Mathuthu's Jozi Diary (Day 7)

Mathuthu's Jozi Diary (Day 7)

• Mathuthu's Jozi Diary (Day 6)

• Mathuthu's Jozi Diary (Day 5)

• Mathuthu's Jozi Diary (Day 4)

• Mathuthu's Jozi Diary (Day 3)

• Mathuthu's Jozi Diary Day 2

• Mathuthu's Jozi Diary Day 1

• Editor's Memo: Voters must demand better leadership

• Editor's Memo: Cut the chase, blame Blair

New Zimbabwe.com editor Mduduzi Mathuthu shares his thoughts about anything and everything on a visit to South Africa, venue of the 2010 soccer World Cup:

Sunday, December 17
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ONE of my fascinations with South Africa is the attendant contradictions, not least the gap between the poor and rich.

You don’t get a better illustration of this grotesque reality than the contrast between the haves and have-nots of Sandton and Alexandra, two suburbs whose similarities begin and end with their shared proximity.

Throw a stone into Sandton from Alexandra and the chance is that you will hit a millionaire driving a BMW X5. Do the same from the Sandton side and you are likely to hit a shack dweller who has never been in formal employment.

For any criminologist trying to examine rampant crime levels in the new South Africa, this simple reality should be the starting point.

Today, I am off to Alexandra with Japhet. I was last there last year for a gig featuring afro-house music pioneers, Oskido and DJ Fresh.

Then, I was appalled beyond words by what I found – yet the objects of my dismay seemed so happy amid the squalor.

Our destination today is Joe’s Place. As we work our way through the dusty and crowded Alexandra streets, I can’t help noticing that traffic lights are routinely ignored – and the offenders all seem to be commuter bus drivers.

A green sign at a traffic light does not necessarily mean you can go through. You still have to give way, lest you are bumped by a speeding driver who possibly has no insurance.

All around us, evidence of decay abounds. For many residents of this suburb, a body of heavily-patched plastic bags is the proverbial roof over their heads.

There is little evidence of commerce -- a few vegetable vendors and tuck shops the only visible signs of commercial activity.

For most here, they have nothing to lose because they have nothing. I remark to Japhet that many here would probably find jail a better place to live. Why not, when it provides running water, electricity and free food?

Joe’s Place is a famous local butchery that has now assumed the title of ‘restaurant’, for the foreign visitor, and a braai spot for Johannesburg’s middle classes who flock here for amawoso and pap (isitshwala/sadza), as they call it.

We have brought our cooler box along, stocked once more with Peroni. We also brought along our hunter’s chairs because the sitting facilities are limited – remember Joe’s Place is still strictly a butchery, which, like all such businesses in Africa, diversifies with demand.

Pictures of South African celebrities who have been to Joe’s Place including jazz legend Hugh Masekela, DJ Sbu, Trompies and former footballer Jerry Skhosana adorn the walls.

Japhet tells me Joe’s Place is one of Alexandra’s listed tourist attractions – a place where foreign visitors get to have a feel of traditional South African drinks, local grills and foods.

Joe’s Place sells a range of drinks – but they don’t have Peroni. We devise a strategy with Japhet to smuggle our cooler box. If confronted, we would say it's for one of our friends to sit on! An embarrassing episode, but totally unavoidable! We all do it, don’t we?

While the traditionally cooked pap served with boerewors sausages would have delighted my intestines, it was the chakalaka – a spicy vegetable relish -- that left me wanting more.
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We left Joe’s Place and headed for Midrand where we met friends and left just after 10PM headed for Soweto.

It is becoming a familiar story, isn’t?

Except today, DJ Monde, a 5 FM radio presenter is launching his new afro-house compilation CD at The Rock.

It’s drizzling as we get there, with a threat of a heavy downpour. Come thunder come rain, I am determined to brave the weather.

Someone who lives in the UK has no right to complain about the weather anywhere. That would be like a visiting resident of Alexandra registering concerns with street lighting in Sandton!

Japhet departs on another mission around Soweto. He will rejoin me later.

I am still carrying my Peroni as I get to the door. Bouncers are searching people and as I approach, a man politely tells me I cannot take in my drink. I dig into my pocket and come up with a R5 coin which I slip into his hands and with a nonchalant ease, I am in!

The beauty of Africa (I hope Paul Mangwana is not reading this!)!

The Rock is fully packed tonight, and you can only move sideways.

A huge white tent has been erected on the roof of the club, and that’s where the party is happening while on the ground floor, it’s a normal weekend for locals who are gyrating to the sound of house music from the resident DJ.

It’s an impossibility to get to the rooftop. The steps leading there are packed with other revellers keen to get to the party. It’s already full, and some people coming down to buy drinks -- they don’t sell drinks on the rooftop – are compounding the situation.

I decide it’s not worth it working my way up there, and having to come back down for drinks.

Feeling a bit sozzled, I staggered out of the club just before 2AM. As I stepped outside, I saw Japhet pointing in my direction, laughing.

He was with DJ Cleo – one of South Africa’s leading disc jockeys and music producers.

Cleo has just released his third CD, Eskhaleni Extension 3 and is responsible for Mzekezeke’s first two albums – Sguqa Ngamadolo and Istorotoro.

He also produces kwaito sensation, Brickz (Sweety My Baby) -- apart from his other work done for other artists like Mandoza (Sgelekeqe, Indoda) and a new group set to unleashed by his Will of Steel Productions stable, Amakoporosh.

Many Zimbabweans will remember DJ Cleo after he was banned from entering Zimbabwe last year for allegedly “uttering bad things about President Mugabe”.

I soon discover the source of Japhet’s cachinnation. Cleo has been telling him about my “awful dreadlocks” which I had the last time we met – a good two years ago.

“They were really ugly my man, I just couldn’t tell you because you let me drive your car,” Cleo says before breaking into another mighty guffaw at my expense.

But this, coming from a guy who dyes his hair ginger, has the feel of a baboon laughing at a monkey’s forehead!

Cleo invites us to his birthday party on Christmas Eve. Believe it or not, he is only turning 26!

He has done the work of a lifetime, if you ask me.

We head back to Johannesburg, another day gone.

MATHUTHU'S DIARIES CONTINUE
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