Taxis hoot impatiently on Albertina Sisulu Street in the Johannesburg CBD, where the smell of weed, urine and refuse drifts between abandoned buildings. Outside the Johannesburg City Library, municipal workers lounge in the shade, men with makeshift tuck shops sit on the corner selling chips, cigarettes and bubblegum.
But inside the library, just beyond the metal detectors, the world moves more slowly. I’m greeted by the smell of old books, mildew and dust. That quiet, familiar scent of ageing paper and polished wood lingers in the air.
Each step across the scuffed linoleum floor makes a soft, sticky sound — shoes briefly clinging before lifting off again. It’s quiet, but not empty. A few people sit hunched over books, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of a page or the gentle creak of a chair. It’s a space that held the city’s collective memory for nearly a century — until it was abruptly taken away.
The library opened its doors in 1935, a grand neoclassical building with towering columns and wide stone steps that once welcomed thousands of visitors a day. Inside, it held one of the city’s most valuable collections — historic newspapers, rare books, public records and a children’s section that introduced generations to the magic of reading.
Closing the city library was really an unforgivable sin on the part of the city
— Heritage activist Flo Bird
But in 2021, the building was closed without warning. Officials claimed it was structurally unsound. After sustained public pressure and legal action, the library partially reopened in March. For heritage activist Flo Bird, it is more than just a grand old building with books inside — it’s the heart of a city trying to stay alive.
“The city centre is busy dying,” she says, “and the library was one of the places that still brought people into town. It was a hub, it was buzzing with activity.” Bird, who has long been at the forefront of the Johannesburg Heritage Foundation, was one of the voices in the campaign to reopen the library, an essential institution for people in the inner city.
“Closing the city library was really an unforgivable sin on the part of the city. There are some things that you can cope without. But doing without a library is a really dreadful thing because you’re depriving people of education,” Bird says.
Hailing the reopening as “tremendous”, Bird says the library is a vital resource, partly because of the newspaper archives, rare books and other material you can’t find online. The library, she says, gave people — especially children — something precious: a space to imagine more. “The children’s library ran storytelling every afternoon,” she remembers. “Once children get to read and love reading, you give them such a huge opportunity — not just for education, but for the expansion of their minds. When you’re dying of boredom, a book can save you. You don’t have to take drugs. You can get excited by books instead.”
Bird sees the closure of the library as a failure not just of infrastructure, but of responsibility. In a country where literacy rates remain alarmingly low and books are unaffordable for many, the library offered free access to knowledge in a welcoming public space. To her, the city’s leadership didn’t just neglect a building — it turned its back on the people who needed it most. For Johannesburg to thrive, she believes, the library must be part of its future.
Bird’s fight to reopen it speaks to something bigger — the idea that libraries, whether grand and historic or small and tucked between neighbourhood blocks, are essential. They’re not just about books but about dignity, access and opportunity — something I saw echoed in every library I visited across the city.
At the Orange Farm Library, senior librarian Queen Mhlongo, who’s worked there since 2006, says the library is busiest during exam season but remains a haven for many year-round.
“When I first started working, we used to assist kids with their homework and projects but they don’t come for that as much. People here don’t utilise the library for the books.
There’s not a culture of reading here,” she says.
“People love the space and some love the feel of the book. Not everyone has access to gadgets, and electricity can be a challenge, so they use the library,” Mhlongo says.
Llewellyn Mkhwanazi, 61, is deep in concentration, surrounded by three books. “I’m in the library every day,” he tells me. “There’s too much distraction at home. I believe in books more than I believe in devices.”
His reading list includes The Idiot’s Guide to the Middle East Conflict, Born a Crime and the Oxford dictionary — for words he wants to understand properly.
Over in Ennerdale, the Louisa Prince Library stands closed, its ceiling vandalised, its steps coated in dust.
Community leader Melvyn Petersen, 32, stands outside, frustrated. “When I was growing up I used to come to the library, it was a safe haven. It was a space to free my mind. When the library was open there was access to information. This library unlocked our imaginations,” Petersen says.
