Jonathan Field - Maker of Random Stuff

Today I am going to Johannesburg. Sophie arrives tomorrow at 6:20 AM, so I’ll be driving up today and staying the night there. Not in Johannesburg proper! Ha! No way! That would be suicide! Or so people often tell me. I’ll be in the nearby suburb of Kempton Park. It’s just a couple kilometers from the airport.

I wonder how bad Johannesburg really is. The talk I hear from the locals, white, indian, and black, is that it’s basically a gang member free-for-all where you wouldn’t even use your cell phone in the street or stop at the lights for fear of getting mugged. On the other hand, the president of South Africa, Thabo Mbeki, says the reports of violent crime are exaggerated. I figure if Joburg functions at all, it can’t be quite as bad as it is in my horror story fueled imagination. But Thabo might want to get his head out of the clouds just the same.

Kempton Park seems nice enough. I’m staying at the same place I stayed when I arrived: the Dove’s Nest. It’s comfy and clean and reasonably well appointed for the price.

I ran out of clothes yesterday, so I had Evan do laundry. Maureen isn’t around at the moment. He hung it out to dry last night, but it’s still a little damp so I decide to go run my errands and then return. I have a quick PB&J sandwich and I pack my guitar and computer and remaining foodstuffs into the car and head over to the trailer.

Zenzo is visiting, and reading Donna’s writeup of an earlier part of their visit — she and Alan take turns sending out occasional “dispatches” to a select mailing list. It’s like a much digested version of this blog. Reading their adventures in each dispatch is what fueled my interest in coming here the first place. Alan is at his desk, working on a ribbon re-inking device for the Imagewriters.

I give them my leftover foodstuffs to use, and leave a small bag of items that I won’t need for the week. I give Zenzo back his CD’s. I make a mp3 mix CD for the drive, including some old favorites plus a few African artists to keep me in the mood. I fill up a couple water bottles, and Donna helps me plan a good route up to Joburg, and we mark up the map. Then I say goodbye with hugs all around and head off to the ATM. I take out enough for incidentals and head back to the backpackers. Evan has folded all the laundry, so I stuff it in my backpack and head off.

As I approach the edge of town I grab a bit more petrol for the trip, I think I have enough but I figure I’ll be safe. It seems like it’s all full service here. A middle aged Indian lady fills up my car and a young black man washes the front and rear windows. I don’t have many coin options, so I give them a five rand tip each. That’s less than a dollar, and would get a laugh in America, but I know that is actually a strangely large tip here. The Indian lady seems surprised that I am giving her a tip at all “Is that for me?” “Yes.” She takes the coin and thanks me, but as she walks away says “You don’t need to do that, this is our job.”

Then I leave Dundee. To save time we’ve plotted a course that’s a little more complicated than the way I came down, but should shave off some distance. After about two hours, though, I start thinking I might have been better off just taking the major road. I find driving on the smaller roads stressful. The scenery is just lovely, but I spend most of my time worrying about finding all the right turnoffs and passing and being passed. My brain just doesn’t do driving and navigation at the same time. Pitiful, I know, but true.

On the way I see what I would classify as at least three near head-on collisions. The most dramatic involves an ambulance that buzzes by my right hand side at well over 120 kilometers per hour, straight into oncoming traffic. A car coming the other way has to swerve off the road onto the soft shoulder to avoid being demolished. The driver of that car is still holding down the horn as I pass moments later. Another time I find myself straddling the middle line as a huge construction truck stops suddenly and pulls partly to the side. The oncoming vehicles, which I and the cars traveling with me almost hit, swerve to makes space for us as we pass. Iesh!

That’s a common South African exclamation of exasperation, pronounced the same as “ice”, but with a “sh” at the end. Iesh!

But when I finally get to the N3, the nice four lane divided highway, I am able to relax. I guess it’s a good thing to get accustomed to the driving now so that I’m a bit more comfortable with it when Sophie’s here. We’ll be driving quite a bit, so I better be good at it.

As I approach Joburg, it is raining. The sky is gray but with little breaks that allow through visible beams of sun. The city itself is just a dark silhouette of skyscrapers. Oddly, it includes a tower on the far right that closely resembles the Stratosphere hotel, and for a moment I think I am driving towards the Las Vegas Strip. But before terror takes hold, forcing me to swerve and careen off the embankment, I realize that it is just a regular city.

I’m kidding. I love Las Vegas.

Aside from the old favorites I listened to, I greatly enjoy the new stuff I’m trying. An African artist named Tony Bird released a great album in 1990 called “Sorry Africa”. I also dig into the ProVerb CD that I copied from Thabani. It really is excellent hip hop, and I appreciate now what Thabani was getting at — ProVerb keeps it clean, unlike most of his American contemporaries. There’s also an album of three part harmony folk music that I copied from Alan, a group called “Finest Kind”. I find a lot of the songs very beautiful, homey, and charming.

One last bit of interest on the drive: As I turn onto the R24, which is the final leg to the airport, I see the most complete and dramatic rainbow I’ve ever seen. It is a thick, bright arch that goes right across the highway, like a giant welcome sign. It’s so large and bright that I can make out a clear band of each color; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, even the flamboyant but often absent indigo is in attendance, as well as his dependable sister violet.

The rainbow lasts, traveling along with me I suppose, never getting nearer. Finally I lose focus as my exit approaches and I don’t see it again after I duck into the airport.

I’m stopping at the airport to exchange my car. I’m still embarrassed regularly by the alarm that goes off when the wind blows the wrong way. Also the interior light is dead and the brakes have started squeaking. Avis gives me no trouble, and supplies me with an identical looking VW. This one has no trouble with the alarm, the interior light works, but the brakes still squeak. I accept this, because Meatloaf once told me that two out of three ain’t bad.

Finding the Dove’s nest is a little prickly, but with some instructions over the phone from the proprietress, and two or three circles, I manage to find it. I check in and have dinner. There’s no menu but they prepare a small meal each night; tonight they have pasta with cream sauce, mushrooms, and ham.

After dinner I settle into my room and do some writing. I’ve actually fallen very far behind. Up until the past several days, I had a week’s worth of writing saved up for posting, but I’m down to just a day’s worth. I doubt I’ll try to keep posting while Sophie’s in town… I’d rather not be writing when we’ve got such limited time!

It has been exactly four weeks since I first woke up here in Africa, in Kempton Park, in the Dove’s Nest. Wow, what a difference four weeks makes! All the cliches apply: it seems like a lifetime ago and yet the time has gone so fast. I do believe that all changes ultimately come from within, but that doesn’t mean they don’t often need some sort of catalyst. I must remember next time I feel I’m in a rut to shake things vigorously. Fairly obvious in retrospect.

This is also the halfway point of my visit. Perhaps it is time for the halftime break? I told myself when I started that I would write down everything I could each day, even though I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep it up. Four weeks is better than I expected. I’ve posted a little over 84,000 words in that time, which averages out to just over 2900 words per day. Iesh!

I mainly wrote for myself, for my own memory. And I posted so that my close friends and family could share the experience. Now it looks like between 50 and 70 people read each day, which is far more than I expected. I am flattered that my little adventures here are interesting enough for others to read. It inspires me to keep going, though I may write a little less each day going forward, and I might even skip a few days here and there.

I’m still having a great time. I’m looking forward to showing Sophie around this exciting country.

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