At some point I have to mention the other side. The men who sell keychains and flowers and insects made of beads, live flowers, bundles of cell phone chargers at intersections and parts of the highway where traffic tends to be slow. "Which one do you want?" they ask through the car window. These products are the same everywhere. A man selling jokes for 10c. "Lady, buy one for your husband," he says through the car window. A lot transpires through car windows. Open ones. Closed ones. & the small boys on Long Street who walk next to you entire blocks saying only "please," who are probably reporting back to adults somewhere with their proceeds. "It's not nice sleeping on the street," another woman tells me, asking me to buy a bracelet or necklace please. Men on crutches waving boxes of tomatoes at passing traffic. Township residents kicked off years-long housing waitlists because someone else paid a bribe. On your way out of town you pass Khayelitsha, Mitchell's Plain, row upon row of shacks made from scrap metal and wood, which flood often and burn easily.
Or. The occasional private security guard holding an assault rifle in the middle of St. Georges street, at whom no one seems to look twice. The serial rape case in the courts right recently, with so many victims who can't be named in the papers that coverage of testimony all blurs together - "the woman who was walking with her boyfriend on X street," "the two women and their male friend who were on Y corner," etc. An elderly woman killed in a break-in. Murdered toddlers leading to riots against immigrants. Gang rape in the news often enough that it's not a shock. A woman carjacked in her driveway who has to ask to get her five-year-old out of the back seat. A week later, the same car is involved in a robbery that ends with the death of a young man. Talk, always, of South Africa's "unusually" violent crimes.
Or. A car crash on the highway where the car's entire engine is on the ground on the other side of the road. Rampant speeding, dubious traffic enforcement. Smoking culture, drinking culture, drunk driving common and taken for granted, no MADD lobbying to end Monday night drink specials. High school seniors who commit suicide when they fail their end-of-school exams. A boy I meet on the street, Edouard, telling me of his family's incredible pressure on him to have kids he can't afford to support, before he's even finished school, started a career. "Life is shit," he says. Or, a story I did a few weeks ago, that over 4 million of South Africa's children are likely to have undiagnosed TSD from witnessing traumatic events.
I'm not trying to build up the case against anyone. Every place has problems, including these ones. And I've spent a lot of time on the idyllic side of the street here. But I don't want to pretend that's all there is.
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