Johannesburg
“Tell my people that I love them and that they must continue to fight, my blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.”- Solomon Kalushi Mahlangu
If I was a painter, my first choice to depict Johannesburg would be the color black. I would snake black lines along the mountains and valleys, weaving through the towering buildings with countless windows in business districts, and passing by the modest residential houses nestled beneath European oak trees. The black lines would represent the intricate network of roads, which fascinated me.
For the trees, I would use shades of green, and for the bricks, I would choose red. Johannesburg is largely mapped by trees. Once, I saw a mini truck carrying two young trees with a patch of earth to their roots, their trunks shooting off the length of the truck, possibly being relocated. In Johannesburg, trees are more than just vegetation and climate change solutions; they hold political significance.
To capture the city’s atmosphere in winter, I would drape it in a veil of white. White could also go for the cars and the white beggars I encountered. I might not be able to find a color for an artist, a black South African native, who got stuck in a residency space with a daughter and a girlfriend, or one for the visibly troubled space owner, my host, a free-spirited slender white lady, who continuously devises amicable ways to untangle the artist off her space. Such colors are difficult to find and unpleasant to use. Nevertheless, I would collect all the smiles and laughter from people I met, particularly those from Sipho, and paint them in vibrant orange. I would be damned if I forget the colorful murals and graffiti adorning the city’s walls — those I would paint using a myriad of colors.
Because my guide in the city, a senior college, who knows the city like the back of his hand, told me I wouldn’t be describing Johannesburg if I don’t mention the two radio and telecommunication towers that define it, I would find the Sentech and Hillbrow Towers at the extreme sides of my canvas and paint them gold.
My place of residence throughout the one week I was in Johannesburg was a short walk to the Sentech Tower in Brixton. Without being told its historical or geographical significance, it was an instant attraction on my first day. I took a walk to it, looked all the way up, and instinctively made photographs with my phone. I would later be lectured on the tower’s role in defining the city.
“It is a twin tower…now look to the west,” my guide said, in his charismatic nature and flare, “there is the twin, the Hillbrow Tower.”
He was talking about a triangle now, and how the Twin Tower marked a boundary that enclosed the center of the city which used to be the first gold mining area called the Witwatersrand region. After telling many more historical events — many of which I can’t remember now because, although the events took place on African soil, the names attributed to gold mining and the early settlers in the city center are largely un-African. After a short while, we seemed to have concluded the first part of my studentship and the load of information I just received was floating in my mind. I, however, had learned my best lesson without realizing it.
Soon, we hopped into my guide’s Suzuki Jimny and drove into the heart of the city, enjoying a smooth and picturesque ride. Unlike the traffic congestions I am accustomed to in Lagos, Nigeria, the vehicles in Johannesburg moved like well-oiled machines with clean wheels.
We explored every corner of the city, visiting Market Square where we sat alongside the monuments of Brenda Fassie and Kippie Morolong in Newtown. We also visited the Johannesburg City Museum, where larger-than-life paintings adorned the walls. My primary interest lay in independent art spaces, and we ventured into those as well. We didn’t miss the historical landmarks and heritage sites where brave South Africans had fought against apartheid and colonial oppression. From Alex Mall in Alexandra where we stood and looked down into the city like eagles to upscale neighborhoods where houses sit on lush mountain vegetation, and low-income areas with steep, overflowing drains — we covered them all.
In the two days we toured the city, going back home meant we would, at some point, drive past the zoo lake, which has one of the most pleasant ambiances I had ever seen for open space. “Big concerts usually hold here,” my guide said. In my mind, I imagined a lot of people winning and dining and listening to great sounds live from a stage. The lake was clean and calm.
There were days I went out by myself to mind my business on a project about independent art spaces. I had finished one of such meetings at a place on Rosebank Street — Rosebank, I believe, must be the most popular name given to streets and buildings in Johannesburg just as we have the name Jakande in Lagos. I brought out my phone and found the Bolt app. I saw in one of the pop-up addresses “Sophiatown Academy” and quickly chose the option. I would later learn that Sophiatown has a Music Academy address which is totally different from that of the Art Academy address.
