South Africa's cemeteries: Move over, brother IN THE south-west corner of Soweto, a district in Johannesburg, lies the cemetery of Avalon, a vast swathe of rough grass and granite headstones that stretches as far as the eye can see. It was here, in the 1970s and 1980s, that thousands of black South Africans would come to bury the fallen, singing forbidden struggle songs and firing guns in a show of defiance against the apartheid regime. Today the place is deserted. No flowers brighten the graves, and on most days all but one of the gates to the 172-hectare (425-acre) site are closed. "Too many rapes and robberies," says a gravedigger. Weeds cover the grave of Joe Slovo, the former leader of the Communist Party and white hero of the liberation struggle, who was given a state funeral in 1995 with a eulogy by President Nelson Mandela. Few come to pay tribute now. Avalon is almost full despite three extensions that took it to 360 hectares, and so are many other cemeteries, including 27 out of the 35 in Johannesburg. In cities including Durban and Cape Town authorities are advocating "secondary burials," where the deceased are laid to rest above another family member, or even "reduction burials," involving the disinterment of remains after no fewer than 30 years and reburial in a smaller casket to create space. So far this has not proved popular. Cremation could provide a solution. It would also be much cheaper. Funeral costs range from 5,000 rand ($650) to 70,000 rand or more, not including headstones and catering. In a country where 60% of households earn less than 3,500 rand a month, that is a small fortune. Yet only 8% of South Africans opt for cremation, compared with a third in America, half in China, three-quarters in Britain and 95% in Japan. To many South Africans, cremation is taboo, not least because of ancestor-worship and a propensity to commune with the dead. Many prefer a burial in the countryside where they were born. It is what the ailing 93-year-old Mr Mandela has chosen for himself.