The South African dream
We've seen several sides of South Africa in our two and a half weeks here. Although the place is vast, the nature of the World Cup being spread out between cities in as many areas as possible and our purchasing of different types of tickets has meant plenty of driving and allowed us to see a decent cross-section of it.
On day one we briefly experienced the ultra-posh Sandton suburb of Johannesburg (well, one street on which we queued for 2.5 hours at least), which is as white and affluent as you can get. We also saw a bit of Rustenburg (a city everyone agrees is rubbish), and had appalling experiences both in getting away from the stadium and at our hostel - the latter charging us 300 rand each for what turned out to be newly-built bunk beds crammed in 8-to-a-room, as the owners were attempting to make as much cash from English fans as possible. The knackered manager reckoned he'd been up for over 48 hours, which might have elicited some sympathy if he and his sour-faced wife hadn't been so nakedly profiteering (er they were fully clothed obviously... oh you know what I mean).
We then spent a day and a half driving to Cape Town, most of which was through the vast Karoo desert. There wasn't a lot to see on the way and this didn't give us much of a sense of the "real" South Africa other than its sheer size. We stopped off at a couple of towns on the way - Beaufort West and Kimberley, home of The Big Hole (that's a diamond mine, stop being so rude) - where we noticed that although nearly everyone here speaks English, it's rarely anyone's first language.
Cape Town and its surrounding area feel very European, and we then travelled up the South coast via the extremely touristy Garden Route, so we weren't getting much of a sense of black Africa. Really, the only blacks we'd come into contact with were serving us in shops in white areas, except for the bands of hawkers trying to flog us World Cup-related tat on the traffic intersections around Joburg, and a few folks trying to hitch a ride on the main roads.
This all changed when we made the drive north from the lovely Buccaneers backpacker hostel in Chintsa, on the so-called Wild Coast, up towards Joburg. We were still mostly taking main roads, but the N3 route through KwaZulu Natal province took us through some ramshackle villages, all teeming with black folks hanging around the main streets, many of whom were waiting around for one of the ubiquitous (and apparently spectacularly unsafe) minibus taxis. These seem to be the cheapest option for getting anywhere if you're too poor to run a car, seeing as the public transport system here is practically non-existent. Some people don't even have enough money for those, as evidenced by the number of folk we saw walking along the hard shoulder between settlements. Kids running across the carriageways isn't an uncommon sight either, not a problem you're likely to encounter on the M25.
We stopped off for a couple of nights at another backpackers before hitting Joburg, this one right on the doorstep of the northern section of the Drakensberg mountain range. This was very much rural Africa, with the subsequent drive down to the Royal Natal National Park gates taking us right through the middle of a small Zulu township of tin-roofed shacks and half-finished brickwork house shells, complete with cattle traipsing all over the road. It was only really then that I was able to grasp the huge disparity between lifestyles of the relatively small white minority and the pretty rough poverty of the vast majority of South Africans. A lot of the townships are right next to main roads and in some cases bordering directly with more affluent white areas, which must be a very odd place to be - surrounded by wealth, but frustratingly out of its orbit.
We're now spending a week or so in Joburg, staying at the house of an extremely generous friend of Dave's. Even though it's in another rich suburb (all houses boasting razor-wire fences, alarms and the logos of a plethora of what must be extremely profitable security companies), some of the electricity was off when we first arrived, and apparently sudden power cuts are a regular issue here. It's not that they are staggered blackouts, it's just that the energy companies are is a bit rubbish. This was the first indication that life for white folk here isn't quite as similar to the UK as I'd thought. On the surface, Joburg looks like any first-world Western city, but scratch a little deeper and the infrastructure isn't quite as sophisticated as they'd have you believe.
I must tread somewhat carefully here, as I don't want to land Dave's friend (who has been working here for the last few years as part of the World Cup organisation) in trouble, but from chatting with him it's clear that there's a feeling amongst many of the non-natives that South Africa simply isn't ready for an event of this magnitude yet. The problems we encountered at the Rustenburg park and ride, along with many reported transport problems here in Joburg, certainly suggest this to the case. However - and it's a big however - nearly everyone we've met while we've been here has been entirely enthusiastic about the Cup. Shop workers everywhere are proudly wearing the Bafana Bafana jersey as their uniform for the duration, and even white folks (normally far more likely to be rugby fans - football being a working-class game is very much a black sport here) are showing great interest in how the event is going.
I get the sense that most South Africans recognise that their country is far from perfect, and that perhaps the horrendous inequalities of the apartheid era are actually widening rather than getting better, but they certainly see this tournament as a way for the nation to unite and celebrate its diversity and spirit, and as a way to hopefully start bridging some of those yawning gaps. Considering this country's history, most of its present inhabitants appear to be trying to make the best of the cards they've been dealt, and you can't ask for much more than that.
