Friday, August 26, 2005
I live in fear
Johannesburg. Jo'burg. The Golden City. Old...Apartheid-y.
It takes a hardcore and incredibly street smart type of guy to get around in this city without fear, and I am totally not that guy. My paranoia levels on the way to South Africa were absolutely through the roof, and have only now begun to diminish even the littlest bit. My initial experiences in the country only served to confirm my paranoid fantasies. As soon as I arrived at the airport lobby, a rather shabby-looking fellow started following me and claimed that he would get me a cab. I walked off without answering, but he persisted, at which point I lied and said I didn't need a cab, because I was catching a connecting flight to Cape Town. At this point, another dude started following me, saying that I had to follow him to the domestic deparures terminal. He said that I had to follow him outside and walk 200 meters to another building where that terminal was. And I was thinking, yeah, OK I would do that if I wanted to get robbed straight away, and thanks, but no thanks. (Especially since I had glanced over a map of the airport in the baggage claim and knew the "directions" given in this obvious robbery attempt to be false.) Again, I walked off, but again the guy tailed me, following me onto an elevator that I made darn well sure to hold open for some other travelers to get on to. Eventually I said that I was sorry, and that while I would love to walk with him further, I had to make an urgent phone call. He said that I could make it at the other terminal. I said that it was urgent. ("But the ride only takes a minute!" "Yeah, well my plane leaves in less than one minute.") Then I briskly strode off to the center of the lobby where the airport-approved cab station was, with this guy following behind me the whole time insisting that I give him a "tip" ("any currency, sir") for his "help" in finding the other "terminal." I tried to ignore him, but finally just had to say that I didn't ask for your help, don't need your help, and what kind of fool do you take me for, anyway? Then I got in a cab and left. Certainly, I probably could have handled the whole getting out the airport thing a little better, and my invented-on-the-spot within a brain drenched by fear lies to get away from potential troublemakers were just as flimsy as those used against me, but I made it out of there with all my stuff (and person) intact, so it's all good. I was still hyperfearful in the cab, of course (the guy had the car parked down in the parking garage, which is not how I am accustomed to receiving cabs at airports), but his registration seemed legit and all the security staff at in the garage seemed to know him (not that I didn't think of the possibility that they were, in fact, corrupt, and received a cut of the goods purloined from the corpses of those travelers being "taxied" out of the airport. See how my mind works? It's like a laser.) I watched all the street signs closely, watching for any deviation from the course to central Johannesburg which would tip me off as to my rerouting and eventual demise, readying the power cord of my laptop adaptor to use as a makeshift garotte if necessary. And of course, as it turns out the driver was completely cool, and we talked about seafood and dust storms and the like, and I made it to my accomodations with no trouble.
Or, that is, I made it to the general area of my accomodations with no trouble. As it turns out, the address to which I had been directed was not the B&B in which I had booked a room. I was well past my daily limit for being scared and confused at this point, but the manager of this other B&B was very nice, called up the proper place for me, and even dropped me off at it while taking some of the people who had been staying at his place to the airport. The right B&B then told me that they had never received confirmation of my booking and had no idea how I had been directed to the first B&B, but they'd see what they could do. As it happened, I did manage to get a room for the night, and the next day they drove me back to the first B&B, where I've been ever since.
Johannesburg covers the entire spectrum of human life. When the plane was landing coming in, we went over three neighborhoods on the outskirts of town. The first was easily the most horrifying living conditions I've ever seen--a muddy shanty-town constructed out of aluminum panels and refuse. This phased into a normal looking suburban area, which itself gave way to palatial estates. It is very much a land divided here in Johannesburg. Apartheid has given way to an equally pernicious disjoint between the very rich (not all of whom are white) and the very poor (not all of whom are black, although certainly the old wounds of racial strife still run deep). The suburb where I'm staying (a 'joburb', as I've taken to calling them) is supposed to be one of the nicest in the city, but it feels like living in a police state. (Even though I know the very opposite to be the case.) Even the humblest residency here is built like a fortress, and B&B where I'm staying has an enormous concrete wall around the perimeter topped with an electric fence and razor wire. This, in the so-called "nicest neighborhood"--here, the wealthy areas are fortified enclaves that have cut themselves off from the rest of the city. Suffice it to say that I haven't explored the city much (not that I've had time to--the skull-wealth of the collections here is indeed overwhelming, and I'm getting tons of work done), although I have become accustomed to taking the bus into work every morning. The bus comes once an hour--at any time during that hour, with no rhyme or reason behind it. It makes me appreciate the 55 a little more.
More tales to come as I find spots and times to use the internet.
