Prairie Post
7-25-10
(this time from Johannesburg)
It is pleasant here, in this peculiar city of the very south. It is not too cold, not too warm, even though the residents prefer it a bit warmer. They want shorts and t-shirts, they want the temperature as close as possible to their body heat. Those coming from the northern prairies are not used to blasting heat in the car when the temperature is a comfortable 70 degrees outside. “Yeeees,” they say with their Desmond Tutu accent, “it will get warmer soon, then the winds will come up and it will start raining.”
It’s Jo’burg, the city of struggle and reconciliation, the city of violence and peace, the city of hope and desperation. Jo’burg greets visitors with vuvuzelas at the airport, the recent soccer event is not forgotten. Everybody talks soccer! “Too bad,” they say, “that Argentina did not make it further” – who do they think they are talking to? There was disappointment about the home team, there was disappointment about Ghana, there was disappointment about the final – but there was excitement about the opening ceremony, there was excitement about the international attention, and there was good business. The white Afrikaans may prefer their rugby and cricket, the rest of the country is in football fever.
Apartheid – no other word seems to be more connected to Jo’burg. The colonialists had settled here needing help in their newly established gold mines. Apartheid should keep the Blacks separated living on the other side of the mines. Let them come and work, but let them not live in this city of “ours.” The policy of apartheid was tolerated for a long time by the West because of the fear of spreading communism. The end of the cold war changed everything – in Europe and in South Africa! Today, Blacks have moved to Jo’burg because the Whites moved out, in fear of retaliation. In due time the government took over, and the downtown apartments quickly became housing assistance to the poor with nobody caring for the property.
Jo’burg’s streets are dark and dirty, people here move about guardedly, not a single White person is in sight. No reason for visitors to walk in this city, no reasonable reason. No sights, no culture, no inspiration. Jo’burg is a deserted and over-occupied city, Jo-burg is left to its own devices. Jo’burg is a lonely place amidst too many people, all with the same unfulfilled needs.
Illovo, Sandton, Hyde Park: The Whites have moved north of town, into new neighborhoods, disconnected from the city and from each other. Here are pockets of wealth that once ruled the gold mines and now they build hotels and shopping malls in secure and protected environments. Here is the middle- and upper class keeping in safe distance to the rest of town. They hide behind fences, walls, and barbed wires. Security systems included, of course. Guards at every neighborhood corner, of course. Blacks clean their streets, Whites live in the comfort of their mansions, here, north of downtown.
Soweto: The other side of Jo’burg. No White person as of late would have dared to drive through this section of town, the place of Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu. However, the famous township has become attractive to visitors, and it is now somewhat easy to get there, a quick tour, and a hurried drive back north all within a short period of time. Some of Soweto’s residents live in small cottages, some in subsidized housing, some merely under tin roofs. Soweto, a political town of struggle throughout the 20th century – reinventing itself in the 21st!
It seems like not much is normal about Jo’burg, but people coming from rural areas plan to go back “home” sometime in the near future. They long for the grasslands – anyone born on the land remembers the deep roots of prairie grass. They have left their cows behind, the cattle is attended to by their aging mothers. Life is more complicated in Jo’burg.
From the savanna they receive the food they eat. Meat, meat, and meat, particularly game, any form of game: impala, ostrich, and springbok are on the menu. As a side, mieliepap, always mieliepap! “I can’t live a day without mieliepap,” they say, “wouldn’t be a good start to the day.” Of course, they also like their fish ‘n chips, they prepare spiced chicken, and for breakfast they eat baked beans – of course baked beans on toast! Don’t expect to get what you ordered in this part of the world. You may receive chips instead of couscous, or mieliepap instead of potatoes.
This is a city of daylight. Nobody is out in the dark in this town, it is quiet in the evenings. Fear still rules after sunset. “We need more time to grow together,” they say, “it just takes more time.” The big battles appear to be fought, and much of everyday life seems normal enough. For now, the success of a major sports event enlightens everybody from manager to taxi driver. “We did it,” they say, “now we are hoping for the Olympics.” A country in transition, no doubt, here, where apartheid is current history, where vuvuzelas rule, and where everybody is waiting for the weather to warm up.