The lights of Johannesburg stretch before me as the plane dives for landing. My friends’ warnings about the dangers of Johannesburg start working on my imagination. The Lonely Planet travel guide does not help: ”South Africa has an appalling tradition of violence and there is a huge gulf between rich and poor. [Johannesburg] is a rough city.” And further on after detailing the horrors that might befall a visitor: ”There are a lot of scumbags out there ready to make you a victim.” (Page 507, 5th edition 2002).
Do I want this? The answer is no. The first few weeks in Johannesburg my rational self is numbed into inaction. Walking the streets my armpits are dripping with sweat, my eyes dart in all directions. Is she a scumbag? What about that one, is he about to make me a victim? I take a breath of relief every time I see a white person. Oh, it’s safe around here… In the end I have to admit to myself that my reaction is racist. I am afraid of blacks. Period.
Yes, Vusi explains — like many whites you have been conditioned to see a thief every time you see a black person.
This forces me to ask myself: Does poverty automatically turn an individual into a criminal? Things start happening. Unlike most white people in Johannesburg, I walk a lot. That puts me, literally and symbolically, on an equal footing with people on the street. I am met with a sawubona and a friendly smile wherever I go. I learn that this greeting means ”I see you!” After a visit to the Paul Kruger Museum in Pretoria, things click into place.
The place is filled with 19th- century European furniture. The heavy curtains leave the rooms in semi-darkness, keeping out the clarity of day, but most importantly keeping out every idea of Africa. For me those rooms became a symbol of what many of us Europeans do in Africa. We tend to take our culture with us and establish it without seeing the peoples and cultures that already occupy the place. My own reactions have been firmly in that tradition.
My bias discovered and recognised, it must be challenged. Now comes a period of euphoric exploration. I start seeing Johannesburg: I take in the grotesque poverty of Alexandra and admire the guts and humanity of the people there. I taste the exotic world of the Mai Mai Zulu market , I explore the muti shops of Diagonal Street, look for Kapitan’s where Nelson Mandela used to eat his lunches. I haunt the jazz clubs of Melville and Newtown, I try out Aids projects in Soweto, visit the Credo Mutwa village, am stunned by magic performances at the Market Theatre, pop my head in curiously at the Oriental Plaza, and discover the beauty and fascination of Johannesburg art deco architecture.
I look for the Rand club with the longest bar in the country. I eat seafood at the Troyeville Hotel and discover Portuguese wines and cheeses and people in this part of town. I discover a myriad cultures and a diversity of life that enthrals me, bewitches me and has me begging for more.
The miracle is, the people comply. When I tell them ”I am here” they see me and share their pap and their biltong with me and open up a city for me to enjoy.
Johannesburg has an incredibly interesting history. The city itself is full of exciting architecture, the traditions of South Africans are wondrous and strange to a European. The city is alive with the meetings of cultures. In fact, globalism will learn from coming to Jo’burg. The city already knows a lot about what kind of new cultures emerge when old ones meet.
This, not scumbags on every street corner, is the reality of Jozi. This is the image the city should cultivate and its biggest resource is the people themselves.
I am not naive, I know there is crime in this city, but in my opinion, the city should sue Lonely Planet for slander. I’ll take the witness stand in favour of Johannesburg any time.
Olav AndrÃ