Out on the town

Due to a lack of time to organise anything outside Jo'burg this weekend we decided to try out a couple of local options. The main event on Friday night was Congolese night club up in Morningside and the Saturday was a local pub down in grungy (but awesome) Melville.

There have been a few ADP teams in Jo'burg recently and one project that is winding up had a thank-you dinner with their client and we met up with them later on. A congolese girl on the client team had suggested the club and about 15 of us eventually met up at this mall type place with some upstairs bars and the club. About half that number attended the dinner and arrived pretty late and we all proceeded to the club entrance as a unit. The bouncer refused me entry on the grounds of innappropriate footwear and was heard remarking to a nearby bouncer that he "didn't realise it was 'white night' this evening", presumably a reference to the predominately anglo appearance of our group (there were about 8 nationalities represented). A brief discussion ensued and it wasn't looking too hopeful for me until our Congolese friend went and had a few words with the owner which seemed to sort things out much to the chagrin of the bouncer.

Inside was pretty much what you'd expect of a club, only the security were a tad heavy handed and there seemed to be a rule for practically everything and somebody generally got scolded for some transgression or other every few minutes or so. It clearly wasn't 'white night' that night and apart from some sleazy long haired guy that kept trying to intersperse himself into our little dance circle (there's always one) everyone enjoyed their time on the dancefloor. Eventually it came time to leave and we headed out through reception where I had the misfortune of running into my bouncer friend once more.

He gave me an extensive handshake and I thanked him for being able to overlook my footwear on this particular occasion. He pulled me closer and said something that I couldn't make out over the music apart from 'I'll see you outside'. Despite being flattered by his obviously earnest desire to continue our discussion where there was less noise and more fresh air his offer didn't hold much interest for me and I thought it best to make a bee-line for the stairs. I wasn't quite quick enough and had to endure a little more handshaking but I really didn't feel like ponying up for a gratuity for a guy who had to be overriden by his boss for me to be granted access to the club. The gratuity may have been worth it just to avoid the extended man-hug, however.

The trip home was uneventful except for a fight in the car-park on the way out that saw about 6 security guards stand around watching the spectacle but seemingly unwilling to intervene. Our taxi driver of course did a slow drive-by despite requests from the girls in the back to just get going and several available exits that went nowhere near the escalating discussion. Despite all this it was a pleasure not to have to endure the same, tired old JT and Jo-Lo R&B tripe in favour of some decent (and unfamiliar) afro-rhythms.

Saturday night was a casual affair with some communications people and journalists from various organisations at the Wee Pub in Melville. One of the guys we met up with had this particular bar as his local so got to play DJ, and he managed to get the joint (and mostly african crowd) singing and doing hand movements to "We are the world" 3 times in a row, something he'd been kicked out for doing on his fourth attempt the previous evening.

I got talking to one chap that seemed to be associated with the group and we started talking about a range of things and I mentioned what I was doing and who I was working for. This didn't go down so well as there seemed to have been a bit of history there but he wanted to talk more about it the following day - I didn't think much more of it but I did get a call Sunday morning, a meeting I'll probably address in a different entry. Briefly though, it turns out that he was something of a local Kwaito (a south african variety of hip-hop) celebrity and related to Zola 7, possibly the biggest name in the genre and also a tv and film personality.

The night ended at (of all places) a metal club across the road. After all the derisive comments about my personal choice of favorite music genre I felt nothing but vindication seeing these same individuals jumping around like amphetamine-charged ADD sufferers. The metal ambience of the venue even inspired amorous feelings in some, a fact that I will never allow one of the previously noisiest detractors to forget.

So there's something for everyone in Jo'burg. You've just got to get out there and find it, and then find a cab that doesn't break down in the middle of the road to get you home again.

The best laid plans don't always avoid Hillbrow

I've been back from Panama for a week now and have been reviewing my weekend get-away schedule with Jo and there actually aren't that many free weekends left when it all boils down to it. So you could say we've been making up for lost time with a string of weeknight catch-ups and weekend excursions to various parts of Johannesburg to give ourselves the necessary experience to look a South African in the eye and say "Yes, I have been to (insert place) and it was (insert superlative)".

Saturday was a day of recovery from a hectic work week and our first experience hosting a 'braai' (BBQ if you're from most anywhere else in the world) on Friday night. The afternoon was spent at Zoo Lake watching actual africans enjoy themselves in the park with a mixture of smokey braais, soccer and in some cases a little singing and dancing. I say actual africans because this is in stark contrast to the uber-afrikaaner region of Sandton where we are based. To live here is to almost be given a License of Eternal Forgiveness for Being Oblivious to Living on the African Continent. I suspect that there are only more whites in the Free State, although English is probably more widely understood here in Sandton.

