So a bit of a long catch up to do after my first few weeks
living in Africa.
The journey from Canada was pretty epic, I’m not going to
lie. I thought that Vancouver to London was a big one, and it is. But add on a 6 hr layover and an 11 hr
flight, travel totaled 26hrs. I
was a zombie at London Heathrow, could only get coffee, sit, phone people,
stare into space. Missed out on some great duty free shopping but there are
worse things to miss.
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I upgraded my flight to Johannesburg as well, which was
terrifying at the time but a god send after. It was sold to me as having a ‘slightly bigger seat’ for
189GBP (the terrifying part) but actually came with a few perks: a rest for
your feet, nicer headphones, first class meal (see pic of the actually great
meal they served). Best decision
ever after not having any sleep on the first flight. It was a nice second leg in all that luxury, and I slept for
about 6hr waking to the very first light of a lovely sunrise.
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| Sunrise over Central Africa April 12, 2012 |
After landing I was in a daze for a bit. I got hit by a
pretty bad cold, plus that lovely jet lag, which meant I slept for about 4 days
straight. I finally emerged from
my hibernation to the most beautiful autumn I’ve ever seen: Wake up to sunny,
clear blue skies, cold early but warming to a comfortable 18C; Beautiful fall
colours are mixed with the bright greens and bold colours of winter flowering
plants and trees; The odd shower happens, but it doesn’t last and clears to
warmth again; the evenings are crisp and cool, with darkness descending on the
city surprisingly quickly.
Stunning. Spent a lovely Easter Sunday having a brai (BBQ) with Pete’s
family, hosted by his Aunt and Uncle.
Again, note the lovely weather and beautiful location. I think we ate just about every type of
meat available, which is understandable after coming off the Lent Fast.
Life has been pretty quiet, but it’s the perfect pace for
learning to navigate a new city and country. I use the term navigate loosely as I’ve yet to sit in the
drivers seat. It’s coming, so say
a little prayer. I’ve already
started paying extra attention and asking questions about what white coloured
lines mean ; depends if they are dotted or solid;, if you can turn right on a
red – I mean LEFT - no you cannot, unless there’s a yield sign; and most
importantly, how to tell if a cop is asking for a bribe and how to deal with it
- everyone has their own tactics from low balling to outright refusal peppered
with threats of reporting them… Not comfortable with any of these so I’ll cross
that bridge when I get to it. Side Note: they are cracking down on bribes so it’s
not as common as it once was.
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| Climbing out of a Lamborghini (I think...) |
We recently had the pleasure of attending a very nice event
to mark the grand opening of a residential and business complex developed by
Pete’s cousin’s father. It was a
great night with fantastic food, wine and also a few fancy cars you could
pretend to own for minute. We took
a great (?) photo of me pretending to be famous. There was a comedian who MCd the night, and was
hilarious. He made some pretty
bold (racially charged) comments but pulled it off so well everyone in the room
was in tears. In one part he
mentioned the signs the taxi drivers use, so they don’t have to stop and ask
people where they want to go. For
those of you who aren’t familiar with Taxis in South Africa, they are basically
VW like vans that shoot around the city driving like maniacs trying to pile as
many people in their vehicles as they can to maximize each trips potential
income. You can get from Central
Johannesburg to Soweto for about 5Rand, but I’m telling you, you take your life
in your hands if you get inside.
Mostly it’s cheap transportation for the black population to get to the
city from the townships and back again.
I’ll see if I can take a photo of one so you get the full picture, but
in the meantime if you want to see one Google image ‘South African Taxi’. Anyway, so they use hand signs to help
determine where people want to go.
The comic show us a few destination signs and then showed us signs for ‘Woman’,
‘Place to Drink’ etc, so you could effectively leave there and sign that you
want to find a woman and go to town.
I don’t know what I was thinking but I thought it would be a good
talking point when speaking to a friends maid the following weekend. I guess I
thought it would show how quickly I was absorbing the African culture, so I
showed her the sign for woman, as in we are ‘Woman’. She looked a bit shocked at first and then burst out
laughing. As most of you probably
guessed and I somehow missed, I now understand that the sign we learned refers
to a woman in a certain profession… not all women. Every time she saw me after that she would laugh and give me
the sign for woman. She probably
fondly remembers me as the Lady of the Night from Canada.
Days have been filled with coffees, lunches, seeing the
city, and funny little scenarios that make life pretty enjoyable. Overall it’s really not that different
from any other metropolitan city – lots of drivers, malls, gyms, and everyone
trying to make a buck. The
differences are small but poignant as you are met with both a staggering
disparity between the rich and poor, and the meeting of what feels like a
hundred cultures in a suburban sprawl.
