A few million of us have a sordid love affair with Johannesburg. The relationship is bruising, volatile and – literally – toxic.
However, we remain loyal to our love and our city.
This week we decided to ask the tough question – have people fallen out of love with Joburg? We want to know what the “for sale” signs that have sprouted out of Parktown pure lawns mean. And do they represent the sentiments of a segment of the population whose cappuccino budget is less than four figures?
The problem is that it is very difficult to articulate Joburg’s appeal, let alone interrogate it. Most of us struggle to define what this city is or what it represents.
Or why we love it.
Is it just Joburg? We know that it is a megalopolis that comes out of the mine; smoking Balrog that grew from greedily digging very deep. But gold no longer glitters like it used to – or at least some of us here now offer a real deal in the economy.
Our history is shallow to global metropolis. At no point did Napoleon wither in our heat, as he did in Cairo. The scholars did not stop here on their pilgrimage to Timbuktu. Joburg has been around for over 100 years. The first tent pole went up in 1886 and it became a municipality in 1898.
Like other countries, we are struggling to put together a collective history to be proud of, outside of the political struggle for freedom.
We don’t have the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building, the plateaued mountains or other wonders of the world that are universally recognizable and easily depicted in tourism brochures. We have landmarks, of course. Ponte, Hillbrow Tower, Carlton Centre. But it’s hard to imagine anyone being welcomed to the billboards at London’s Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.
Tourists use Joburg as a basecamp to jump between Kruger National Park and Cape Town. Any self-respecting Joburger rightly condemned these heathens and insisted on staying in town for a few more nights. But, like a dog chasing a car, we don’t know what to do when we get in the way. We can share a good time in a few days, but there is no clear schedule to recommend.
Joburg has no nominal goals for the way our government works – none of the three governments do. And almost all of South Africa will admit that it is the capital. Not officially … but in practice and purpose; in entertainment and economics. The fact that President Cyril Ramaphosa is taking Zoom meetings in other cities doesn’t matter to anyone.
Followers of bad television – or those of us who were forced to live without dishes in the mid-2000s – will remember the early reality show that saw three contestants plopped on the beach. They have three days to busk, sell ice cream or otherwise finagle R10 000 to make as much net profit as possible.
The first step that most people take is to jump on the northern plane, financially and with limited funds. Why? Because Joburg is where you want to make it happen. Everyone knows it. We just can’t explain why.
We know Joburg is the financial center of the country. It could even be from Africa, depending on who you ask. At least we keep reminding ourselves that Sandton has the “richest square mile” on the continent.
That’s still nothing to explain about the heart. If anything, Joburgers hold a quiet grudge against the ostentation of Sandton. When The Leonardo became the tallest building in Africa in 2019, some of us thought it was nothing more than a tumescent dream of a nondescript setting. To borrow the words of Herman Charles Bosman, there is almost always something sinister about the efforts “trying to make Johannesburg respectable”.
The same year we cringed as Time magazine flew a drone over our dirty secret and showed it to the world on the cover. The thin but impenetrable boundary between Primrose and Makause is one of everyday symbolism. We begrudge its existence even though we cannot deny ourselves its products.
Many of us who worked in Rosebank in the mid-2010s were proud to be the first customers of BGR – the now popular burger joint on the Keyes Art Mile.
Then, it was hidden on Jan Smuts Avenue, in the recesses of the gas station. The location was dark, muddy and smelled of oil and diesel spills. There is almost no furniture; usually just the counter and enter above the door. This menu is no nonsense: double or single cheeseburger; pick your toppings and we’ll see you when you stumble across it tomorrow.
It’s beautiful. The bread they dropped was grimy like the cave that came out but it was delicious. That changed when burgers came out of a shiny new storefront just one street up. All ingredients remain the same; only now they are tainted by the inescapable imperial scent of capitalism.
It was there, between two loaves of bread, that we finally discovered the charm of Johannesburg. Our city is at its finest when it offers no frills or pretension. It flourishes when it is not in a hurry to give an insincere welcome. We love it because it’s original.
Henry David Thoreau wrote in his classic work Walden: “Instead of love, instead of money, instead of fame, give truth.” Joburg always gives us the truth.
Readers who have come this far may be wondering how we got to the original question – any creature that likes this place will not be disturbed by some other potholes.
We are in a moment of disillusionment because we have been robbed of the truth. Loss of load, damaged infrastructure, rising inequality… these are all problems borne by dishonesty. Dishonesty in the form of corruption, political intrigue and mismanagement. It is a scourge that we always fight with, only now there is a general feeling that it has become impossible.
We don’t love Joburg anymore. We’re just really, really angry.