First Impressions of Johannesburg

 

First impressions are rarely fair. They often are instant judgments that one makes without the benefit of past experience or context. That is why I will have to be careful with sharing my first impressions of Johannesburg. But I will have to be honest about my feelings (and writing helps me to process complicated ones). First thing. This is my second time here, but the first time was a short and exhilarating two-day whirlwind of visits to landmark sites in Soweto and jazz jam sessions. Warning – I might ramble a little bit. Disclaimer – I have to admit that I am homesick. That being said, here we go...

When I walked off of the plane and onto African land, for the fourth time, I was filled with a unique exhilaration that I have only experienced when I come to the continent that my ancestors are from.  Joy bubbled up from deep within my soul and spirit, and flowed out of my mouth with quiet laughter. Once again, everyone I saw at the airport was Black. I greeted them. Made my way through customs, baggage claim, exchanged dollars for rands, and walked through the long corridors of Oliver Tambo Airport to the exit. 

I arrived at night. And my 7 pm arrival time gave me one of my first surprises. It is very cold here at night in July. South Africa is an interesting and parallel universe to the US in many ways. I thought it was just apartheid and jazz, but it is also the weather. January is our coldest month. July is their coldest month. Our summer equinox is their winter one. I’m glad that I took seriously the almost unbelievable report that it gets into the 30s and 40s here at night. Unbelievable in part because when I was last in Southern Africa (Botswana) during the summer months of the Southern Hemisphere, January through April, it was hot. And everywhere else I’ve been in Africa has been hot, so it couldn’t be that cold, so I thought. I’m so glad I used a modicum of logic and reason when I packed my bags and listened to what I read of the South African weather report (and only a little because I still brought my super cute summer platform sandals which will be of no use at all for me while I am here). Thank the Lord I had the sense to pack one of my heavy coats, because everyone at the airport was wearing one. Some of the ladies said to me, "did they tell you that it is cold?" I put my winter coat on at the baggage claim. 

 

A truly lovely man named Ronald was my Uber driver and I enjoyed a pastor preaching an impassioned sermon in isiZulu on his car radio. When we reached the area of Johannesburg where I am staying, Braamfontein, I knew instantly I would not be going out at night. First impression. Everything in Johannesburg is extremely urban with all of the good and bad that a city has to offer. I saw a man sitting alone in front of a fire, loud youths walking in and out of small convenience stores and nightclubs that were blaring music, tall buildings, some in good condition and some not. There was trash piled up on some corners. We found our way to the street where I am staying and the head of security, Cornwall, who had been patiently waiting for my arrival, got out of his car to greet me. The security team hustled my bags inside. I could tell that Brother Ronald was worried, but I reassured him and said goodbye.

My Airbnb apartment is pretty nice. It has a black gate in front of the door, confirming my impressions of not going out at night. A gated apartment door? It was nice, but it was also freezing. The little space heater in the bedroom was doing nothing to beat back what seemed to be frigid thirty-degree air circulating throughout the abode. It was indeed that cold. It probably did not help that I was just in the 90-degree summer heat of Massachusetts. I bundled down under two down comforters and enjoyed my first sleep on the African continent since 2017.

Sometimes we wake up instantly and fully in the middle of the night. It makes me feel more secure to leave all lights on at night when I am in an unfamiliar place. Therefore, you can appreciate my total surprise when I opened my eyes and sat up to nothing but inky blackness. I downloaded a flashlight app onto my phone and went to peek through the front door gate to see if the building was affected, or if it was just my unit. It was the building and all of Braamfontein. This was my first experience with what most South Africans call ‘load shedding.’ In the US and other African countries, these are called blackouts. Apparently, there is some issue with a strike and the electric power company. I messaged Brother Cornwall, the nice gentleman who is head of security, and he gave me an update. When I told him about the heat situation, he told me he would take me to get more space heaters. We set our appointment for 10 am.

