I've been struggling for about an hour on what to call this entry. I chose "The Kindness of Strangers" but it could have easily been called any of the following:
Statistics
Big Mistake
Just Desserts
Good Day?/Bad Day?
WTF Was I Thinking?
I Broke Rule #1 and Paid For It (Literally)
It's All Fun & Games...Until You Get Mugged
You Are An Idiot!
Today was my first full day in South Africa, so I decided to go for a walk. I wasn't just walking for the sake of walking though; my goal for the day was to find out how to get to the SALRC and in doing that get my bearings for Pretoria. I had received an email from the woman coordinating the internship that Commission was located on the corner of X and Y Streets. So, given this information and the wonders of Google Maps, I was off to the Commission to finally meet the woman I had been corresponding with for the past two months and figure out where I would need to go the next week.
It's a little hard to tell from this small picture, but this was my route. C marks the place whre I am staying and B is where the SALRC is located. In total, I walked 15.3km, which is just over 9.5 miles. I wasn't planning on walking there and back - my original plan was to take the bus - but things often have a funny way of not working out the way they are planned.
Here I am, excited to explore my new city. Oh how naive I was.
As you can tell from the map, the lower route to the Commission was quite simple. I merely followed one street the whole way and made one or two turns at the end and I would arrive at my destination. I set out on my journey with a backpack containing my D-SLR camera, some medication - just in case - and some water, a wallet with about R300 (about $40), my compact digital camera. and some sunglasses.
One of the first things I saw, about half a mile down the road from me, was the University of Pretoria. The University of Pretoria is the premiere research university in South Africa and also one of its largest universities with over 39,000 students.
A bit farther down the road is Loftus Versfeld Stadium, where some of the World Cup matches will be held. Loftus is actually a rugby stadium and the home of the champion Pretoria Blue Bulls, the best provincial rugby team in South Africa. Since 1946, they have won the championship 20 times! I don't know anything about rugby, but I would love to see them play before I leave Pretoria.
These were the only two pictures that I was able to take of Loftus. As I was switching to my D-SLR to take better pictures of the stadium, the man in the center of the picture told me that I was not allowed to take photographs of the stadium. I've never heard of not being able to take a picture of a stadium, but the day was young and I wasn't going to argue over such a trivial thing. I continued down the road to the Commission.
If you were able to zoom in on the map, you would see a place called Jubilee Square, a large open area in the middle of Sunnyside. I thought it was a somewhat funny name for the Square since their were, at least as far as I could tell, scores of homeless people basking in the warm sun with all of their Earthly possessions nearby.
Two blocks west from Jubilee Square, I soon found myself in a precarious position...
Becoming A Statistic
I've always prided myself on never being the victim of a crime. I have traveled to some of the major cities in the United States - San Francisco New York, Boston, Memphis, Nashville, and Little Rock - and lived in Sacramento, Washington DC/Baltimore, and Los Angeles and I have never been held-up, car-jacked, mugged, pick-pocketed, had my car broken into, or suffered any other crime that so frequently happens in the States. There have been times where I have though I was pick-pocketed, like when I went to the Empire State Building in New York City and forgot that I had put my wallet in the breast pocket of my jacket. I remember reaching into my back pocket and freaking out because it wasn't where it usually is. I called my best friend to tell her that it finally happened - I finally became the typical foolish tourist that people read about in guidebooks that was the victim of a pickpocket. But luckily, while I was on the phone with her, I felt my wallet in my breast pocket and was able to relax. This time I was not as lucky.
Part of my pride comes from the extensive research I do before I go somewhere. Whether it is neighborhoods to stay in, good places to eat, or things that I need to pack "just-in-case," I always know what I am getting in for. Even before going to South Africa, I purchased "The Rough Guide to South Africa" to help with my pre-trip research. I chose this book because it was the most up-to-date and was specifically updated with the World Cup in mind.
Like all good guidebooks, this one has a detailed section on safety. It mentions places to avoid (be cautious about going above Church Street around Church Square) and things to keep a cautious eye towards. One thing that the guidebook mentions is to be wary of groups of young men, as they are typically the ones who mug tourists.
For about 30 minutes my walk was going swimmingly. It was a bright, warm day and I had already seen the University and Loftus, and then I got two blocks past Jubilee Square and the beautiful red carpet the city had laid out to welcome me was ripped out from beneath me.
As I was crossing the street - a larger than average sea of asphalt that I had to traverse - I noticed 3 young men walking towards me. At first I thought nothing of it, but then they stopped. When I was strolling through the middle of the intersection they stopped on the other side. I was trapped. Either I could turn around and go back the way I came, turning my back on potential danger, or I could continue and hope that they were just waiting to cross in the other direction. I chose the former - it's never a good idea to turn your back on potential danger - and quickened my pace in an effort to fly through the rest of the intersection and put some distance between the young men and myself, but my efforts proved fruitless.
