Hello from Joburg

My heart was pounding relentlessly against my chest. I tried to control my breathing. Take deep breaths. Take deep breaths. Sweat was starting to trickle upon my brow.

“Francis, you’re just out of shape.”

Be that as it may, I have never been so scared in my life.

[Edit: I just found out that Joburg is higherup in altitude than Toronto. So it’s not that I’m out of shape, it’s just that the air is thin.]

Yeah, that’s right, I’m really scared. I’m walking down the street, and I’m looking over my shoulder every two seconds. My eyes dart at everything that moves. I’m basically walking down the street paranoid. The trip thus far has been one of those eye-opening-slap-you-in-the-face kind of experiences.

Imagine before heading off to a foreign country and everyone warns you sternly about the dangers of going to that country. Got it? Now, make sure that warning comes from everyone, thrice. Yes, even I started to believe the magnitude of their warnings. Mostly it was the:

Hey, I’mgoing gallivanting around the world again.

“Ohyeah? Where you off to now?”

Johannesburg, South Africa…

…. BECAREFUL

Mind you, Ihave been heading those warnings.

Oh, it really doesn’t help that a week before I go I find an article in a South African paper about xenophobic violence. Neh, no worries, I thought. It was not until Iwas sitting in the departure lounge at Gate 175 at Pearson International did I realise how bad the situation could have been. Right at the gate call, the story broke on CBC about the violence towards foreigners in South Africa. [Wait on, I'M A FOREIGNER IN SOUTH AFRICA] Most of violence was concentrated in Johannesburg. If you have never seen my have one of those epiphanies, well, you missed another one here too. My jaw must have been dragging on the ground and I must have been green.

Anyway, fast forward to day 2 YI Internship in Joburg. As M and I walk down the street after checking out an absolute dump of a place to live, a lone man dressed in sweats walks towards me with his hand up the bottom of his sweater. He looks skelm. (Afrikaans word for dodgy)

OH bad. Oh bad. Oh very bad.

He’s staring right at me. In fact, he’s not alone. M isn’t a big guy. And everyone knows that my elf sized self isn’t intimidating anyone. Oh I’m probably much more ghetto than M is anyway. He’s one of those proper kids. [Y’know, speaks without um, ahs, or cursing like a trucker] There is a line of guys against the fence talking to guy-with-hand-up-his-shirt. At this point I have to mention that my hands are full of groceries and whatever else I had purchased.

The light changes from green to red. [Man, we’re stuck at this traffic island with this guy.] He walks right in front of me. And stops.

Maybe it’sthe fact that I’m writing this that you’ve got nothing to worry about. Maybe it’s because it’s been a week since that incident. Maybe.

He pullshis hand out. I’m staring at his hand. He made a fist. It’s coming up at me.

Do I:
a) run
b) duck
c) fight
d) hit him

I choose d)

Yes, I hit him.

Well to be fair, it was knuckle to knuckle. And itwas as I stepped aside to walk by. As I did that, you could hear him say, “Howzit boss?”

Good mate, howzit?

That sense of relief was just about better than any other pressure falling off me ever!

I have found that South Africa is not a country of thieves and vagrants. Not all of these people want to do you harm. Yes there are a few characters that I’d rather not see ever again. Oh M and I have a code from when someone skelm is nearby. We say ojos (Spanish for eyes) and we find the nearest safe-ish place to run to.

But most of the people are amazing. I have been met with kindness and welcoming since arriving in Joburg.

The people in the hostel gave me a million stories of all things that have gone wrong. They have even given me list ofall the suburbs not to go into. Hillbrow, Malvern, Joburg CBD, etc etc. [Malvern is always on that list…]

But guesswhich stupid traveler has already gone through all them? Yeah, that’s right. It’s not my fault though. It’s the taxi drivers who have no idea where they’re going! They drive the only routes they “know.”

So how is it? It’s sweet. Aside from a few hiccups here and there, the internship has started quite smoothly. I’ve heard the stories, I don’t think I need to live them.

Oh, at the hostel, I was affectionately known as Canada. How’s that for culture?