Friday, April 21, 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa 4.07.2006
The moment we arrived in Jo'burg, I was immediately struck by a strange and unexpected wave of nostalgia. The vast, sprawling city emits an unmistakable air that immediately brought to mind Los Angeles. With its convoluted and congested system of freeways, the thick smog resting over downtown, the trendy shopping quarters only blocks from rundown slums, after ten long months on the road it felt like I was finally home.
Over 10 million people live in the bustling metropolitan sprawl that includes Pretoria and the township of Soweto. Jo'Burg is its heart, serving as a vital hub for virtually all major business operating in Southern Africa. It is also often called the "Car Jacking Capital of the World" and the crime rates are astounding. Tuuli had arrived in Jo"burg a couple of days before us, knew a bit about the lay of the land, and was excited to show us around the city where she will eventually be working. During our brief but all inclusive tour, we received the full "Jo'burg experience".
Tuuli put Mike and me onto a local minibus heading for the city center. After about 20 minutes of driving, I realized we were close when I saw a sign for Hillbrow. This made me more than a bit apprehensive. However, Tuuli reassured us that she had been through here the day before and that we were not in any danger. I knew almost nothing about Jo'burg except that the suburb of Hillbrow is notoriously dangerous. From the view out of my window, its nasty reputation seemed quite reasonable. Architecturally, many of the buildings seemed transplanted straight out of a Dickens novel with "grimy industrial slum" as its overriding theme. Malicious looking men sat with vacant eyes on curbsides, glaring viciously at passing cars while rolling cheap cigarettes by hand. In short, it was not a place I wanted to see more of.
We were dropped not far away, in a fairly run down area bustling with commerce. The buildings had the classy city mix of shoddy shops on the bottom and tiny gloomy apartments reaching for the heavens above. On the sidewalks outside these shops ran an endless line of stalls selling everything from shiny watches to colorful produce. I didn't know it at the time, but we were in the vicinity of Park Station, an area notorious for its crime. Tuuli showed us around this area as we gradually moved uptown towards classier areas.
Business was booming. The streets were crowded with somber shoppers. The predominantly black areas around Park Station gradually merged into the cosmopolitan "rainbow nation" that the South Africa government is trying so hard to publicly advocate. We passed countless shops selling every kind of commercial product existing. I couldn't afford any of it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to. Yet even this disgust with flaunted material wealth was almost immediately called into question when I caught myself jealously watching a bratty young child with a huge ice cream Sunday. I desperately wanted one too. Clearly, this vast discrepancy of wealth from block to block explained something about the appalling crime rates.
On the way back to the taxi park in Park Station we stopped for a quick drink. As we sat down, a man immediately approached us. "You are not safe here," he whispered into Mike's ear. "You need to leave." Not willing to wait around and find out what he meant, we finished our drinks promptly, got up and left. We were only a couple of blocks away. The streets were crowded with people. It was still early. We walked at a brisk pace, weaving in and out of the pedestrians.
Suddenly a man in a black jacket stepped in front of me, grabbed Tuuli from behind and threw her violently to the ground. As this was happening, a second man took a hold of me. He wasn't very big. I reached back, seized him, and started to push him off of me. A third man stepped out of the crowd and put a knife to my side. "Give me your money or I will shoot you in the face," he said simply. The game was up. Checkmate. My battleship had unmistakably been sunk.
I let go and the smaller lout slipped behind me and put another knife against my throat. "No problem," I told them. "You can have everything." As I scanned the crowd, I saw at least five more thugs standing at ready. Mike was against the wall, emptying out his pockets, with a knife inches from his face. Tuuli was still on the ground, being relieved of her bag.
It was a professional job. There was no sense of urgency or nervous tension. I felt oddly safe throughout the whole experience, knowing that we were all past the point of ill-advised heroics and other correspondingly imprudent reactions. They took their time, checking me for a money belt and thoroughly patting me down. All my pockets were emptied and every last thing was appropriated. There was a large crowd of bystanders watching, but they knew well enough not to interfere. And then, as abruptly as they appeared, the thieves melted back into the crowd and were gone.
Without saying a word, the three of us started walking once again towards the taxi stand. Mike had some good news. A 20 rand bill, or $3, had been overlooked in the bottom of one of his pockets. We weren't completely stranded. This would be just enough money to get us back to Tuuli's boss's house in Sandton. Although we lost relatively little money and didn't have anything essential like our passports on us, we no longer have our vital credit cards. Getting access to our dwindling money will be a bit of a problem. Yet all things considered, we were very lucky. We took a risk walking around a particularly dangerous area and it cost us. But nobody got hurt and we will be all the more cautious in the future.
