Many Different Worlds in Jozi

In the midst of a strike being carried out by 1.3 million people across South Africa, including nurses and teachers, I find it extraordinary that my day-to-day existence is not at all affected. Such is the reality of a divided society where those in the private sector economy of northern Johannesburg lead a sheltered existence. Meanwhile over 50 premature babies have been abandoned by nurses; several mothers have lost their babies in childbirth, or simply been turned away from hospitals; and funeral businesses have brought work to a halt because Home Affairs workers are simply not around to issue death certificates.

Photo credit: News24

Meanwhile regular South African pastimes such as rugby matches continue. Thousands of free tickets to last weekend’s match against New Zealand were given away in high-density historically-black areas such as Soweto, in the hope of drawing more blacks to the matches. But apparently many of the recipients simply sold the tickets instead. At the same time, parts of Soweto defy outsider assumptions. A colleague who watched the game on Vilakazi St in Orlando West was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t really felt the ‘township vibe’, commenting that he could have been anywhere in Sandton.

Not so for a recent Saturday that I spent in Soweto, not forgetting that Soweto is basically a city in itself, with significant socio-economic stratification. A friend of mine is writing a doctorate on the political economy of waste dumps; her research assistant is from Mofolo, and between them they know a lot about the wider area. Along with a visiting architecture academic, we travelled to the far south-western corner of Soweto, to the informal settlement of Protea South. To give you a sense of the scale of greater Johannesburg, Protea South is 50 kilometres from where I live on the northern border of the city. There is some running water in Protea South, but no sanitation. Some of the porter toilets are communal, but many households have their own which they clean themselves. Hand-shaped charcoal bricks lie in the sun to bake – it’s the first time I’ve seen this kind of fuel. In Protea South, one can buy a shack for 1500 rand (200 dollars). Consider the extraordinary contrast with parts of Sandton (Sandhurst, for example), where one can buy a mansion for upwards of 20 million rand (2.75m dollars). I’ve even seen some advertised for 50 million.



Yes, Johannesburg is many different worlds. I am regularly humbled by people that I meet, or stories that I hear, for example, about the Zimbabweans who are putting themselves through university on waitressing wages. Leaving Sandton at about 11pm the other evening, I stopped to give a woman a lift. There was something about her that seemed quite desperate. She was trying to get to the northern township Diepsloot. In the absence of a decent public transport system, travelling by minibus taxi costs to and from Sandton for work are 50 rand (7 dollars) a day. Even on my salary I would consider that a high transport spend – and it is no doubt a ridiculously high proportion of her monthly wage. The possibility of her ever accumulating enough funds for basic economic security is virtually non-existent. She will continue to live hand-to-mouth.

So my day-to-day life is full of contrast, wherever I choose to be open to it. This evening I sit in Cape Town with a Czech colleague and his Sri Lankan friends. We have such different life stories. I listen to how he grew up under communism in an 800-year old Czech town that was razed to the ground in the interest of coal mining, and how the snow used to turn grey within a day. And I tell him about growing up in a national park in Zimbabwe with pythons and lions in the back garden. Meanwhile, our Sri Lankan dinner partner tells us about arriving as a migrant worker in Hillbrow, Johannesburg: he was robbed 8 times in his first month, and early one morning came across a half-headless body in the street on his way to work ….at which point he decided to move to Sandton.

Culinary Delights

At first I dismissed the Bryanston Organic Market for being too all-sorts-of-things for me. I looked down my anthropological-exotica nose and thought: too middle class, too orderly, too controlled, too…boring. But that was before I was converted to eating dosa and uttapam every Saturday lunchtime – possibly my favourite Indian food - cooked by a guy from Bangalore who works for an ayurvedic medicine company during the week, and is a chef on Saturdays. So nowadays I show up at the market almost religiously.

Last weekend the dosa chef invited me to the India Day celebrations in Randburg, patronized almost entirely by the Indian expatriate community. Apparently there's a big divide between the Indian expats and the South African Indians. The crowd was substantial, even late in the day, and there was much singing, dancing and freshly cooked cuisine. The white faces in the crowed were few, though needless to say I met more random internationals, this time an Italian and a Korean who both work for the UN. Social life continues to be varied and interesting, and good food seems to be at the heart of it. I recently attended my first vegan-rawfood dinner party in Oaklands, catered by an American (who also pursues her culinary passions part-time) whom I met at a talk by Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka. The food was outstanding and you would never have guessed it was all raw.

I’ve been back to Narina Trogon restaurant in downtown Braamfontein for a birthday-cum-salsa party, for which I caught a lift with a Japanese man and a Guyanan woman who live round the corner from me. Who would have guessed Wisteria Lane housed such diversity? I’ve also been downtown to Arts on Main a number of times now, where the canteen offers a tasty well-priced brunch in close proximity to William Kentridge originals. More importantly I’ve discovered that the nearby Malva Café has the best brownies in Jo’burg, followed closely by those at Moema’s in Parktown North. Perfect for break-up blues.

Nor should I forget the dinners that I’ve been treated to by Piers of Daisy Street, who is a straight-talking general rockstar with the ability to throw together a wonderful meal at short notice. He’s a particular fan of organic ostrich, and has persuaded me to step out from underneath my mostly-vegetarian umbrella on one or two occasions. In fact he even managed to entice me to eat slow-baked lamb at a dinner party hosted in old-money Dunkeld with a lawyer-artist couple in a spectacular dining room decked out in black-and-white tiles, stripes and mirrors. Twas delicious.

One last culinary mention: I went walking and basking by waterfalls in the Mountain Sanctuary Park in Magaliesburg, for which Mel provided trail mix. Mel is Canadian, so obviously she was responsible for the trail mix, but this mix had a magic ingredient which southern African trail-mixers have thus far overlooked: M&Ms. Those who’ve known me a while know that nothing featuring M&Ms will be overlooked by this particular foodie.