So random

A number of random things tickled my fancy whilst businessing in Johannesburg...


Walking out of the airport, I passed a woman breast feeding her child. Not an unusual sight in Africa except that the child was strapped vertically to her front, and feeding while his mother power walked to catch her flight. I did not know that it was possible...

Sunset was spectacular. A giant red disc slid down the sky and over the horizon, highlighting the city skyline, magnificent! Who says Johannesburg does not have anything of beauty? The fact that the awesomeness of the sunset was caused by air pollution is another matter entirely!

I took just 30 minutes to drive halfway across town. An unbelievable feat at the latter end of rush hour! Of course school holidays were to blame but happy to cash in on the traffic free road action!

Steering through the empty roads brought me face to face with a sign for a business called ‘Shady Deals’. On second glance and fits of laughter, realisation struck that it sold mature trees. A super cool name for a business!

Surprisingly there is much housing development in Johannesburg North. One massive complex, which will ultimately be comprised of thousands of houses, has an awesome advertising campaign. Massive signs on the side of the road boldly proclaimed, ‘if you lived here, you would already be home!’ Powerful considering I was sitting in traffic...

Then I arrived in Cape Town, and it was great to be home!

So Angry

These stories are the way I remember them after a couple of beers on a Friday night after a tough week. They are mostly accurate and the names of all parties have been changed to protect the innocent, or er the not so innocent!



Russell, a really good guy, found himself embroiled in traffic early on that fateful Friday. Needing to change lanes, he indicated and was mildly surprised to see the guy next to him open up a space. Without wasting a moment, he nosed his car into the gap, giving the guy a salute of thanks in the process. When he looked up he realised the car in front of him had stopped and so he hit the brakes and swerved out into the emergency lane just to make sure.


The chap in the car in front of him suddenly went wild. Insults containing enough expletives for an average Tupak song poured out of the window. Russell was not too perturbed by this display of great manners; even when the English fellow in question went on to rubbish all South African drivers. Then this driver did the unthinkable, he flipped the bird! That got Russell moving. For some reason the bird just made him see red. His seatbelt was off in an instant, car door open, and then there he was at the window of the car in front. As luck with have it, the traffic moved forward, as did the window in front of Russel.


That did not stop him jumping in his car and chasing the offending middle finger using English driver for the next five minutes. Luckily for Mr English, a nifty jumping of a red traffic light lost him a red hot pursuer. Who came to his senses wondering what on earth he was doing.


Road rage on a Friday morning, who would have thought?

Then Bob, another awesome mate of mine, related an eerily similar story about his morning. He was standing outside of his factory when he saw a supplier parked across the road at another business. This particular supplier’s service had recently hit rock bottom despite a number of frank conversations. As a result, his services had been replaced by one more able.

Being a good guy, Bob waved at supplier. Supplier flipped the bird. Bob saw red. Bob would have taken the matter further had supplier not been driving away at top speed.

Two birds flipped and two instant rage moments in two incredibly placid mates in just one morning. What are the chances? What is it with the bird that it sparks such violent reactions? Both felt absolutely terrible and so we grabbed our families and went out to dinner to try and make a bad day good.

And I think we succeeded too!

Still in Traffic

I am fascinated by the world that unfolds daily outside of the car window. At home when stuck in traffic, there is little to keep ones attention bar the senseless chatter on the radio and the cramp in your right leg.

60% of the population here is under the age of 18 years old. Kids are everywhere, playing in the dirt and rubbish, carrying loads for their parents, and standing around outside their schools. Most babies can be seen strapped to their mothers backs, contentedly dreaming away the day. One just does not see old people; it is as if they have all vanished.

We drive down a road that is filled with graffiti, finger painted in the dust that cakes the abandoned cars. At its end we pass a free clinic. At least 100 woman and their babies stand around waiting for it to open. They are clothed in bright colours and even though there is a sense of desperation, there is also this joyous sense of hope.

I miss my own children. I feel as if I have abandoned them, swapped them out for a piece of Africa and 15 hour work days. I miss my wife, my other half, and hope that this trip, this small sacrifice of each other for a short time, is the right thing to do.

Reflections on another world

This country is nothing like I imagined it to be and yet it is Africa at its heart. Angola was a place that most young South African men would get to see down the barrel of a rifle, as they were conscripted to fight against the supposed terrorists of the South African apartheid government here in the early nineties. I was lucky enough to miss getting asked to make the trip, yet many men I know were not. One friend laughingly asked me to apologise for all the things he did up here. It was meant as a joke but I do think he was deadly serious!

I am picked up at the airport by a tall Angolan in a red cap. He was easy to spot in the crowds of people thronging the exit. Improvised hand gestures allow his Portuguese and my English to coexist in a fragile understanding of each other. I follow him; it seems the right thing to do.

I discover that in Angola one drives on the right hand side of the road. Slowly, but furiously! I had heard about Angolan traffic but its immensity and intensity did not seem to phase my red capped Angolan in the least. His route to wherever we were going twisted and turned randomly as he threaded his way along back roads through densely packed suburbs.

Little girls walk hand in hand with their mothers, their hair braided prettily with pink and white shells. School children bustle along in their sparkling white shirts over their clothes, Angolan style school uniforms. Babies heads loll in sleep on their mothers backs as mothers go about their business. Everyone looks so young. I am told that 60% of the population here is under the age of 18; old people are just not seen.

Endless rabbit warrens of dirt potholed roads wind between grey concrete block houses, a decaying low slung concrete jungle that teems with life. These are not roads, just spaces between houses and yet here I am, peeking into those houses, a part of the general menace trying to avoid traffic. We really should not be here!

