The forbidden trek

In blatant defiance of Siener van Rensburg, I have made the trek from the balmy sunshine of Durban to the nippy chill of Johannesburg and don’t I wonder why.

Having discovered that my comrades in the taxi industry are about to get shafted by the Rea Vaya (Rapid Bus thingamajig), and that it takes 1 hour and 15 minutes to walk from the M&G’s offices in Rosebank to the Morningside Mall (down Rivonia Rd) in the midday sun, I have come to the conclusion that Joburg is a city that is divided between those with access to private transportation and those who use the public transport systems.

Indeed the idea of paying R9 every time I wish to take a minibus taxi from Sandton to Randburg is not just offensive it is downright rude, and provident of enough incentive to walk. By comparison the West Road South District Improvement Project publishes a glossy newsletter that makes it clear that the greatest threat to northern suburbs living is skew paving stones.

On the other side of the hill (down in Alex) I’m not so sure about the paving stones and the local newsletters and their busy-bodies charters, but I will be finding out, just why Joburg was built on the blood, sweat and tears of a people who have for multiple generations been denied equal access to social participation.

It’s a bit like the Cape Flats and all of the cinnamon people who are outside, looking into the lives of comfort enjoyed in the suburban homes that they clean, and the shopping malls that they make work.

I suppose my biggest complaint is that for the first time in my life — I am not neighbours with an informal settlement, even in Observatory (CPT) there was a “settlement” under the bridge next to the train station. So for as long as this Joburg caste system continues I suppose I will feel like a duck out of water.

Then again, if we are to assume that the people of Joburg are right and I am mad, then perhaps I need to sip from their cup so that my tolerance for this nascent racism is increased. Although I seriously doubt it.