The moment my left foot struck the concrete on the opposite bank of the asphalt sea I knew I was about to be mugged.
"Welcome to Sunnyside, mon," was how I was greeted by the young, gangly 6'2" black man draping himself around the stoplight pole. The two men with him were on either side of the sidewalk, one now leaning up against a small rot-iron fence and the other standing in the crosswalk still appearing ready to cross when the light changed.
Hoping that my initial gut reaction was wrong, I squeeked out an uneasy, "Hello," and maintained my steady pace - any faster and I may have appeared to be jogging.
The neighborhood greeter unhinged himself from the pole and came alongside my left side, continuing his monologue as we sped down the sidewalk. "Let me tell you something bruddah. This is Sunnyside. This is a dangerous place, mon. People get killed here all the time."
At this point I realized my gut reaction had been correct. As if his words weren't telling enough, I noticed his two cohorts struggling to keep up on either side behind us.
"You see these two men behind me?" He asked rhetorically. He knew I had seen them. "These two men are very dangerous. They have killed people. You are going to have to give them something to make them go away. I don't want you to get hurt...just give them something...they will shed blood and not even think twice."
I reached into my back pocket where I kept my wallet and cupped it in my right hand. I knew that I was carrying quite a bit, at least in terms of ZAR, and I didn't want to give them more than I had to. Using my same hand, I pulled out R100 (about $13) and slyly slid it to my "protector" like I was trying to tip a bouncer to get into an overpriced, trendy Hollywood nightclub or the host of fancy restaurant after showing up with no reservations. As I did this, I noticed a large group of 10 or so young male and female black South Africans.
Looking at my tithing, my protector was not pleased. "Oh fuck no," he said without raising his voice or changing his tone. Apparently he was also telepathic because as he said this the two men who had been trailing behind us chimed in like a chorus, "I'm going to cut you, mon. Oh he better...ooooooh."
I was approaching another intersection - it felt like we had been walking for an eternity. The large group was still another 3/4 of a block away - too far to provide any protection.
"Stop here" the ring leader said.
I kept walking.
"Woah! Woah! Woah! Stop here!" He said.
Still clutching my wallet in my hand, I stopped.
"Let's see what you have in there."
I pulled back the protective leather folds surrounding my money. Thumbing through my wallet, my protector got as close as he would to touching me.
"Where are you going?" He asked.
"I'm going to my first day of work. I have to get to City Centre and then I have to take the bus home," I replied, trying not to let my voice tremble.
"You need to give these guys more than that. They will shed blood and not even thing twice. If you do not give them more, they will cut you and then take the whole wallet - with all of your plastique." (I'm not sure if they call credit cards plastique here or if he just chose to call it that.)
Still thumbing through my wallet, taking stock of its inventory, he pulled out most of its supply. "Alright mon. This should take care of these guys."
Peering into the deep, dark abyss that my wallet had become, I surveyed the damage - he had taken all but R20. Not really thinking I blurted out, "Oh come on! That's not enough. I am not going to be able to get home on R20. I have a long way to go to get back home." In reality I didn't have the slightest damned clue what I was saying. I had no idea how much the bus cost, but my mouth took over without giving my brain any time to fathom what had just happened.
"Alright, mon. How much do you need to get back home?" My wallet's liberator inquired.
"I don't know," I replied honestly.
Looking at the spoils of his effort he pulled out another R20 and said, "This should get you home."
In obvious shock about what had just happened, all I could manage was a mumbled, "Thank you," before pointing my visibly pale face back towards my destination and continuing on my journey. I never looked back to see where they went - it's not like it would have mattered anyway, since I don't yet have a cell phone that can be used to call the police.
As I walked, I quickly returned my wallet to its original position and let my eyes sink towards the ground - there was nothing worth seeing in this neighborhood. Half a block from where I was mugged, I crossed paths with the large group I had seen earlier, but that had been too slow to be my salvation. My eyes returned to a horizontal position and met eyes with members of the group. I hadn't noticed them even talking as they approached, but as we passed each other on the sidewalk, the group was laughing. It is possible that they were laughing at a joke that I had missed or something else, but in my mind they were laughing at me.
As you can imagine, this put me in a pretty foul mood. I think I was more mad about the getting laughed at than I was about getting mugged. I mean, it's one thing to see a crime happen and just stand idly by and do nothing, but its an entirely different thing to see the crime happen and then laugh at the victim. I couldn't believe that had just happened.
