Driving in Johannesburg

I once read that you don't learn to curse properly until you start to drive a car. When we moved to Johannesburg 20 months ago, I hadn't driven a car for 16 years. I had to reacquaint myself to driving in downtown Johannesburg (or the CBD as we call it here). It was an unforgettable experience, you had to be both absolutely fearless and equally fearful the whole time for what might happen. My colleague at the time said: Don't let the taxi drivers intimidate you. I have tried to follow that advice and some people actually say that I drive like one, which I try to take as a compliment.

Feeling at home

Why do I feel at home in South Africa?

I have asked myself this a million times and analysed it in every possible way. I don't know, but ever since I landed in Durban on 30 December 1993 I have felt at home in this country. Not at home as in I recognise all the habits and traditions in all the ethnic groups, no, it's more on the inside. Like leaves slowly falling to the ground after a windy day, with a mmm... nice to be home, kind of feeling.

Anyway. Tomorrow we are going to Durban for my birthday on Sunday, because for my birthday I need to be by the sea.

We're going home.

What's in a name?

Two years ago, I had colleagues with names such as Patrik, Birger, Jenny, Janna and Maria. Now my colleagues are Palesa, Dineo, Zani, Khanyisile and Nadeema.

Yesterday was Heritage Day in South Africa where we celebrate the diversity of this country and the wealth is amazing in terms of culture, traditions, religions and names.

My name is considered very strange and hardly pronouncable by many. I am usually called Kaiser, Keyser or Khanyisa (which means light in Zulu). I sometimes say, when introducing myself, that my name is like Kaiser Chiefs without the Chiefs! It makes it easier to pronounce but also causes confusion since Kaiser is a man's name. (To my non-South African readers: Kaiser Chiefs is one of two very succcessful football teams in Soweto, the other being Orlando Pirates.)

But what's in a name?

Touch - Pause - Engage!

"He is a jockey-size player, but his heart is much bigger than that", was what the rugby commentator said about a Japanese player in the match against France on Saturday morning.

It's all happening. The Rugby World Cup started in New Zealand on 9 September and the temperature is HIGH in South Africa. Every newspaper has full-on specials about the game and I have found my source of information in the Mail & Guardian's "Rugby for dummies". And of course my mates who are all very happy to share their knowledge. I am learning all about the difference between a scrum a ruck and a maul. On paper at least, because they all look similar and very messy.

Today was South Africa's first match in the Cup, against Wales, and I can't say much about it other than it was a very tight win for South Africa, 17-16 to RSA and many dropped balls.

One of South Africa's key players, Bakkies Botha, wasn't playing today due to injuries and my all-time favourite Os du Randt ("born when meat was cheap") left professional rugby years ago. But after today, I think my new favourite is Francois Hougaard. More to follow.

I love SARS!

A Swedish friend of mine, living in Johannesburg, once compared South Africa and Sweden by saying:
" In Sweden, everything works and nothing is possible. In South Africa nothing works and everything is possible." And I have always thought that it kind of describes the South African attitude to things: even if it doesn't work we'll make it work!

This morning I went to the South African Revenue Services to present supporting documents for my tax return. I was expecting a Home Affairs experience, but was pleasantly surprised.

There were long queues of people every where and the service was somewhat both manual and automatic. On arrival I received an orange note that said "General" and was asked to wait in a queue that only led to the toilet. We went through to a large hall with rows of benches and were asked to take a seat. A man approached me and exchanged my orange General note with a number. High up on the wall there was an electronic board ticking the numbers and an automated voice calling them out as well. In addition, a lady, standing in front of the rows of benches, simultaneously called out the numbers, which created a kind of echo or stereo effect.

Anyway, not more that 30 minutes later, I was called to Desk 02 to present my supporting tax documents to a somewhat serious looking woman. The whole procedure only took three minutes and now I just have to wait and see. Just like anywhere else.

Driving to work

Traffic was hectically busy as always and a Toyota driver was annoying the hell out of everyone on the M1 north. He was driving slalom between cars in all three lanes without indicating and without paying any attention to the hooting and the upset waving from drivers around him.