The Bolt driver, a lady in her late 20s or early 30s, pulled to the side of a road and announced we have arrived. I looked around frantically and took another glance at the app. Indeed, it was the end of the trip and the environment looked nothing like what I had seen before. I told the lady driver that I have no idea what this place was and asked if there is any tower around. She said she was new in town, from Pretoria, and that she does not know any tower. I came down from the car and approached a Spaza to ask the same question. The teenage girl wo-manning the kiosk looked at me strangely… “What tower?” It was at that instant I knew I was lost.
I looked around and spotted the Sentech Tower in the distance, with its distinct bulbous head. Suddenly, it occurred to me it was time to put my knowledge of the geography of the city to the test, the knowledge I had acquired during the past days. Since I couldn’t determine the initial error in ordering the Bolt, I hesitated to order another one. Besides, I only had a few Rands on me and had planned to exchange some Euros for Rands later that evening. The last thing I wanted was to cause trouble during my first week in a big city.
I took another look at the tower, faintly visible in the hazy distance, and decided to trek home. I bid farewell to the teenage girl and started walking. Walking home felt similar to driving home, albeit slower. However, it gave me ample time to observe and take in the surroundings. Every wall, junction, building, and person caught my attention.
My first stretch was a long downhill walk, so it wasn’t too strenuous. A short bridge over a river led me to start climbing uphill. My logic was to keep east so long I can find a road. I came to a highway and continued east. Each time I looked up, the Sentech Tower was closer. There were no traffic warders or road officers as we have them in Lagos. And, going by my first lesson from my guide, I didn’t want to appear vulnerable to anyone on my way — most didn’t appear friendly at first sight anyway.
I crossed the highway and kept heading east. My eastward movement eventually led me to a desolate uphill stretch. Fatigue set in, and I could hear myself breathe. After a while of climbing, I looked back and noticed a man following the same path behind me. Instinctively, I started walking faster, but each time I glanced back he seemed to be getting closer. I thought of crossing to the other side, but again, I didn’t want to send any message of anxiety or fear to him, so I kept on walking. My legs grew heavier and my breathing grew louder. I soon approached a junction that appears to have a natural turning to the west, which also meant I would stop climbing and walk along a steep. A sigh of relief escaped me as I looked back once more and realized the man walking behind me had vanished. He had turned into one of the connecting roads and disappeared. I made my west turn.
I quit walking west and took a northward road at the earliest opportunity to do so. Eventually, I reached a T-Junction and resumed my eastward movement. The Sentech Tower was all visible now, all the haze gone from its face. An older white man was working in front of his house, clearing a swath of algae growing on a line of soil created by a broken tarred road. He said “hello” as I walked past him, and I said “hi.” That was the only interaction I had with anyone during the long walk.
Finally, I arrived at the gate of my residence, feeling tired as I struggled with the keys to open it. Unlike the locks I was familiar with, which face outward, the locks on the gates in this city were designed to be hidden, making it difficult to work the key. I continued to wrestle with the keys when suddenly, I spotted my host, the residence space owner, along with the resident artist and his six-year-old daughter. It seemed they had all arrived home at the same time, with the artist having just picked up his daughter from school. They were in a cheerful mood as I called out to them, expressing my gladness at seeing them. “I’ve been battling with the keys here,” I said. The artist kindly offered his assistance, and the lock opened instantly as he inserted the key.
We all came in through the gate, happy to be home — or at least it appeared that way. The art space owner wanted the artist gone after the artist breached all agreements and turned a three-month artist residency into a six-month rent-free stay. He went ahead to bring in his daughter and girlfriend to live in the space with him. It was unclear whether he was trying to earn the space owner’s empathy or using them as a shield to avoid being forcefully evicted. As I mentioned earlier, it was difficult to capture that part on my canvas, as I still didn’t know what color to paint it.