Continuing On
I didn't say anything to them as I passed - I was still upset and in shock that I had just been mugged. After another 15 minutes I was at the corner where I was told the Commission was. Well, turns out there was no flashing neon sign that said "Law Commission Here" like I was expecting. Instead, I was greeted by a restaurant on one corner, a mall on another, an ABSA bank, and an office building. I walked up and down all 4 sides, going a block in each direction, looking for my flashing sign, but to no avail. After awhile, I went to the restaurant and asked them - they had no idea. They hadn't even heard of the SALRC - not a good sign. Next, I saw I sign for another government office and went in there - they also had no clue what I was talking about. Finally, I went to a small convenient store and asked the security guard - she too had no idea what the heck I was talking about, but directed me toward the ABSA and told me they would be able to direct me.
At this point I was growing ever more frustrated. Why was I not given a specific address, building, and floor to go to? How the hell is there a department within the government, that is in charge of reforming the laws, and not a single person has heard of it? This is ridiculous. Either I was about to work for some shadow organization, the government does a really poor job of advertising the SALRC and they should get a new agent, or these people were just ignorant/ill-informed.
I walked into the bank and made a line towards the security guard. He was difficult to understand - he spoke English, quite well actually, but his accent was so incredibly thick that I couldn't understand. I don't think he really understood me either though - he too had never heard of the SALRC, but when I told him it was a branch of the justice department, he offered to take me to the building.
Considering I just got mugged, maybe I was a bit too trusting in following this guy to God knows where, but I did it anyway - what other option did I have.
We went into a mall - why the hell the Commission would be in a mall, I don't know - and he took me to the security desk. When my guide informed the guard what we were looking for, he told us that we were in the wrong building. Back across the street we went, checking in with the security guard there - who informed us that we were indeed finally in the right spot - and up to the 12th floor. As the elevator doors opened, I was greeted with a glorious sight - the SALRC's logo. I thanked my generous guide for his help and we departed.
One Leg Ends, Another Begins
My time at the Commission was short. I received a tour from my coordinator and saw my office - a nice corner office on the 13th floor. (Yes, there is actually a 13th floor. Apparently, South African's don't share America's superstition about that number.) I met the staff and talked to them - all of them seemed extremely nice and were happy to finally have interns. They did a lot to make me feel welcome. After meeting the staff and the researchers I would be working with, I had the highlight of my day.
One of the last people I met was former South African Constitutional Court Justice, Justice Mokgoro, who was introduced to me as "Judge." I knew she looked familiar because I had done extensive research on the South African Constitutional Court for my paper this past semester and I read several of her opinions. To understand why this was such a big deal, allow me to reframe this in terms that Americans can understand. The South African Constitutional Court is the equivalent of the Supreme Court and meeting Justice Mokgoro is the equivalent of meeting Sandra Day O'Connor, David Souter, or soon to be retired John Paul Stevens. It's not every day that you get to meet a legal badass. (She really is. If you don't believe me, read her bio: http://www.constitutionalcourt.org.za/site/judges/justiceyvonnemokgoro/index1.html) Justice Mokgoro was very kind and welcoming and she told me that I must root for Bafana, Bafana and that while I am here I am a South African. Her kindness definitely erase some of my feelings of misery about the day.
After meeting everyone it was time to head out. Despite my coordinator offering to take care of bus stuff if I come back tomorrow, I decided to find the ticket office for the buses on my own. I didn't want to have to make the same trip tomorrow and risk getting mugged or worse.
I thought I knew where the ticket office for the bus was, but I was wrong. I had my trusty Rough Guide with me and snuck a look at it before leaving the building. (I didn't want to read it out in the open and feel like even more of a target...being a victim once today was more than enough. I'm sure I looked pretty weird squatting in a corner sneaking looks at my book.) I was confident that I could find it. Well, I was wrong. It was not where it was supposed to be according to my map. This was frustrating. Either I just don't know how to read a map or the map was not very well drawn in the first place, but either way the journey home was starting off as poorly as my earlier adventure. I could probably have asked someone, but I didn't want people to know that I was a tourist - I already felt like an easy target being a foreign, white guy walking around the city alone.
Now before you jump on my case about being worried that I am a white guy, there is a part of the story that hasn't been appropriate to tell until now. In South Africa, whites are the minority, but they also, as a whole, tend to be better off than black South Africans. On my walk to the Commission, with the exception of the people that mugged me and the group that laughed at me right afterwards, every black man or woman that I passed looked at me as if to say, "What the hell is he doing walking around here?" And it's not just in my head. It must have looked very strange to them, me walking around. On the entire 1 hour walk to the SALRC, I did not pass a single white person besides 3 mounted police officers on patrol around Loftus. Not a single one. This is very different from America. In the United States, unless you live in WASPville, chances are that if you walk for an hour you'll see people from a whole array of different races. That simply isn't the case here.