Every stop light (or Robot as they call them here) there’s at least one
or two people selling cheap goods like cell phone chargers, or ear muffs, and
sometimes it’s a person begging for change who’s situation would make most of
those asking for spare change in North America look like they’ve had a pretty
good life. I know that’s not the case,
but there seems to be a huge difference between the poorest in North America
and Africa, which caught me off guard and shouldn’t have.
The city is filled with little signs of positivity. It's more touching than you realize when you stumble upon a glimmer of hope or humor - substance in the midst of dirt and grim. We went to a fantastic market in Central Johannesburg called Market on Main (marketonmain.co.za) showcasing Joburg designers, jewelers, clothing, leather, food, and most importantly mojitos. You walk in off a street that mixes old with new, dirt with shine, safe with the underlying feeling that it might not be 100% safe after dark. Pete's cousin's cousins (Greeks ;) have a stall there with some amazing jewelery so it was great to see such a thriving market tied directly to family. The lower floor was. all. food. So amazing. You can have a drink and wander around sampling everything from bagels, crepes, salads, candies, cupcakes, meat rolls to vegan fare. While walking back to the car we found a big chalk board on the street where kids (and kids at heart) can write what they want to do before they die. There were some pretty funny responses that might not show up in the photo, but as I walked away I was struck by that phrase: Before I die... Takes on a much more somber meaning when you realize how many kids are living with HIV in SA (330,000 in 2009 according to avert.org), how many kids face extreme violence every day, and more simply put how many kids can't afford the luxury to be kids in South Africa. It was interesting to see what was on this board: Before I die I want to: Visit The Moon, Play Like Messi, Love, Bee a Mommy, See Messi... Actually there were a LOT of references to Football...
Another situation that take you by surprise (initially) are
things that put you on ‘African Time’. African Time seems to be very laid back
from what I gather so far, and is not necessarily tied to race. It’s a pace of life that allows for
socializing while working – what looks like a team meeting is often just a gab
session so you can go and interrupt if you need help; it allows for general
confusion – a lot of staff don’t seems to know what they are talking about and
you get misinformation all the time; it allows for disorganization – IE. going
to a major grocery store and paying with a larger bill (the equivalent to 10GBP)
and having to wait for change to be brought to the till. This in particular bothered me at
first. It’s not the fact that they
don’t have enough change that surprising, it’s the relaxed attitude that’s
taken to getting you your change back. The interaction goes something like
this: ‘Do you have smaller bill? I don’t have change’ then they wait for a few
minutes looking around the store hoping that someone might appear with change.
‘Hey, psst *waves your 100R note at the cashier one till over* do you have
change?’ They do not. More
waiting. A few shrugs and hopeless
looks later, the bag clerk, who has also been watching the helpless plight of
her co-worker the whole time, finally pulls a little pouch out of her bra and
hands us the change. You can’t get
frustrated watching it, because it doesn’t really do much besides raise your
blood pressure. But it is hard to
hold your tongue and not make helpful suggestions like ‘Maybe pick up the phone
and call your manager to bring you change?’
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| Architecture in Johannesburg, a mix of contemporary and cultural |
These little things can certainly slow you down but it’s all
part of the experience and life here.
Overall people have been lovely.
One of the great things I’ve come across is the small attention to
detail when it comes to beverages.
If you want milk with your coffee they ask if you want cold or hot
milk. If your drink comes with a
straw they leave the paper sleeve on the portion of the straw you drink from so
nothing but your own lips touches the straw. They bring you ice to put in your white wine (if that’s how you
role) without having to be asked.
It’s a small thing that I’ve come to love.
It’s only really gone wrong once – a restaurant in a small
village called Clarens, about 3 hrs outside of Johannesburg. I requested a Dirty Gin Martini. It’s basically Gin and a hint of olive
brine. The bartender didn’t know
how to make it so the server asked me to go to the bar. I really appreciated that he
asked instead of guessing so I sauntered up to the bar with pride, ready to
explain how to make this classic beverage.
Martini Class 101: I told him that it involved 2 shots of
gin and a small pour of olive juice.
He looked a bit confused and asked if it went in the glass. ‘Ok,’ I thought, ‘let’s start more
basic.’ ‘Do you have a martini glass?’ He got one down from the bar. ‘Martini shaker
filled with ice?’ So far so good.
I instructed him to pour gin and olive juice in shaker, shake and pour
in glass. Pretty satisfied with my
teaching skills I went back to the table.
After about 5 minutes I heard that magical sound of ice rattling in the
martini shaker. Then more
shaking. And more. I think he shook that thing for about
10 minutes straight. Finally the
drink is placed before me and my jaw dropped. I’ve included a picture so you can see the creative
concoction he made. The pink
sugared rim is adorned with a lemon and olive, a crown on the sewer water in
the glass below. How awesome is
that. It was a small lesson that
there is no such thing as too much detail when explaining how to make a drink.
I wiped the rim as much as I could and was actually surprised that it didn’t
taste as bad as it looked. Thank
goodness.