He first walked into the library as a grade R child holding his mother’s library card, and its closure feels like a stolen rite of passage. “Now kids are exploring and experimenting with drugs and things they shouldn’t be doing. It’s robbing them of an experience.”
Back at the Johannesburg City Library, civil engineering students Amahle Vilakazi and Amahle Mlambo are wide-eyed. A librarian is taking a group of half-a-dozen students on a tour of, explaining the services on offer. “It’s my first time in this library and it’s heaven on earth. There are so many interesting books here, it’s a good space to be in,” says Vilakazi.
Mlambo, 18, a first-year civil engineering student, has been looking for a space to study. “I love getting new information and reading. The library is a good place to clear my mind and think. When I’m here I forget about my stress. It’s my first time here and I’m impressed,” Mlambo says.
Librarian Lucky Khoro, who started working at the library in 2016, says it’s been “very busy” since reopening. For him, librarianship is more than managing shelves.
“Librarianship is the mother of education, in fact I wanted to go into education but then I discovered that this field is more than education. I get to work with doctors, lawyers, students, people from all walks of life. This library is the only one with some of the historical information,” Khoro says.
Libraries across South Africa continue to play a vital role in their communities, offering refuge, resources and a quiet sense of purpose to anyone who walks through their doors.
According to academics from the University of Johannesburg (UJ), University of the Western Cape (UWC) and University of Cape Town (UCT), libraries remain not only relevant, but essential. At their heart, libraries are about equity and access.
Andiswa Mfengu, head of the department of knowledge and information stewardship at UCT, says: “Without libraries, and considering the unequal country that South Africa is, this would mean the disadvantaged and marginalised individuals in our communities would continue to be left out of the knowledge economy and thus are further excluded from the global community. Information and knowledge are a source of power and wealth.”
From free internet to study spaces, digital literacy programmes and access to devices, libraries are levelling the playing field in a deeply unequal society. Nomoya Mahlangu, director of research support & teaching and learning at UJ, says libraries are “democratic venues for fair access to information, culture, and community.”
She the closure of the Johannesburg City Library revealed just how deeply people still rely on these spaces — for safety, learning and a sense of belonging. But libraries are also adapting. With misinformation and AI-generated content on the rise, librarians are teaching users how to critically evaluate sources and identify fake news.
“Libraries are now more than just books but hubs for community engagement. Libraries are about inclusivity and access, so there is no doubt that they play a significant role ... Libraries ... have become embedded in their communities to cater for community needs,” Mfengu says.
She says libraries play a three-fold role in media and information literacy: raising awareness, advocacy and capacity building. According to several lecturers at UWC, these public spaces are doing far more than lending books — they’re fighting inequality, preserving culture, and preparing us for the digital age. In an era where digital misinformation spreads fast and AI-generated content blurs fact and fiction, the need for trustworthy, guided access to information is greater than ever. Librarians are stepping up, teaching information consumers how to assess credibility, evaluate sources and spot fake news.
This helps people to differentiate between facts, misinformation, disinformation and fake news, the lecturers explain. Physical books, they argue, aren’t going anywhere either. While e-books are popular for their convenience, print still holds cognitive and emotional benefits.
Readers favour print for reasons such as accessibility, reduced eyestrain, better focus and the ability to highlight and take notes, says Lizette King, head of the Department Library & Information Science at UWC. Print reading also supports emotional regulation, stress relief, and deeper comprehension, especially in children. Even in a screen-saturated world, physical books still matter.
Underfunding libraries diminishes a society’s intellectual capital and threatens democratic access to information
— Nomoya Mahlangu
Says Mahlangu: “Books do not have hyperlinks or notifications that might divert attention like screens do. They aid with improved retention and comprehension, particularly in long-form and narrative reading. Moreover, compared with digital formats, reading real books together fosters stronger bonds, vocabulary development and attention spans in kids.”
But libraries need investment. “Underfunding libraries diminishes a society’s intellectual capital and threatens democratic access to information,” Mahlangu cautions.
A society without libraries “would be unequal, exclusive and socially unjust, thus perpetuating epistemic injustices of the past”.
One thing is clear: in a country still wrestling with inequality, disconnection and distraction, the library remains one of the last truly democratic spaces — free, quiet and full of possibility.
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