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By the time Nuraan arrives in Westbury, people are already waiting.
The food that afternoon was mutton biryani, prepared by a restaurant in Fordsburg. Pensioners arrive carrying containers. Children come running as soon as the school bell rings. A group of teenage boys stands a little further back until serving begins.
Nuraan runs Hunger Has No Religion from what used to be her family home in Coronationville, next to Westbury. With the support of volunteers, local businesses, and community members, she prepares and distributes meals to people across the area.
Coronationville and Westbury have been among the Joburg communities hardest hit by gangsterism. When violence breaks out, Nuraan sets up feeding stations close to where the conflict is happening. She takes food into areas where tensions are high and where many outsiders would be reluctant to go.
It is a serious personal risk, but she believes these feeding stations can create neutral ground. Rival gang members sometimes end up standing in the same queue, receiving food from the same pot. For a brief moment, people who may otherwise see one another as enemies share the same space peacefully.
Nuraan is not naive about what is happening around her. She understands the danger. Her approach is simply that hunger cuts through many of the divisions in the community. While the food is being served, the priority is making sure everyone eats.
I once called her after reading that a teenage girl had been shot in crossfire in Westbury. Nuraan was already at the hospital with the girl’s family.
She had not known them before the shooting. That did not matter to her. They were part of her community and they needed support.
When I asked what I could do, she told me they were taking food into Westbury that afternoon and that I should come with.
Westbury is a community that many Joburg residents encounter only through reports of shootings and gang violence. It becomes easy to think of the area entirely through those headlines.
But Westbury is also home. People are raising children, caring for elderly relatives, going to school and trying to get through the day while violence unfolds around them.
At the feeding station, an older woman stopped to greet me. Her red nail polish was worn and she had carefully applied her make-up.
“Today is a good day,” she said. “I needed to look my best.”
As more people gathered, the atmosphere became restless. Some were worried the food would run out. Nuraan moved between the crowd and the pots, checking portions and repeatedly reassuring people that there was enough.
Her authority comes from the fact that she is not a visitor. She is from the area. People know her, recognise her car and understand that she will return.
The feeding stations do not end gang violence, and Nuraan does not claim they do. But they create moments when people who might otherwise confront one another can occupy the same space without conflict.
Food becomes a practical way to ease tensions and open communication, even if only temporarily.
For Women’s Month, Nuraan represents a form of leadership that is rarely given enough attention. Her work involves cooking, fundraising, coordinating volunteers and supporting families after shootings. It also means entering dangerous areas at precisely the moment most people are trying to leave them.
By the time the final portion was served, the pots were empty. We packed the car, and Nuraan began talking about the next distribution.
The violence would not stop because of one afternoon’s meal. But dozens of people had stood together, eaten and gone home without incident.
In Westbury, that is no small thing.
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