The other side of Johannesburg

This week, I’ve chosen not to write or comment on the many national tragedies and drama going on in Nigeria.

Sincerely, I’ve vowed never to utter a word or be dragged into the opprobrious national dance between the Tukur/Jonathan led PDP and its new faction being championed by Baraje and Atiku.

I’ve also sworn never to get involved in the Taraba tango tearing returnee Suntai, his deputy, Umar and the state’s House of Assembly apart.

Neither will I say a word on the incessant killings and daily massacre of innocent and defenceless Nigerians by Boko Haram, other outlawed sects, militants and armed robbers.

Away from the many man-made problems seriously threatening the peaceful co-existence of our dear but badly battered and looted nation, permit me to share with you my recent experience in Johannesburg, South Africa.

I was in Nelson Mandela’s country for four days courtesy of Multi Choice Africa. I was among the three Nigerian journalists specially chosen to cover the recently concluded Big Brother: The Chase. It was my second visit to the land of Madiba, whom South Africans are still praying and holding vigils for.

Of course, Dillish Mathews, the girl from Namibia, a country of two million people won. She surprisingly defeated two Nigerians, Beverly and even the competition’s overwhelming favourite-Melvin. Well, today I won’t discuss how Nigeria was schemed out of a glaring victory. Let alone giving an insight into the seen and unseen hands that plotted against the Nigerian contenders in the Big Brother’s house in South Africa.

I promise you darling readers, it will be a special, shocking and revealing package for another day. In fact, all the shenanigans, back stabbings and abracadabra that led to our shocking ouster in the finals will be made available to still angry and dazed Nigerians soon in your darling paper.

While in South Africa, our very hospitable host, Multi Choice, whose biggest market is Nigeria, lodged us at five star Garden Court hotel, in the heart of nouveau riche Sandton City, Johannesburg. We usually move daily as a group in chauffeur-driven vehicles to our various meeting places immediately after breakfast.

But after two days we became bored with the almost perfect life and serene environment of Sandton and decided to explore the other side of Johannesburg. It was an expedition that truly opened my eyes to the ugly and ghetto side of cosmopolitan Johannesburg.

This adventurous move was suggested by the Namibian journalist, Rukee, a loquacious lady and the ever bubbly Allen, a single father of one from Tanzania, in the morning of the grand finale slated for the evening of Sunday, August 25. They further suggested that it would be nice for us to shop for our loved ones, since things were too exorbitant in opulent Sandton, known for its many Ferraris.

Rukee, quickly added that she had already informed one of her Namibian friends, Jack, studying in Jacob Zuma’s nation to assist and equally be our tour guide.

We boarded a train and met Jack, a tall, friendly and lanky fellow, whom I later learnt was studying Drama for his masters at Witts university, at the Park Station.

And off we began our journey to the other side of Johannesburg, ingloriously referred to as Down Town.

Sincerely, prior to my visiting Down Town Joburg, as the inhabitants like to call it, I used to think that Fashola’s Lagos was the only mega city with annoying and conspicuous heaps of refuse dumps. What I saw there while trying to navigate my way to the Indian-owned Oriental Plaza, was a child’s play when compared to Lagos.

Never knew a part of a mega city in Joburg could be that dirty and stinking. The stench in some areas of the Down Town was so heavy that we had to cover our noses for several minutes. Trust Rukee, when she could no longer bear the stench oozing out of the equally dirty gutters and ubiquitous refuse heaps, she angrily said: “I think our host deliberately chose to hide us in Sandton, so that we won’t see, feel and write about the ugly side of Down Town Johannesburg…”

On our way back from the shopping, which couldn’t hold because Oriental Plaza did not open, Jack, who was excited and thrilled about showing us the hidden part of Joburg, warned us to walk faster and hold our bags very tight while approaching the notorious Down Town market. As if to add to our fears he casually disclosed that snatching of bags from people, mostly ladies was a common sight at the market. Immediately he dropped that line, the three ladies on the journey with us further held tightly to their bags. This elicited laughter from all of us, even though we were in a very tight corner.

The market, which looks every inch like Oshodi, only that it stinks more, had hawkers of different items struggling to sell their wares. Mary, my colleague from Thisday, said the zany market environment reminded her of Aswani and Katanguwa here in Lagos.

Jack later told us a story of how some crazy guys living in dilapidated flats at Down Town deliberately threw dirty water at him from their bathroom, for daring to walk freely in their vicinity during his early days in Joburg.

Inside the South African Airways plane that brought us home, a Nigerian woman resident in South Africa, who sat next to me screamed when I told her I went shopping in Down Town. She emphatically warned me never to embark on such a dangerous adventure whenever I visit South Africa again. “Please, don’t ever try that again, that place is very notorious, dangerous and full of bad boys,” she warned.

Well like Aldous Huxley said: “Experience is not what happens to you, it is what you do with what happens to you.”

I’ve promised myself that I’ll never dare go near Down Town when next I visit Joburg, however the experience will always live with me.

Oh! Did I tell you that my luggage got missing at Oliver Tambo International Airport and was brought to my hotel after two days of waiting? That’s another story for another day.