As President of the Ituri province of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Petronille Vaweka may be the highest-ranking government official for hundreds of miles.

But she's still subject to the UN's timetable. When I flew with her on a giant Russian-made UN helicopter from the regional capital, Bunia, to the town of Aru, the pilot announced that we would only have 20 minutes on the ground. He had a schedule to keep, and no amount of arguing by Vaweka's aides or other UN staffers could dissuade him.

So when we landed, things went into fast motion. She lept out of the aircraft. Soldiers hustled her into a pick-up truck. My photographer and I jumped into a random vehicle, hoping it was following Vaweka. It did.

She practically sprinted past the honor guard, through the building, and back into the helicopter. We made it in 20 minutes.

It's symptomatic of the fact that the Kinshasa government, which gets millions in aid from Western donors, is sending very little to the provinces. Much of it is lost to corruption.

Vaweka says she gets only $3 per month to pay her aides. When I asked how she was going to pay for reconstructing the burned-out building, she shrugged and said, "We'll worry about that later."

Stephanie Hanes - Correspondent

The crowd was grooving at the Bassline Club. Swaying, nodding, they whistled as the sax danced across octaves, cheered as the singer scatted faster and faster.

It was closing night of an annual international jazz festival that books dozens of musicians from across the world and brings thousands of concert-goers into Johannesburg's downtown.

My husband and I had splurged to see the Bassline's acts that night: multiple Grammy winner Dianne Reeves, American guitar virtuoso Stanley Jordan, Israeli saxophone master Albert Berger. Tickets were 300 rand, or about $50, each – a huge price for a Jo'burg concert.

But the place was packed. Women with Gucci bags and leather jackets screamed and lifted their cell phones to take pictures of the performers. Men in well-cut khakis and Polo shirts nodded appreciatively at musical improvisations.

Most of our fellow concert-goers were black – something you notice in race-conscious South Africa. And when Mr. Berger gave a shout-out to "the children of Soweto," it felt a little awkward.

Soweto, the townships southwest of Johannesburg, was the heart of the anti-apartheid struggle. A sprawling collection of government housing, informal shacks, and some newer, posh homes, the area is still home to more than a million, mostly poor blacks.

I like Soweto. I like the people walking in the streets, the music wafting from backyard parties, the history. Nelson Mandela's former home, the corner where the 1976 anti-apartheid student riots began, local restaurants serving traditional food – they are all excitingly different, and emotional.

But the black concert-goers were almost definitely not from Soweto – at least not any more. With their trendy clothing and BMWs filling parking lots outside, they seemed as distant from the impoverished townships as I was. They were the New South Africa, probably living in the expensive northern suburbs, the target audience for Standard Bank, the sponsor of the jazz festival.

(The festival is "a networking opportunity for jazz aficionados irrespective of race or color," the bank's website explained. "Patrons who attend the concerts vary from senior company executives, cabinet ministers to students.")

Later in the concert, Reeves, an American, also mentioned Soweto. She talked about spending time there, and told the well-heeled audience that she enjoyed the traditional food. We cook like that too, she said, grinning. There was some applause.

A well-off black associate once told me that Americans and journalists could afford to be nostalgic about Soweto.

"Me," he said, "I'm not going to drive to some restaurant in Soweto and risk getting shot."

He would rather go to any of the dozens of swank, high quality restaurants throughout Johannesburg's more upscale neighborhoods, closer to where he lives.

It is not as if people here ignore the history of Soweto. The anti-apartheid struggle still looms large – leaders in politics and business almost have to have "struggle credentials," proof that they worked to overturn the racially repressive system. Eleven years after the beginning of democracy, the country is still grappling with how to fix the staggering inequality left by apartheid, and how to help the huge numbers of impoverished, black South Africans.

But sometimes, the old anti-apartheid rallying cries do not quite seem appropriate. There is a younger generation of well-educated, successful blacks who were never the "comrades" of that fight. They own big bank accounts and small businesses, work in courtrooms and hospitals, eat international cuisine, and listen to fine jazz.

They still face challenges in their country – challenges that in some ways are more complex than those encountered by their parents.

But it is a tribute to how far South Africa has come that "black" no longer equals "Soweto."