Stephanie Hanes - Correspondent

It seemed too easy to find a parking spot.

Johannesburg's all-day Live 8 concert had started hours ago, and from a distance my husband, a couple of friends, and I had spotted the sparkling stage and massive satellite screen broadcasting the other anti-poverty concerts going on that day.

But a block away, the parking attendants looked bored.

Still, we heard a beat – that lilting, African sound that dares you not to dance, or at least sway. So we hurried by the vendors selling chicken pieces and Cokes and, after a quick pat down, walked into the Mary Fitzgerald Square, Johannesburg's Live 8 concert site.

The place was half empty, and the emcee was struggling to keep the crowd's attention. People wandered in, more wandered out. Although most concert-goers bounced to the music, it seemed clear that to the Johannesburg crowd, the local artists on stage were only so interesting.

We journalists had gotten press releases about this concert – the one Live 8 event actually taking place in Africa – only a week earlier. 

"Be part of the global event of the year!" one urged. 

"The purpose of the concerts is to mobilize political consciousness around the issues of poverty and inequality in South Africa, Africa and the World," another explained.

It was hard not to think of inequality. Although the concerts were promoted as a way to support Africa – a needed message in a world that can too easily ignore this continent – it  was clear that the Africa concert was an afterthought.

Every now and then, the emcee would try to raise the excitement level. Now introducing, she would yell, Will Smith! The crowd would scream, until it realized that Mr. Smith was on the satellite feed from Philadelphia, not in Johannesburg.

We watched the top acts in Berlin, Rome, London. Wide camera shots showed masses of mostly white people; tens of thousands wearing white bracelets (the anti-poverty answer to Lance Armstrong's yellow "Livestrong" bands), screaming for performers such as Alicia Keys, Madonna and U2. 

We watched them snapping in unison every three seconds – the time it takes, the celebrities said, for another African to die from poverty. It was a kind message. But here, the gushing sentiments of millionaire performers in Europe seemed paternalistic.

While we were at the concert, Johannesburg never went on the live feed. We couldn't help wondering if some concert organizer in London was worried that we'd ruin what felt like a pity party.

The biggest cheer that night came not for a musician, but for Nelson Mandela. The crowd broke out into song as he slowly walked to the podium, aided by a cane.

Here was a powerful African – a man who had struggled but who was not a victim. We joined the crowd, clapping and cheering with relief.