The moment we arrived in Jo'burg, I was immediately struck by a strange and unexpected wave of nostalgia. The vast, sprawling city emits an unmistakable air that immediately brought to mind Los Angeles. With its convoluted and congested system of freeways, the thick smog resting over downtown, the trendy shopping quarters only blocks from rundown slums, after ten long months on the road it felt like I was finally home.
Over 10 million people live in the bustling metropolitan sprawl that includes Pretoria and the township of Soweto. Jo'Burg is its heart, serving as a vital hub for virtually all major business operating in Southern Africa. It is also often called the "Car Jacking Capital of the World" and the crime rates are astounding. Tuuli had arrived in Jo"burg a couple of days before us, knew a bit about the lay of the land, and was excited to show us around the city where she will eventually be working. During our brief but all inclusive tour, we received the full "Jo'burg experience".
Tuuli put Mike and me onto a local minibus heading for the city center. After about 20 minutes of driving, I realized we were close when I saw a sign for Hillbrow. This made me more than a bit apprehensive. However, Tuuli reassured us that she had been through here the day before and that we were not in any danger. I knew almost nothing about Jo'burg except that the suburb of Hillbrow is notoriously dangerous. From the view out of my window, its nasty reputation seemed quite reasonable. Architecturally, many of the buildings seemed transplanted straight out of a Dickens novel with "grimy industrial slum" as its overriding theme. Malicious looking men sat with vacant eyes on curbsides, glaring viciously at passing cars while rolling cheap cigarettes by hand. In short, it was not a place I wanted to see more of.
We were dropped not far away, in a fairly run down area bustling with commerce. The buildings had the classy city mix of shoddy shops on the bottom and tiny gloomy apartments reaching for the heavens above. On the sidewalks outside these shops ran an endless line of stalls selling everything from shiny watches to colorful produce. I didn't know it at the time, but we were in the vicinity of Park Station, an area notorious for its crime. Tuuli showed us around this area as we gradually moved uptown towards classier areas.
Business was booming. The streets were crowded with somber shoppers. The predominantly black areas around Park Station gradually merged into the cosmopolitan "rainbow nation" that the South Africa government is trying so hard to publicly advocate. We passed countless shops selling every kind of commercial product existing. I couldn't afford any of it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to. Yet even this disgust with flaunted material wealth was almost immediately called into question when I caught myself jealously watching a bratty young child with a huge ice cream Sunday. I desperately wanted one too. Clearly, this vast discrepancy of wealth from block to block explained something about the appalling crime rates.
On the way back to the taxi park in Park Station we stopped for a quick drink. As we sat down, a man immediately approached us. "You are not safe here," he whispered into Mike's ear. "You need to leave." Not willing to wait around and find out what he meant, we finished our drinks promptly, got up and left. We were only a couple of blocks away. The streets were crowded with people. It was still early. We walked at a brisk pace, weaving in and out of the pedestrians.
Suddenly a man in a black jacket stepped in front of me, grabbed Tuuli from behind and threw her violently to the ground. As this was happening, a second man took a hold of me. He wasn't very big. I reached back, seized him, and started to push him off of me. A third man stepped out of the crowd and put a knife to my side. "Give me your money or I will shoot you in the face," he said simply. The game was up. Checkmate. My battleship had unmistakably been sunk.
I let go and the smaller lout slipped behind me and put another knife against my throat. "No problem," I told them. "You can have everything." As I scanned the crowd, I saw at least five more thugs standing at ready. Mike was against the wall, emptying out his pockets, with a knife inches from his face. Tuuli was still on the ground, being relieved of her bag.
It was a professional job. There was no sense of urgency or nervous tension. I felt oddly safe throughout the whole experience, knowing that we were all past the point of ill-advised heroics and other correspondingly imprudent reactions. They took their time, checking me for a money belt and thoroughly patting me down. All my pockets were emptied and every last thing was appropriated. There was a large crowd of bystanders watching, but they knew well enough not to interfere. And then, as abruptly as they appeared, the thieves melted back into the crowd and were gone.
Without saying a word, the three of us started walking once again towards the taxi stand. Mike had some good news. A 20 rand bill, or $3, had been overlooked in the bottom of one of his pockets. We weren't completely stranded. This would be just enough money to get us back to Tuuli's boss's house in Sandton. Although we lost relatively little money and didn't have anything essential like our passports on us, we no longer have our vital credit cards. Getting access to our dwindling money will be a bit of a problem. Yet all things considered, we were very lucky. We took a risk walking around a particularly dangerous area and it cost us. But nobody got hurt and we will be all the more cautious in the future.
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