Litter abounds. It is everywhere and seems as if it has been lying outside forever. It shocks me how people can live with so much rubbish heaped in mounds on the road, next to houses, and in the open drains. Paper, plastic bottles, old appliances, and thousands of old cars! The cars are the worst! I wonder if people just leave them where they break down, calmly walk home, and forget about them. Is this a city where nobody has any pride?

We happen upon a car wash. Perhaps 50 cars lined up under the attention of furiously scrubbing attendants. The ground is a greasy black marsh and unused hosepipes belch water pumped by pumps lined up on a nearby river bank. It seems a pathetic attempt to defy the elements, as it probably will not take more than a 100 metre drive to cake on the dust just as thickly as before.

We continue our dance with endless cars, pedestrians, and potholes. I stare out of my window, fascinated. The rhythm is frenetic and relentless. I have to continually remember to hang on to solid bits of the car or suffer the agony of my head trying to leave the vehicle but being stopped by the window glass, again!

Every now and then we pass an open doorway, an invitation to peer into somebody’s life. The scene does not change much, a tiny courtyard filled with junk. White plastic chairs try to look useful, but reveal little about the inhabitants.

We suddenly wheel spin aggressively onto a highway. Eight lanes of traffic jammed into a three lane road. Now we sit and wait. My red capped Angolan is very annoyed with himself; I assume he has many more back roads up his sleeve. After an eternity of Portuguese English silence, and a short stretch of highway, we are off into the obscurity of another Luanda suburb.

I hang on for dear life and wonder what a lifetime of this must feel like. I seriously wonder if I can survive for just a couple of weeks here...

Traffic

Traffic was crawling again, slower than a snail with a limp (to quote a line penned by an author my wife was reading). On the right stood a lady with a tower of packets that reared up and balanced Buddha like on her head. The packets contained plantains, a potato type starch popular in Africa. These plantains were a rich mahogany in colour and I could only imagine the old oil as thick as sludge in which they had been deep fried. Only then to be sealed in plastic packets with the breath of desperation!

A loud clang rocked the car. I swivelled to the left in time to see a goat on steroids free his horn from its engagement with our car mirror. For an instant, it seemed like he gave our car the evil eye and was tempted to prove his superiority. His decision gladdened me as I had no doubt our car was no match for a monster beast with attitude. His two brothers trotted gaily after him, undeterred that their goat path was the middle lane of a highway.

Numerous billboards lined the road advertising things from Ethiopian Airlines to Prudential Bank. Two cows were chained to the latter’s support poles, both fat and grazing. They very presence inspiring the feeling that it is all a lot of bull. Not far off, two donkeys lounged at a robot, both obviously up to no good!

On my left, a car leapfrogged our car again. This time I took notice of its sign writing that screamed for attention. The car was an advert for a security and barbed wire fencing concern. One word was big and bold and stood out; ‘danger’! I wondered ludicrously if this was the only honest car in town.

I smiled as the three billy goats gruff trotted past our car again, this time sans collision. The smile faded as I saw two young boys squatting over an open channel next to the road. With a complete lack of modesty, they finished their business, upped their pants and ran off to join their friends.

Later, while feasting on a large fillet steak stuffed with Brie, at an upmarket restaurant in the Accra mall, I wondered about the extreme contrasts that flavour the continent of Africa.

I flew to Johannesburg yesterday and had a very interesting day. The first thing that I managed to achieve was a fine for talking on my cell phone while driving. My personal policy has always been that I return all calls while I am driving home, that way I am able to use that wasted driving time to good effect. The only difference is that I am able to connect my phone to Bluetooth in my car and that way talk 100% legally. Like an idiot I was talking on my phone while driving a hire car and so I have a lovely new fine to show for it. Quite frankly, I broke the law, now I need to pay. I had the most interesting discussion with the traffic officer who gave me the fine. I think he was most surprised to have a conversation with somebody that he was fining. Regardless I explained that in Tanzania it is not illegal to drive drunk but you may get fined as an ex-pat if your car is dirty. He was intrigued! Before I drove off, he apologized for messing up my day. I was gob smacked. Here I had broken the law and he was apologizing for doing his job! Where have we come to in society when the norm is not to accept your just punishment when you err? After that I actually felt good about accepting my fine as that conversation was probably the highlight of his day!

After a great meeting, I left Sandton in Johannesburg to get to the airport. The tiny, small, miniscule factor that I had overlooked was that there was power shedding in place. This meant that a number of key Johannesburg traffic lights were off. The traffic jams were endless. The local radio did not seem to have any idea of the extent of the problem and so neither did I. After realizing how bad the jam was I thought that I would get clever and use my old knowledge of the area and perhaps escape the congestion. Boy was I wrong. I tried three other routes with the same result – more traffic at every turn. My problem was that it was now peak hour and I was now more stuck than before. A mere two and a half hours later, I arrived at the airport. I had been thoroughly beaten by the system!! My boss who was in the same traffic managed to get to the airport about an hour faster than me. Serves me right for being clever – I need to learn that I am a country bumpkin now! I am looking forward to my commute in the future – roll out of bed and walk upstairs (try not to trip over the cat)!

I got to wondering what traffic was good for. The message was pretty clear that using my cell phone was out! Sure you could eat your lunch (but that is messy). Perhaps you can meditate, certainly one could pray. Calf lifts or leg raises may also work. A question, why do cars not have a traffic feature where you can link up your laptop and do a bit of work in those busy times. In fact that idea inspired me to write this piece while driving. Now there was a good use of wasted time. I sure was not going to touch my cell phone though!!!!

If you sit in a mess of congealed cars on a daily basis – my thoughts are with you. Hang in there and find work closer to home……..