On the Town.

Hamming it up for the camera.

Cape Town, SA – As we pulled into the township of Gugulethu, on the outskirts of Cape Town, a young man with a half-finished beer in his hand stumbled, tripped over his feet and fell to the ground.

When he stood, another man slapped him repeatedly on the head. Apparently, he was no longer welcome. He fell again. It was all of 9:30 a.m.

The township is home to 700,000 people living in tight quarters stitched together by scrap plywood, cardboard and sheet metal. Wood smoke from the braii clouds the air, and shreds of garbage bag flap in the breeze like Tibetan prayer flags.

Tellingly, countless crooked abortion posters are pasted to the outside walls, alongside murals advertising Coca-Cola and SIM cards.

While the community's people were lovely to us – and we were investing in their community – the experience felt precariously close to one of 'poverty porn.' It's a moment your privilege leaves you naked.

Even more, given the morning's first encounter, it seemed wrong to be on a tour where we were to learn how traditional beer is made, and then sample it. But we did, engaging in the ritual of doffing our caps, kneeling and tipping the large communal tin can to our lips. The bready mixture will win no awards.

Glassy-eyed men sat in the corner of the cramped black shack, egging us on.

We had made it to 10 a.m.