Johannesburg - what it's like to live in the world's most dangerous city

I was inspired to write about my experience in Johannesburg after reading Doing fyn, really.

The moment I step off the plane at OR Tambo I smell it. The smell of Johannesburg. The smell of smoking taxi tyres, cordite and Nigerians. I breathe deeply — it’s been nearly a year since I’ve been back.

I pick up my rental car and pull out onto the highway, and I’m almost rear-ended by a BMW as punishment for driving at the speed limit in the slow lane.

- and in the Sunday Independent [great newspaper] about Mythic Joburg, a piece by Mary Corrigall.

She writes:

THOSE who never leave Joburg are those who can’t. Cast as a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, riddled by crime, corruption and moral decay, why would anyone want to inhabit this treacherous locale? Or such are the popular perceptions of this illustrious African conurbation.

I have noticed that when I leave Johannesburg something very subtle happens. An almost imperceptible heaviness, a tension, lifts. Not quickly. Slowly. As one speeds out of the various arteries to get away from the economic heart of South Africa, the traffic of money, of people, the trafficking of drugs and what not, stay behind you in that African Manhattan - a city that is simultaneously decaying, rotting in the sun, and sending out fresh new shoots.

On the radio today a comedian, an American, was saying she loves her country because she is white and rich. She qualified being 'rich' as having more shit than 'one needs' and not having to share it with anyone. This is part of the attraction to Johannesburg, undoubtedly, the love of money. It's the reason, principally, why I am here too. But the same came said of numerous other cities - from New York to Seoul. What is distinctive - I guess the point we're trying to assess then is specifically, what makes Johannesburg a city worth living in. What's good about it?

Well, for a start, there is the weather, clear and crisp in winter, with skies of startling blue, and soft warm springs giving way to burning summers punctuated by violent African thunderstorms. To walk through the aftermath of such a deluge is amazing. The streets are strewn with mauve flowers knocked off the jacaranda trees. Great clouds of red and pink bougainvillea billow over high garden walls, forming a psychedelic arch over the old stone alley that winds up the ridge behind my house. From the summit, it is as if a pastel mist is drifting across the suburbs.

Two decades of convulsive change notwithstanding, aspects of the sweet white life persist down there - the thwock of balls on tennis courts, the click of woods on bowling greens, the clink of ice in frosted glasses carried on trays by loyal African servants. My little corner of the city remains rather British, with Anglican churches, friendly grocers and a ratepayers' association full of crabby ex-Rhodesians and old Africa hands who rail in vain about unkempt pavements, broken street lamps and other signs of the supposedly inevitable slide into anarchy.

But all is not lost; not yet.

The above comes from an article by Rian Malan in the UK's Telegraph. I guess it goes to show that everyone's experience is different. In the same article I see Rian's typical day in Johannesburg and I doubt I have visited any of those places. I've come close to visiting the rooftop market in Rosebank, but only in lieu of the fact that I work in Rosebank. That said, it's something I feel I want to get round to doing.

For me the beauty of Johannesburg probably has nothing to do with the inhabitants; at best their impact is incidental. I have lived in South Africa all my life and whenever I have come to Johannesburg I've been amazed at how unique the city is in almost every respect, but especially in this: the birds here seem to populate the forested gardens here as a matter of course, but you don't see them anywhere else. You get a combination of birds like the Hadeda ibis and the Grey Loerie who weigh down the branches and seem to move invisibly through the world's largest manmade urban forest. The trees are the other thing. Johannesburg has luxuriant foliage softening the hard lines of suburbia. In spring the purple Jacarandas transform the suburbs into what feels like the aftermath of a giant African wedding (or some other celebration).

It is against this background of luxuriating nature that gleaming BMW's cruise, mustard yellow mine dumps rise, and gleaming tampon towers with rotting innards glitter and scintillate in the bright highveld light over slums no doubt infested with crimes happening and imminent.

