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« Return to South Africa

Note for non-South Africans: In South Africa, Black people are called Black, even by Black people. Whites are called Whites. “Mulattos” or “mixed” people are called Colored, even by Coloreds. Indians are called Indians, not Browns. Many international people have a problem with these terms, especially African Americans who take objection to being called Black Americans. In a country potholed with racial history, at least South Africans know the difference between Black and White, even when everything is Gray.

April, 2004: It is my first time back in five years, coincidentally during the country’s 10th anniversary as a democratic, multi-racial country, and only its second free elections. It may be a country that was founded hundreds of years ago, in a land that quite possibly gave birth to homo-sapiens hundreds of thousands of years ago, but South Africa is one of the youngest democracies in the world, and is still very much in its infancy. I may have lived there for the first 23 years of my life, but certainly not in its current incarnation.

Our flight from Vancouver was long and arduous. 13 hours to Hong Kong. Three hours stopover. Then another 13 hours to Johannesburg International Airport, formerly Jan Smuts International, formerly Jan Smuts Aerodrome. Johannesburg International Aerodrome sounds best, but I don’t make these decisions. Immediate impression: The red earth from the Airbus window. Africa’s soil is immediately distinctive, at once dry and fertile. Second Impression: The light is orange. In Canada, particularly British Columbia, a blue hue seems to wash over everything. Maybe it’s the sea’s influence. In Johannesburg, the bright orange sun holds court. Final first impression: It may be Autumn, and it may be only 23 degrees, but it’s a hot 23 degrees. I knew instantly that jerseys and jackets would remain unpacked, well traveled yet unworn. If they could speak they would say: “Damn northerners, always over dressing.” Also: “Never judge a thread by its colour.”

My uncle and aunt picked us up. Leaving the airport parkade, we had to remove the keys from the car to show the security guard that this was indeed our car and we hadn’t just hotwired it for our overdue visit. There may have been signs, but this was the real “Welcome to Johannesburg”. Doors locked, windows up and here we go. Past the overgrown veldt. Past the Simba chips factory. Past the explosion of billboards. We had landed on an uncharacteristically foggy morning, before the hot sun burned off the mist like a nuisance. And there’s the skyline, the Hillbrow Tower (Africa’s tallest structure), the Carlton Center (Africa’s tallest building) and Ponte Center (Africa’s roundest den on iniquity). None of which play a major part in modern Johannesburg, but nevertheless remain as prominent as a unibrow. I drove with my uncle, who immediately turned in the direction of the negative. An older generation lamenting lost glories, a younger generation celebrating new opportunities. Change breaks both hearts and noses, but it can heal too. The fact is: White South Africans have been forced to adapt to a new power structure, and a general lowering of standards to ensure that Black South Africans can effectively play catch-up. Black South Africans now have opportunities, but also bear witness to a largely well-off White minority who spent half a century getting rich at their expense. Unemployment stands at 50% nationwide (up to 90% in some areas). HIV effects one in five people (skewed heavily in the Black population), and the country has the highest ranking for rapes, assault and murder with firearms per capita in the world. So the older generation of all races have difficulty grappling with this sudden reversal of fortune. Change has never been kind to the experienced. For a younger generation, life is looking just fine. The Black middle class has grown, where before it was an anomaly. On the highway from the airport, BMW’s and Mercedes zipped past driven by Prada-wearing Bally-hooing Black folk. These are not car thieves. This is the African renaissance, playing football on a field that has finally been leveled.