As he almost drove into the car in front of me, a very small Citi Golf driven by a very large man, the traffic stopped so the Toyota and the Golf ended up right next to each other in the fast lane, right in front of me.

The large man unfolded himself out of the Golf, walked slowly over to the Toyota and with the palm of his right hand slammed hard in to the window on the side of the driver. The window didn't break, but the driver wound his window down (Why? Oh, why?) and Bam! the large man punched the driver in the face! Much commotion from the other Toyota passengers.

Then, the large man turned around, put the palms of his hands together in front of him and slowly bowed towards me, like a Martial artist after a fight, got in his car and drove off. The Toyota moved over to the slow lane and twenty minutes later I arrived at the office.

What I love about Johannesburg 1

"Johannesburg is like an ugly person with a great personality. Cape Town is like a beautiful person with a kak personality."

No, Joburg isn't pretty in the conventional meaning of the word but I find it both beautiful and fascinating. The people here are open yet private, stressed yet relaxed, helpful yet distant and always hustling.
I'm starting to sound like Alanis Morisette.

Joburg is more than anything full of stories. A couple of days ago, me and Nick were in a taxi cab with a Zulu driver named Themba, who told us all about the tradition of staying in close touch with your ancestors. He wore a goat skin bracelet, to show that when he bought a new house, he slaughtered a goat and talked to his ancestors about moving with him and his family to the new place. When you share the meal with your ancestors it's also important how you dress, you can't wear "British t-shirts", but short pants and a vest is okay. "Shoes would be disrespectful, you have to be bare feet."

Home of the Affairs, part 2

Today was the day I went back to Home Affairs downtown. I had an ambitious agenda: I wanted to claim the repatriation deposit back (paid in Sweden 18 months ago), since I had received my South African permanent residence permit. Close to 9,000 bucks is owed to me. I made it to the front of the queue quite quickly and I had all the required paper work ready, we had already been to Parkview Police Station for authorised copies of permit and passport. But the money owed to me will only be paid back in 9-12 months and the reason for that is something like: embassies in foreign countries always pay the monies into wrong accounts. Hm. Anyway, I was not ready to give up. On my agenda was also to apply for a South African ID book and a lady behind a counter gave me the necessary forms to complete. I made the fatal error of using a blue ink pen, so had to start all over again. With a black pen a drunk man lent us and tried to sell to us, I filled out as much information as possible, only to discover that a couple of small things were missing, so the lady was not prepared to give me a queue number. I added the missing bits and finally I got piece of paper with a number on it. The drunk man was thrown out of the building. After no more than an hour I made it to a man behind a desk who asked for a copy of our marriage certificate. Darn! Nick ran across the street to a copy shop place. Luckily the man behind the desk didn't need a certified copy. The same man sent me to the hallway where hundreds of people were queueing, maybe Zimbabweans, I don't know. In the hall was a man who took my fingerprints, very thoroughly one by one and the fingers together on each hand separately. Then I had to go back to the big room where lots of people on long rows of benches were waiting. An hour later I made it to a third person, another man, behind a desk, who printed a receipt and said: Do not loose this receipt. In 3-6 months we will send you an sms and you will need the receipt to come and collect your ID book. I can hardly believe that within 3-6 months I will be the owner of a South African ID book. When we were leaving the buildning the drunk man acosted us again asking for ten bucks and was thrown out again. After four hours, we arrived home to another great piece of news. The power cut was over! After 24 hours without electricity, it feels like luxury to be able to cook and shower and make tea! So all in all a good day.

Seven months later

Neither me nor Nick has posted anything on this blog since I started to work at Ogilvy seven months ago. Does that mean anything in particular? It has been and still is a ride, sometimes rocky sometimes smooth. Nick is writing his book and it's looking very promising. He's written thousands and thousands of words and I can't wait for it to be finished and send it to a publisher. I on the other hand am still discovering the world of South African PR and it's not boring. I work to much, just like I used to in Sweden. I am very much an 'on' or 'off' kind of person. But more importantly we are adjusting to life in South Africa. I am still struggling to get used to traffic in this hectic city, but I get by. This is it for now, friends, will try my best and write more often. Maybe even more intelligent thoughts next time?