I have said this before but one of the things I love about commuting to work is turning on the radio and listening to 94.7. But here we come to my pet hate. The drivers, black and white, taxi and sedan, are some of the most arrogant and stupid I think I have ever encountered anywhere in the world. Maybe the suicidal drivers in Tanzania are worse, but I'm not sure. Where else do people race each other, risking death and damage, simply for the honor of arriving at a traffic light 100 metres away first? Where else do you see a red Ferrari, topless, flaunting some or other celebrity, driving vulnerably beside a barely roadworthy truck covered in construction workers salivating over said celebrity in truck. Salivating in the worst sense of the word - I want to fuck you, take your car, steal your watch and cut your body into little pieces in order to feel better about not having what you don't even appreciate... That's what they're thinking, and both glistening celebrity and criminal plotter pretend otherwise as the traffic queue inches forward.

Johannesburg has some of South Africa's best infrastructure - the biggest and best airport, the finest gyms and stadiums [I've only been to Ellis park, though I've driven around the side of Wanderers] and some of the best cinemas and shopping malls you'll find. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm still putting off mentioning the people here. Very well then ->

Since I grew up in the Free State, in Bloemfontein nogal, I was under the impression that Afrikaners were a very biased and somewhat disagreeable bunch. That is not to say I didn't respect them - I just became increasingly gatvol and disenchanted with their Godsdiens and politiek and een Volk attitude. And I didn't appreciate being dragged into the same kraal or kerk as them based on my surname and geographic co-ordinates. After some time overseas and after a certain amount of political shift (and possibly the more radical Afrikaners not only coming down from their AWB horses but also mkoving from boeremusiek to pop, pulpit to soap opera and generally taking themselves a bit less seriously) I found myself developing a grudging affection for the New Afrikaner. In a world of excess, something can be said for being cautious and conservative after all.

So imagine my surprise when, after a few months in Johannesburg, I discovered a Volkstaat right here. It's called Houghton and Orchards and what not, and the Afrikaners who have their own religion, only interbreed with themselves and have their own language and food and politics are called Jews. They speak English.
I'm surprised by this...this sense of hurt...because I went to a Jewish nursery school and at Advertising School I admired some of my Jewish teammates for their wit and guile and acumen. By I suppose my jaundice started there, where one would brainstorm through the night, and then the endurance contest would start and the game would be called this: "Let's attribute the idea to me (even though it's yours) because at the end of the day it is the person with the idea that gets rewarded (and I want that person to be me whatever the idea and whomever it comes from) and that's all that matters." There were other teams who wanted to be Jewish-only teams. I had never heard of this before and no one seemed to find anything wrong with this except me. But you move on and forget about it until you find yourself...well, here.

It's not bad having them as neighbours; they're certainly not bad neighbours, and they run a tight ship here. The suburbs are relatively crime free for a crime ridden city. The local neighborhood CAP has reduced crime. This despite the fact when I told my insurers where I was living my insurance was immediately trebled. And since then there has been a break-in where I live and my landlady [now slumlord - we'll get to that] beating up, robbed and locked in her safe. Some friends of mine found a burglar skulking in their bedroom a few weeks ago - they live a kilometre up the hill.

So you may say that I've experienced some of that Afrikaner Apartheid here in the suburbs, in the sense that Jewish girls will never marry non-Jewish guys, and may worry if they're seen eating lunch with you. It makes me wonder - the Jews often talk of Anti-Semitism but their faith is based on saying 'We're chosen, we're special, our God is the The One and yours ain't so we can't mix with the likes of you, we'll leave you alone but if we ever have to - God forbid deal with each other - please be nice to us anyway.' In short, we're better than you but we hope you can accept that and not hold a grudge against us (even though we're sort've commanded by God to hold a grudge against you as non-chosen infidel gentiles.)

