Half Way 'Round the World
Johannesburg and Apartheid
(No I didn't forget how to count, Blog 3 is still a work in progress.}
We came to South Africa with
some trepidation. Everyone seemed
appalled that we intended to travel on our own, by car, in a country that was
purportedly dangerous to wander around in on your own and where everyone one is
subject to carjacking and warned not to drive at night. What?
We have been here over a week now, and frankly haven’t felt at all
threatened. Yes we lock the car every time
we get out, but we do that in the States too.
We try not to drive at night, but we’ve discovered you don’t do that
because there are potholes even on the main highways that might swallow you
whole or cause a broken axle, and hippos and people wearing dark colors walking on the streets at
night you might not see until run into or over them.
South Africans seem genuinely
glad to see Americans travelling around on their own and really willing to help
you have a great experience here. So far
we have. Our first day here we struggled
to find our B and B with the little map we’d printed out from our booking
reservation. This was exacerbated by the
fact that poor Larry was driving on the wrong side of the road (the left) and
with a stick shift also on the wrong side of the steering wheel. He’s left-handed, so that helped a little,
but… within the first hour we found ourselves going down the street the wrong
way twice. Now whenever we turn, we both
chant left left left to make sure we’re in the right (left) lane. And we bought a rather frayed atlas of South
Africa printed for the World Cup and looking at least that old that has gotten
us everywhere we wanted to go with only a few minor mishaps.
Surrendering to our uneasiness
over driving into Johannesburg and on to Soweto, day 2 found us waiting at the
gates of our B and B for the ride to Lebos Soweto Backpackers, the sponsors
of our biking tour. And waiting, and
waiting, and waiting. We had Jean, our B
and B manager, call again and found that they’d sent the driver to the wrong
place. Not to fear, he was on his
way. Jean said this was a good
introduction to Africa and seriously, don’t worry. The bike tour will most likely be at least a
half hour late starting anyway. She was
right. We pulled up just ahead of the
other driver bringing a German girl for the tour and the fourth member – a girl
from Portland had spent the night at the place, now THAT’S brave, and was just
cooling her heels in the cabana till we all arrived.
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| Rosebank Cottage |
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| "Cottage" in West Orlando |
Everyone was kitted
out with helmets and bikes, except me – no bikes my size, so the tour director pulled out a tandem, put me on the back and
off we went. Soweto is an eye
opener. We had just arrived from
Rosebank, an obviously well heeled area of Jo’burg where plumbing works
perfectly, water runs all the time and everyone lives behind high walls, locked
gates and concertina wire. Here everyone lives behind fences and locked gates
too…. If they can afford a house. Some
people were living in tents, some in old trucks they’d converted to bedrooms.
We started in West Orlando
where there is no running water nor is
there plumbing. Water has to be hauled
from the central distribution point and there’s a sink there where you can wash
your clothes if no one else is using it. Trash lines the streets - they’re not paved –
just dirty alleys really, although every so often a police car drives
through. That was seriously the only car
I saw in the area. Yet everyone greeted us gaily when we biked through, wanting
us to take their picture and waving goodbye as we moved on. I felt a bit like a voyeur, peeking in to someone else’s living room,
glad that I didn’t have to live that way but getting “cheap thrills” from
someone else’s misfortune.
We left there for East
Orlando, a community of block houses of about 4 rooms, again fenced and gated,
but here they have running water and sewer systems it appeared. Still it appeared to be a very poverty
stricken community. There is 25%
unemployment in South Africa, and it seems apparent that the majority of those
unemployed are in the black community.
Young and old men walked up and down the streets out of work and at a
loss as to what to do with their time.
We saw Nelson Mandela’s house
when he lived in Soweto and where members of his family still own a storefront
opposite his old house, and Desmond Tutu’s as well. They’ve moved on of course to the nicer
neighborhoods of Jo’burg or elsewhere. And while I can’t blame them, I do feel
that that along with the government,
they need to work on providing services
for the people of Soweto and the many
other townships created by the Apartheid government to segregate the black
community from the whites.
Day 3 – and we braved
driving again to get to the Apartheid Museum.
It may be the majority government’s influence, but they pulled no
punches on the practice of Apartheid. It
was appalling to see what
white men can do to blacks, coloreds and Indians in the name of preserving
their security. We left their sobered
and wondering how the much had really changed here in South Africa, other than
the opportunity for blacks to infiltrate the white society that dominates this
country- if they have a dogged
determination, enough wherewithal to get a decent education, and lots of luck. But
admittedly only a few days into our exploration of this country, we still see a
society where the whites own the businesses and the non-whites work in them. 
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