So, that being said, I didn't want to appear to be an easy target, so I didn't ask for directions. I did see a group of young children dancing around in Church Square, where the ticket office was supposed to be, but after a brief dance, I left to walk home. (Yes. I do realize that this was equally as dumb as walking to the Commission in the first place, but I didn't know how the buses worked and had already been mugged once. I was hoping that lightening wouldn't strike twice, at least not in the same day.) So looking at the northern route, that is the path I took home. This wasn't the best area to be walking through either, but the streets I used to walk home were much busier and there were many other people walking around.
As I approached Loftus again, I stopped to take these pictures:
As I took a picture of the "Welcome" sign, a man walking in the direction I had just come from stopped by me and said, "You like that, eh?"
I told him that I did and I've never seen people be so excited about something before. He continued to walk and since he was walking in the direction I needed to go, I decided to tag along. Again, this likely could have proven to be a bad move, since I didn't know this guy at all, but I decided to take my chances anyway in hopes of having a walking buddy.
As we walked, I learned about my new compatriot. I had just met Carlos, who was working as a translator for Fifa throughout the World Cup. Carlos was quite the interesting person. He was born in Angola, but had lived in South Africa since 1989 when his parents, who were serving in the Angolan military, were stationed in South Africa. He had recently returned from Iraq, where he was working as a driver for foreign diplomats. Surprisingly he said that he missed being in Iraq. This shocked me.
"You miss being there? How can that be? Weren't you worried about getting killed?"
"Yeah. I liked being there. Being a Christian, it was nice to travel around the area that you read about in the Bible. It's not an opportunity that I would otherwise have had, so I enjoyed seeing those things. I never felt unsafe. The locals there used to joke with me that I was 'OK' because I don't eat pork. They would say 'You no eat pork? You OK. We no attack you'."
Hearing that would have made me want to go home right away.
As we walked, Carlos gave me a mini tour of the street we were walking on, which was surrounded by bars and clubs. The neighborhood was Hatfield, which was only several blocks above where I lived, but I don't think that I will be able to make it there while I am working and while I don't have a car. I've already taken my chances and gotten mugged; I'm not about to take more unnecessary risks.
Eventually we reached Carlos' destination - a football field where the Argentinean team was putting on an exhibition/practice. There were a few dozen fans in Argentina jerseys and holding up signs or banners.
A Bite w/ A Soccer Fanatic
From there I began backtracking (I walked several blocks too far while I was conversing) towards the major street I needed to be on to walk back to my place. On my way I saw this small pizzeria called "Bravo Pizzeria," and since I was starving after not eating since breakfast, I decided to grab a bite to eat and hope that my R40 that I had left over from my mugging would cover my meal. Luckily, that was just barely enough to cover a drink and small pizza.
If anyone would have seen me drink my Powerade and eat my pizza, they would've though that I had just walked days through the desert without food or water. It could of been the fact that it was the first time I had all day to relax, the exhaustion, or the length of time since I had last eaten, but I can't remember the last time I have had a meal that tasted so great.
While I was eating, I saw a heavyset, bearded man in an Argentina jersey pick up his camera and take my picture. Apparently a white guy eating a pizza in South Africa is not a common sight? Or at least one that needs to be memorialized for all time in a photograph.
I turned to look at him and we started talking. He had just come in from Argentina that morning and went straight to the exhibition from the airport. I told him that I had not been here that long either and that I was staying for several weeks for work. He told me that he was staying as long as Argentina was in the World Cup, but only had tickets to the first three games. He also told me that this wasn't the first time he had travelled to the World Cup, but it was the first time that he was able to go to a game. In 2006 he had sold his car so that he could travel from Argentina to Germany for the World Cup, but that he was not able to get a ticket once he arrived in Germany. I was shocked that he sold his car - that's what you call a soccer fanatic. I told him that he shouldn't have any problem getting tickets for Brazil, since it is much closer, but he laughed at this. "No. It will definitely be much harder to get a ticket for Brazil 2014. There will be people all over South America that will bike to Brazil to go to a game. So it will definitely be more difficult."
Selling your car to go to a game? Potentially biking across a country (0r countries) to get to a sporting event? I've never met such crazy fans. Soccer fans truly are diehard fanatics.
We exchanged a few more words after this before several black school children came to the Pizzeria and began playing foosball behind me. He got out his camera and began snapping more photos, I finished my pizza, and walked the several remaining blocks home.
The day started off poorly, eased up a bit, got poor again, and then ended well with my conversation with Carlos, pizza, and meeting a soccer fanatic. I could've been hurt when I was mugged, the security guard didn't have to help me find the office, my coworkers didn't have to show me around, Carlos didn't have to walk with me or talk with me, and the soccer fanatic didn't have to talk with me either. I'm glad to be home and that the day is over, but I'm also thankful for the kindness of the strangers that I met today.
The South African flag painted on a driveway gate.
Excited for the game and their picture.
The South African flag painted on a driveway gate.
Excited for the game and their picture.