Monday the fourth of July was my first day out and about in Joburg. As Cornwall and I drove through 

Braamfontein on our way to Rosebank Mall, I saw that the area is trendy, busy, interesting, artistic, and full of life. There are several small colleges nearby and Wits University is a short walk away. Students were everywhere. My building faces Nelson Mandela Bridge and might be near water, which explains the pronounced cold. Johannesburg is a lovely city. Full of beautiful trees, flowers, and very nice homes. As we drove through the suburbs, I felt I wouldn’t mind living there. The Rosebank Mall was very fancy. I was surprised by the number of white images and models. This is not the Africa that I have previously experienced. In Ghana, all adverts feature Black people. We went to a store called Game, which is similar to Target, and I got two small space heaters (and as I am sitting in front of one while I write, I can attest that they are effective). We also went to a grocery store called Pick n Pay. I was familiar with both stores because I went to them in Botswana.

Later in the afternoon (after a nap!) I decided to walk through my new neighborhood. And, as I shared in my introduction, I experienced a few more extremely complex first impressions. In the areas of Africa where I have lived and visited, ok – only three countries, Ghana,  Botswana and Zimbabwe – the familial feeling amongst the general public is real and palpable. Everyone greets each other. Women are called mother, or 'Mma’ as in Bots, men are called father, or ‘Rra.’ It is rude not to greet. In Ghana I was called ‘sister’ and ‘daughter’ and I was claimed by many. Ghanaian women would come up to me and say, “Are you an African woman?” (I carry the voluptuous body blessings of the Continent – smile). After all, most of my DNA ancestry is West African. Because I was recognized, claimed and probably because of my long-ago captured ancestors from the region, West Africa, specifically Ghana, feels like home. I can’t say that yet for Johannesburg.  No one greeted in Braamfontein. Black folks, who looked very youthful, zipped by me and each other like it was nothing. Also, American pop music was everywhere – spilling from stores and coming through the loudspeakers in the grocery store. There is graffiti. There are no traditional African clothes to be had. My apartment building abuts a tattoo/piercing parlor and a CBD marijuana store. Huh? These particular last two are everything I dislike about NYC and Springfield, the city where I currently live. Have these elements, along with American pop music (which my jazz master mentor recently called banal) been imported wholesale from the US? The answer is yes – but I can only attest to this through my first-day experience. What I did learn from my little jaunt through the streets of my new neighborhood, which included a brief visit to a trendy women’s clothing store called LEGiT, is that South Africa writ large, and Johannesburg specifically, is an extremely complicated society and unlike any part of Africa I’ve been. People seemed a bit uncaring. I am disturbed by how the influence of the hip hop cohort seems to blanket every aspect of life here. This is not the Africa I have come to love, but it is a part of Africa I will have to try to understand. Botswana and Ghana are modern African societies much more informed and directed by tradition. It is very apparent. Here, that story is much more complicated and complex. This is a settler colonial society. Botswana and Ghana are not. [Writing Paused]

[Writing Resumed] As I was writing, my friend here in Joburg, Yonela Mnana, called me. In our conversation, he advised me to be patient with how Americanness, and this constructed and false African Americanness that has been imported here, have been received by our family here in SA. I don’t even have patience with it stateside! But he is right, and I will listen. He said they only know the commercialized, product packaged, exaggerated and even minstrelized representation of African American culture. He said that they used to have ‘white speech’ imposed upon them as a standard, but now, because of US media imperialism, many are trying to talk like “niggaz.” He also said that I need to interrogate my own positionality. He is right, and this is going to be much more complicated than understanding that I am indeed an outsider. I am an outsider with a particular lens as an African American – and I am not even a very common African American. I am an outsider, but thank God for Yonela, who has tasked himself with bringing me into the inside so I can have, in his words, an “informed experience.” This is exactly what I would say to anyone coming to research aspects of African American culture. I am getting a taste of my own medicine, and it is humbling. He also advised me to investigate the history of Johannesburg, which I will do as soon as possible. I am here for research. Time to get busy.

I am overwhelmed by how complex this society is. Thank goodness for my training as an ethnomusicologist and as an ethnographer. I am not here to analyze and understand this entire society. I could live here for years, and that would never happen. I am doing, or will start to do, “the ethnography of the particular.” There is no way to make generalizations about a nation, a people and a city that has so many dimensions. My work as an anthropologist is cut out for me. I must not try to bite off more than I can chew. I must concentrate on a small group of people. I am here to understand how a particular cohort of Black South African jazz musicians hear the music. I hope that it is possible to explore what they told me back in 2017. We’ll see. To be continued...