Friday night: Nashen Moodley
Being a Durbanite recently arrived in Johannesburg somehow necessitates being constantly regaled with tales of malicious muggings and wanton violence. The locals seem to take to this (supposedly educative) task with much glee and I was told, quite matter-of- factly, that I would be attacked before the weekend was out. The fact that I am staying in Yeoville only broadened the maniacal grins and it’s little surprise then that I was just a little pensive on my first Friday night out.
The adventure began fairly early on with a trip to the Triple H Pool Club (next to Ab Fab) in Troyeville. The really relaxed atmosphere and wonderfully cheap beers make this a great place to play pool. But the blaring combination of disco and synth-pop hits of the 1980s quickly became unbearable. A self-confessed jukebox-junkie, I was relieved to find a giant box of salvation hidden in a dark corner. To my horror I discovered nothing more than a larger selection of 1980s disco and synth-pop classics. Compelled to play Elton John, it became clear that it was time to move on. Still, despite the musical dearth, the venue was a nice enough start to the evening and at this point both my person and my possessions were safe.
Onwards to buppie central – Times Square on Rockey Street – where Mohican Diner beckoned. The dcor fuses cheesy steakhouse with Martin Luther King posters, a pop art image of Elvis and various Pepsi paraphernelia. To my surprise, and in contradiction of the doom prophets, the people I encountered, probably sensing my apprehension, were more considerate than malicious. I was given all sorts of pointers on Planet J by muscular- types in expensive basketball gear. One homesick Nigerian national even decided to give me a rivetting crash course on all matters Nigerian with an especially lengthy exposition on why Nigerian women are far more suitable for marriage than South African women.
It was time to move on though, to yuppie central this time … Melville. I stopped at several trendy spots in Melville, though I can’t remember any of the names, and found that it was rather boring in comparision to the frenetic vibe of Times Square. Most kitchens were closed, not surprisingly considering that it was about 3am by this point. Despite being shunted from indoors to the balcony and then back again, finally finding food at Cats Pyjamas was a relief. It’s not a patch on Durban’s late night caf Legends but it served its purpose.
The service was hardly special but that seems to be in keeping with the general ethos of waitrons in Johannesburg – some have developed the useful gift of actually making patrons feel guilty about infringing on their time.
Several coffees and an ordinary pizza later, it was time to return to my temporary home in Yeoville, still unscathed.
I’m not convinced that Johannesburg is more dangerous or violent than Durban; strangers here seem far more approachable and friendly than back home. It’s still too early to feel safe, but Friday night did loads to make me feel more comfortable in this strange city. Maybe next Friday I’ll brave Hillbrow.
Nashen Moodley is the Mail & Guardian, SL student journalist of the year