In Hillbrow, one of the most dangerous neighbourhoods in Johannesburg, John Sibeko gives daily football training to 250 children on a Cruyff Court, in an effort to offer them a future far removed from drugs and crime.
Text by Martijn Faber and Tom van Hulsen, published in Trouw.
Hillbrow is one of the most dangerous neighbourhoods in Johannesburg, with sky-high crime rates. It is home mainly to Black Africans from countries other than South Africa, who have come to Johannesburg in search of a better life, generally in vain. Poverty is widespread, largely due to high unemployment among the population, and drug use is rampant. The municipality seems to have given up hope that the area can be turned around; rubbish lies uncollected in the streets for weeks, something we are confronted with immediately upon entering Hillbrow.
Our destination is a Cruyff Court, a small football pitch in the heart of the neighbourhood. It was built for the benefit of the youth of Hillbrow on the occasion of the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, where the Netherlands eventually finished as runners-up. The pitch was created with support from the Johan Cruyff Foundation, the Dutch embassy in South Africa and, most notably, the KNVB (Royal Dutch Football Association). Funding came from the football association as well as the Dutch national team players themselves.
Former professional footballer John Sibeko (60) is a well-known figure in the neighbourhood. As a defender for Witbank Black Aces, he earned the nickname ‘Bull’ thanks to his broad build and tenacious playing style. His stature and presence still serve him well today. Sibeko is a welfare coordinator and football coach with a mission: to keep the youth of troubled Hillbrow away from the temptations of the street.
He gives training on every weekday to around 250 children from the neighbourhood, divided into age groups ranging from five to sixteen years old. “They’re mostly boys,” Sibeko says from his office on the edge of the Cruyff Court. “Unfortunately, I must say... A few girls do come, but they live right next to the pitch. If they live even a little further away, they find it too dangerous to walk here, afraid of being robbed or even raped.” Hillbrow hasn’t always had a reputation for being unsafe.
Not all that long ago, Hillbrow was a wealthy neighbourhood, home to thriving businesses housed in tall office buildings. But it was also an area where apartheid reigned supreme: as recently as the 1970s, Hillbrow was officially designated a Whites Only area. Black people were not allowed to enter, let alone live there. After apartheid was abolished in the 1990s under the leadership of Nelson Mandela, Hillbrow gradually became a predominantly Black neighbourhood. However, Mandela’s ideal of a rainbow nation, where everyone is equal, proved far more difficult to realise than many had hoped.
With the arrival of many unemployed foreigners and South Africans from the townships, poverty increased, along with crime. “Virtually all the high-rise office blocks were abandoned as a result,” Sibeko explains, pointing to the buildings surrounding the Cruyff Court. “The neighbourhood fell into decline, and many of those buildings are now hijacked, taken over by criminal gangs.” Desperate individuals and families looking for a place to sleep are extorted by these gangs; in exchange for money or participation in criminal activities, they are offered shelter. Most of the neighbourhood has become a no-go area, especially after dark.
Sibeko knows what he’s talking about. As a coach, he would love to protect the children from all the dangers of the street, but the moment they leave the sports facility, he loses control. He is regularly confronted with shocking stories.“ A few years ago, a twelve-year-old boy walked into my office. He asked if he could close the door, and I immediately knew something was wrong. He became very emotional and slowly began to open up.” He pulled down his trousers, and I saw he had been badly injured: on his way to training, he had been sexually abused—something that, as it turned out, had happened several times before... I was relieved that he had the courage to tell me, and he also said who had done it.
“I reported the man to the police. He was arrested, but not long after, he was back on the streets. In the weeks that followed, I was seriously threatened by him and his friends. It was a tough and frightening time. I didn’t dare tell my family back then, because I was afraid they’d want me to stop doing this work. Thankfully, it’s all behind me now.”
“That boy, by the way, is doing quite well now. Two years after the incident, there was suddenly a knock at my door, and there he was. He had grown so much, but I recognised him straight away. It was a very emotional moment, for both of us. He’s now a fairly popular DJ, so he’s really come into his own. That makes me very proud.” The incident made it all the more clear to him that he is more than just a coach to the children in the neighbourhood. “When I’m at work, I’m their father. That’s genuinely how I feel. In that role, it’s really important that I’m approachable. I always pay close attention to the children’s behaviour. The boy I just mentioned had once told me he was living in a hijacked building with his aunt, because his parents had died. That’s vital information for me; with children like him, it’s even more important that I earn their trust, so they know they can always come to me.”
Sense of responsibility
“Only about 30 percent of the work I do involves giving football training. The remaining 70 percent is about teaching the children life lessons, life skills. Stay away from drugs, stay away from alcohol, they can destroy your life. Get an education, something that can take you further. And show respect to others, help those in need, and always remember: everyone is equal—we are equal.”
Looking out for others—it’s deeply ingrained in the South African Black community, says Sibeko. That’s where the roots of his sense of responsibility lie. It was instilled in him by his parents, who had lived through apartheid and experienced it all too consciously.“ Those times made it painfully clear that we need each other in order to survive. I grew up in Vosloorus and come from a family of eight children. My parents taught us many life lessons, but above all, they gave us love. Not just love for each other as a family, but also for others. It’s a key part of the South African ubuntu philosophy: I am, because you are. We can’t do without one another. If you’re hungry and there’s no food at home, you turn to your neighbours.”
“We have a culture of sharing. When I was a child and my father gave me a football as a gift, he would say: ‘It’s not just for you, it’s for the whole street.’ What I love about football is that this idea of sharing, doing something together, comes through so clearly in the game. No matter how good you are, you can never win on your own; you always have to do it together, as a team.”
The 14 rules of Cruyff
That approach is also part of the philosophy of the Johan Cruyff Foundation. Alongside the football pitch in Hillbrow, a large sign displays the ‘14 Rules of Johan Cruyff’, with rule number 1 reading: ‘You can’t do it alone, you have to do it together’. Sibeko says, “Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it? Our way of thinking is very similar—both in life and in football.”
Shortly after the 2010 World Cup, Sibeko was appointed as a community wellness coach at the Cruyff Court, which has since been visited by many prominent figures from Dutch football. Sibeko met Johan Cruyff himself there, as well as the likes of Ruud Gullit, Frank Rijkaard and Ronald Koeman. He is partly funded by the Royal Dutch Football Association (KNVB).“ I’m very grateful to the Johan Cruyff Foundation, the players of the Dutch national team and the KNVB for making this possible,” he says. “And I hope we can continue this work for many years to come. It’s so important to encourage young people here to make something of their lives. Not all of South Africa is like Hillbrow, but the temptations of the street are always present.”