This article isn't meant to be a focus on Jews at all, but I guess it is more PC to discuss than say the insecurity one feels at intersections, where there are always Africans wanting something. In a city famous for murder, the way one becomes vulnerable to these crimes is so obvious and easy it is laughable. Poor black people brazenly approach one's car and ask for money (while they check the contents of your passenger seat, and your inside pocket). But we won't go there for fear of being branded a Free State rooinek [or Dutchmen, take your pick] racist.

I don't know if it is an indictment of the whole of Johannesburg. I mean, there are other clubs besides, based on which University you went to, whether you take drugs or not. I belong to the clique called 'I ride a bike and lead a healthy lifestyle'. It's a fairly fringe group but there are lots of us, and I have to say I've developed some of the best climbing strength I've ever had by getting myself over the ribs that girdle this great city.
The cycle and triathlon races in Johannesburg are well organised - for the most part - and quite crowded. I've enjoyed this aspect tremendously. Bloemfontein has at best 4 cycle race routes whereas Johannesburg has about 40.

Yes, so I've been quite surprised by how biased and opinionated the people are that I've met here. I thought they'd be more liberal. More open-minded. I've also been surprised by the aggressiveness and spite I've encountered. I guess a lot of people here are under stress just like in a big city anywhere else (just a bit more).

I haven't met my neighbours on two sides of the road. The Americans next door invited me for some biltong and wine, but can they strictly speaking be called South Africans? Across the road is a Jewish couple who are not like many other Jewish couples - they appear to do business at night with Nigerians driving a red golf, and the lady often needs a ride to wherever it is you are going. But it's a nice neighborhood - fortified but pretty, isolating but leafy.

My landlady has gone from living in her house to squatting downstairs (sleeping on a board over a jacuzzi). The lower garden where the swimming pool is now looks like a construction storage site, and my garage looks like a storage hanger for Biddulphs or Elliots. I can barely get my car in and out, let alone myself. My landlady, a one time Lady of Rhodesia, spends her days cleaning the pool, watering potplants and keeping her second hand furniture (deployed outside her one-room sauna space) halfway across the swimming pool patio dry. She is used to ordering people around and not used to doing anything herself. Like cooking. Or work. Or washing up. On weekends she tries to convince one set of tenants that the man of the house is a child molester and wife beater, while on my side she tries to do the same whenever she can get hold of my girlfriend. There is more disgraceful behaviour besides, but my experience of a Johannesburg resident has been principally shaped by this woman.

And obviously my impression of Johannesburg has been colored by my experiences at work - my boss, my colleagues. I won't say much about that though.

What I will say is that having been here for almost two years now it has been an incredible two years brimming with seized opportunities and close calls. In this city I have met the likes of Jim Kunstler, David Bullard and the odd Miss South Africa. I've encountered some ambitious and beautiful young women who have achieved great things in sport and school.
I've seen roads - busy arteries - collapse and then buildings falling onto construction workers. I've watched the rise of new structures over the deserted and presumably bankrupt shells of underground arcades. Well known musicians perform at around-the-corner nightclubs as a matter of course.

I stay at home a lot. You can attribute this to exhaustion, or an attempt to avoid this city's crime and gridlock. Honestly, there is a certain fear - subtle but real - that as soon as you step out your door you're vulnerable to the elements of this city. It can be anything. From a moon crater sized pothole, to a drunk driver, to a Mozambican murderer, to a falling tree branch or a landlady who is losing her nut. And it is this generalised fear that lifts, imperceptibly, when you're not here, and it takes a while to realise why your shoulders are un-tensing, why your breathing is more relaxed, why you're feeling...well...less tired somehow.

Johannesburg has adventure, wilderness - wildness - in it, that makes it an exciting place to be. Yes it is dangerous. Yes, it is the epicentre of crisis upon crisis upon crisis. But if you live long enough it will make a man out of you, and if you're a woman, you'll have the opportunity to make something of yourself. Part of this journey involves the around-the-clock processing of tension. But you can always leave Johannesburg on an expensive holiday (that you may actually be able to afford) to see, from a distance, where you've come from and what you're becoming because of it. You might actually like what you see. Then again, you might not.