order was issued by the Department of Infrastructure. The residents have told those who govern that they will move only if suitable accommodation is arranged for them.
The residents are prepared to fight to the bitter end in their court battle with the Gauteng Department of Infrastructure, which is currently under way.
The government, under normal circumstances, has enormous power to forcefully remove those who have unlawfully occupied the school. But it has not done so yet, in the name of “human rights”.
And the question from those who live around the school and whose lives have been affected by its decline is: why did the government allow this rot to reach such a state?
This is not the only learning place that has been forcefully grabbed from the education department. There are several others.
In the meantime, the government is under pressure to build more schools while some existing ones are being used for purposes for which they were never intended in the first place.
Besides this one, three other schools within a 1 km radius have also fallen victim to the unscrupulous vultures. They have been “repurposed” by opportunists who are preying on free accommodation.
The first is Thesele Secondary School, which sits on the border of White City Jabavu and Moroka North in the middle of Soweto.
Once the pride of this area for many decades, Thesele Secondary – that is, if we can still call it a school – has gone to ruin and is now occupied by uninvited car panel beaters and other mechanics
It is a hive of activity, unfortunately not of pupils and teachers, but of those who claim to be “hustling” to make a living.
Part of the school has been burnt down. It is a miracle that there are still windows in some of the classrooms. Most have been broken. The school looks as though a heartless tornado has passed through it. Where there were once windows are now cardboard boxes, old pieces of cloth and half-broken ceilings, all pressed into service to keep the elements out.
It is a painfully depressing sight.
The second school in the area is Hlengiwe Secondary School, located in White City Jabavu. Although it does not look as bad as the others, it too has been abandoned and neglected by the education department.
Some unscrupulous opportunists from a certain church did not let an opportunity pass when they realised there was empty space at the school. Without, apparently, the slightest shame, they erected a massive, shiny corrugated structure in which to worship and praise their lord. After all, he had “presented” them with manna from heaven in the form of free land.
As the religious would say: “God’s way is the right way. God will never lead you astray.”
So, as far as these worshippers are concerned, the good Lord will forgive them their trespasses, as they also forgive those who trespass against them.
The third school that has also fallen into the wrong hands is Dlambulo Primary School, squeezed between Rockville and White City Jabavu in Soweto.
When it became clear that the governing elite had betrayed one of the Freedom Charter’s wishes — that there shall be education for all, regardless of class — by abandoning the school, those in the arts fraternity took over and used it as a learning centre for their craft.
But this was only for a brief moment. After a few years, it too was abandoned and fell victim to opportunists yet again.
There was a time when it was turned into a skills centre, but that too was for a brief moment. Now it looks like a makeshift panel-beating hub. It also serves as a scrapyard for those who want to sell their unwanted goods.
Besides these few schools, there are many others that have been taken over by communities who saw an opportunity to make money and find a place to stay.
As things fall apart, including schools that were once jewels of their communities, the government finds itself caught between a rock and a hard place.
On the one hand, it is expected to urgently provide more classrooms in poor communities. On the other, those very communities transport their children out of the townships to so-called greener pastures.
Then the schools are left with no children.