Johannesburg. Jo'burg. The Golden City. Old...Apartheid-y.
It takes a hardcore and incredibly street smart type of guy to get around in this city without fear, and I am totally not that guy. My paranoia levels on the way to South Africa were absolutely through the roof, and have only now begun to diminish even the littlest bit. My initial experiences in the country only served to confirm my paranoid fantasies. As soon as I arrived at the airport lobby, a rather shabby-looking fellow started following me and claimed that he would get me a cab. I walked off without answering, but he persisted, at which point I lied and said I didn't need a cab, because I was catching a connecting flight to Cape Town. At this point, another dude started following me, saying that I had to follow him to the domestic deparures terminal. He said that I had to follow him outside and walk 200 meters to another building where that terminal was. And I was thinking, yeah, OK I would do that if I wanted to get robbed straight away, and thanks, but no thanks. (Especially since I had glanced over a map of the airport in the baggage claim and knew the "directions" given in this obvious robbery attempt to be false.) Again, I walked off, but again the guy tailed me, following me onto an elevator that I made darn well sure to hold open for some other travelers to get on to. Eventually I said that I was sorry, and that while I would love to walk with him further, I had to make an urgent phone call. He said that I could make it at the other terminal. I said that it was urgent. ("But the ride only takes a minute!" "Yeah, well my plane leaves in less than one minute.") Then I briskly strode off to the center of the lobby where the airport-approved cab station was, with this guy following behind me the whole time insisting that I give him a "tip" ("any currency, sir") for his "help" in finding the other "terminal." I tried to ignore him, but finally just had to say that I didn't ask for your help, don't need your help, and what kind of fool do you take me for, anyway? Then I got in a cab and left. Certainly, I probably could have handled the whole getting out the airport thing a little better, and my invented-on-the-spot within a brain drenched by fear lies to get away from potential troublemakers were just as flimsy as those used against me, but I made it out of there with all my stuff (and person) intact, so it's all good. I was still hyperfearful in the cab, of course (the guy had the car parked down in the parking garage, which is not how I am accustomed to receiving cabs at airports), but his registration seemed legit and all the security staff at in the garage seemed to know him (not that I didn't think of the possibility that they were, in fact, corrupt, and received a cut of the goods purloined from the corpses of those travelers being "taxied" out of the airport. See how my mind works? It's like a laser.) I watched all the street signs closely, watching for any deviation from the course to central Johannesburg which would tip me off as to my rerouting and eventual demise, readying the power cord of my laptop adaptor to use as a makeshift garotte if necessary. And of course, as it turns out the driver was completely cool, and we talked about seafood and dust storms and the like, and I made it to my accomodations with no trouble.
Or, that is, I made it to the general area of my accomodations with no trouble. As it turns out, the address to which I had been directed was not the B&B in which I had booked a room. I was well past my daily limit for being scared and confused at this point, but the manager of this other B&B was very nice, called up the proper place for me, and even dropped me off at it while taking some of the people who had been staying at his place to the airport. The right B&B then told me that they had never received confirmation of my booking and had no idea how I had been directed to the first B&B, but they'd see what they could do. As it happened, I did manage to get a room for the night, and the next day they drove me back to the first B&B, where I've been ever since.
Johannesburg covers the entire spectrum of human life. When the plane was landing coming in, we went over three neighborhoods on the outskirts of town. The first was easily the most horrifying living conditions I've ever seen--a muddy shanty-town constructed out of aluminum panels and refuse. This phased into a normal looking suburban area, which itself gave way to palatial estates. It is very much a land divided here in Johannesburg. Apartheid has given way to an equally pernicious disjoint between the very rich (not all of whom are white) and the very poor (not all of whom are black, although certainly the old wounds of racial strife still run deep). The suburb where I'm staying (a 'joburb', as I've taken to calling them) is supposed to be one of the nicest in the city, but it feels like living in a police state. (Even though I know the very opposite to be the case.) Even the humblest residency here is built like a fortress, and B&B where I'm staying has an enormous concrete wall around the perimeter topped with an electric fence and razor wire. This, in the so-called "nicest neighborhood"--here, the wealthy areas are fortified enclaves that have cut themselves off from the rest of the city. Suffice it to say that I haven't explored the city much (not that I've had time to--the skull-wealth of the collections here is indeed overwhelming, and I'm getting tons of work done), although I have become accustomed to taking the bus into work every morning. The bus comes once an hour--at any time during that hour, with no rhyme or reason behind it. It makes me appreciate the 55 a little more.
More tales to come as I find spots and times to use the internet.
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