On day one we briefly experienced the ultra-posh Sandton suburb of Johannesburg (well, one street on which we queued for 2.5 hours at least), which is as white and affluent as you can get. We also saw a bit of Rustenburg (a city everyone agrees is rubbish), and had appalling experiences both in getting away from the stadium and at our hostel - the latter charging us 300 rand each for what turned out to be newly-built bunk beds crammed in 8-to-a-room, as the owners were attempting to make as much cash from English fans as possible. The knackered manager reckoned he'd been up for over 48 hours, which might have elicited some sympathy if he and his sour-faced wife hadn't been so nakedly profiteering (er they were fully clothed obviously... oh you know what I mean).
We then spent a day and a half driving to Cape Town, most of which was through the vast Karoo desert. There wasn't a lot to see on the way and this didn't give us much of a sense of the "real" South Africa other than its sheer size. We stopped off at a couple of towns on the way - Beaufort West and Kimberley, home of The Big Hole (that's a diamond mine, stop being so rude) - where we noticed that although nearly everyone here speaks English, it's rarely anyone's first language.
Cape Town and its surrounding area feel very European, and we then travelled up the South coast via the extremely touristy Garden Route, so we weren't getting much of a sense of black Africa. Really, the only blacks we'd come into contact with were serving us in shops in white areas, except for the bands of hawkers trying to flog us World Cup-related tat on the traffic intersections around Joburg, and a few folks trying to hitch a ride on the main roads.
This all changed when we made the drive north from the lovely Buccaneers backpacker hostel in Chintsa, on the so-called Wild Coast, up towards Joburg. We were still mostly taking main roads, but the N3 route through KwaZulu Natal province took us through some ramshackle villages, all teeming with black folks hanging around the main streets, many of whom were waiting around for one of the ubiquitous (and apparently spectacularly unsafe) minibus taxis. These seem to be the cheapest option for getting anywhere if you're too poor to run a car, seeing as the public transport system here is practically non-existent. Some people don't even have enough money for those, as evidenced by the number of folk we saw walking along the hard shoulder between settlements. Kids running across the carriageways isn't an uncommon sight either, not a problem you're likely to encounter on the M25.
We stopped off for a couple of nights at another backpackers before hitting Joburg, this one right on the doorstep of the northern section of the Drakensberg mountain range. This was very much rural Africa, with the subsequent drive down to the Royal Natal National Park gates taking us right through the middle of a small Zulu township of tin-roofed shacks and half-finished brickwork house shells, complete with cattle traipsing all over the road. It was only really then that I was able to grasp the huge disparity between lifestyles of the relatively small white minority and the pretty rough poverty of the vast majority of South Africans. A lot of the townships are right next to main roads and in some cases bordering directly with more affluent white areas, which must be a very odd place to be - surrounded by wealth, but frustratingly out of its orbit.
We're now spending a week or so in Joburg, staying at the house of an extremely generous friend of Dave's. Even though it's in another rich suburb (all houses boasting razor-wire fences, alarms and the logos of a plethora of what must be extremely profitable security companies), some of the electricity was off when we first arrived, and apparently sudden power cuts are a regular issue here. It's not that they are staggered blackouts, it's just that the energy companies are is a bit rubbish. This was the first indication that life for white folk here isn't quite as similar to the UK as I'd thought. On the surface, Joburg looks like any first-world Western city, but scratch a little deeper and the infrastructure isn't quite as sophisticated as they'd have you believe.
I must tread somewhat carefully here, as I don't want to land Dave's friend (who has been working here for the last few years as part of the World Cup organisation) in trouble, but from chatting with him it's clear that there's a feeling amongst many of the non-natives that South Africa simply isn't ready for an event of this magnitude yet. The problems we encountered at the Rustenburg park and ride, along with many reported transport problems here in Joburg, certainly suggest this to the case. However - and it's a big however - nearly everyone we've met while we've been here has been entirely enthusiastic about the Cup. Shop workers everywhere are proudly wearing the Bafana Bafana jersey as their uniform for the duration, and even white folks (normally far more likely to be rugby fans - football being a working-class game is very much a black sport here) are showing great interest in how the event is going.
I get the sense that most South Africans recognise that their country is far from perfect, and that perhaps the horrendous inequalities of the apartheid era are actually widening rather than getting better, but they certainly see this tournament as a way for the nation to unite and celebrate its diversity and spirit, and as a way to hopefully start bridging some of those yawning gaps. Considering this country's history, most of its present inhabitants appear to be trying to make the best of the cards they've been dealt, and you can't ask for much more than that.
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