Anyhow, the Zoo Lake trip (during daylight) was closely followed by a trip to Johannesburg's Chinatown. It turned out to be a relatively confined strip of Chinese grocers and restaurants. It can safely be said that the highlight of this trip was not the food but the selection of driving route. We had a choice between a convoluted northerly route and a pretty straight-forward southerly route on what appeared to be fairly major roads. The path of least resistance is usually the easiest to take however this is not a town in which one arbitrarily selects routes from A to B. We had inadvertently selected a route that scraped uncomfortably close the most unsavoury suburb in what is by many accounts one of the most dangerous (not-currently-involved-in-war) cities in the world. All it took was a very innocent wrong left hand turn just on the cusp of Hillbrow that landed us in a particularly dodgy area. And there was no way out - it was a busy street, no where to turn off and no way to overtake in the bumper-to-bumper traffic gridlocked along the occasionally one way street. Clearly not an area for whites, we were particularly focussed on one gentleman crossing back and forth in front and behind our car wielding a golf club. We came through unscathed but not without some enhanced memories of the general road layout of Jo'burg.

This reminded me of the security briefing the Red Cross security unit had given us in Geneva before coming down here. The friendly ex-military chap that gave us the drill (no pun intended) on the region warned us of something he called Nairobi Syndrome, a situation in which newbies to a dangereous area are initially particularly precautious and as a result generally avoid trouble. After 3 months of no trouble the slighly more experienced newbie feels increasingly more comfortable with the situation and pushes some boundaries but their overridingly cautious behaviour still keeps them out of trouble. At 6 months, however, a relatively lengthy problem-free streak results in a degree of complacency together with an overriding sense of imperviousness with the inevitable consequence of eventually ending up on the wrong end of a firearm. It was the aforementioned incident that brought this sage advice crashing back into my conciousness.

This is apparently the exact opposite of what the local community newspaper wants people to have top of mind. The front page of our local rag ran with the following front page this week:

It's not until you get to page two that the practically un-newsworthy issues of rape, murder, armed robbery and other insignificant happennings of our well-to-do neighbourhood are dealt with (note this is a weekly paper):

Anyway Mum, everything's just fine here. See you in a few months.

The tourist trap

It's an interesting thing, people's holiday preferences. Some people enjoy roughing it on local transport and mixing it with the locals at the market and on the street. Others prefer sticking to the big cities, staying in comfortable hotels with limo transfers from the airport where the closest they get to a local is hopefully no nearer than the already terrifyingly thin 1/4" of tinted and reinforced glass separating them in their air-conditioned cacoon from, well, whatever the hell it is on the other side. Others still, apparently, desire a combination of the raw sense of adventure you can only get in a place like Africa whilst retaining some semblance of comfort and safety that can only be provided by comfortable lodgings in a rustic, semi-remote setting not far off a major highway, and some animatronic predatory animals. This is a niche ably filled by Sun City.

OK, this may be taking the description of Sun City too far. I didn't really want to talk about Sun City anyway, but instead the nearby Pilanesberg National Park. But the offerings of Sun City are really such a distraction that I feel compelled to draw your attention to them. I mean what is a game safari when it doesn't carry with it the risk of contracting malaria? This is truly Disneyland come to Africa, and quite possibly the greatest affront to tourism that I've so far seen on this continent.

Perhaps my experience at Pilanesberg was tainted not so much by Sun City but by a week of slow recovery from drug resistant Zambian food poisoining, or the fact that I didn't see anything but stock animals such as impala and wildebeest on the cold, windy and interminably dull game drive. I happened to see an episode of Long Way Down (Ewan McGregor's self-indulgent motorcycle road trip adventure 'documentary') just after we arrived back from Pilanesberg. In one scene his team are charging about the bush in a 4WD looking for big cats. Their guide spots one from afar and after a considerable chase they finally identify their quarry, a very confused looking domestic cat in long grass. McGregor's team were blessed with a sense of humour and managed a hearty laugh at this particular misadventure, but at the conclusion of our safari I just felt empty and longed for the consolation that could have been provided by a tacky animatronic beest at the park exit gate.

To Livingstone, and oblivion

On the way to Lusaka I had a brief stopover in Livingstone, a small tourist town which is pretty much devoted to adventure tours involving in one way or another the Victoria Falls and the impressive Zambezi River.
It was dry season so there wasn't as much water around however the falls were still spectacular, and there was the added bonus of not getting soaked by the spray generated by 900 million litres of water per second spilling over a considerable drop. This also meant it was possible to see something other than spray.
I took the obligatory chopper flight which provided great views but you could probably find better ways of spending your money if you've experienced a helicopter flight in the past.
We also walked around the Zambian side of the gorges around the Victoria Falls. Our taxi driver decided to play tour guide. As it was dry season the top of the falls were devoid of the raging torrents present at other times of the year which left a number of smallish swimming holes which were being enjoyed by the locals. After we left the swimming holes we could see from the opposite side of the gorge just how close some were to the edge. Unfortunately a young girl who was playing to close to the edge slipped and fell the 100+ meters down to the bottom. My group was right opposite when this happened, but we must have been very briefly looking away.
Probably the highlight of this trip was the white-water rafting. I'm not normally much of a daredevil however I decided to give it a shot. I didn't find out until the briefing that there were a number of grade 5 rapids during the 27km journey. How bad could it possibly be? Ignorance is bliss, and it's all too late once you're in the raft.
We managed to stay on through all the rapids apart from one known as 'Oblivion'. Our pilot suggested that there was almost no chance of staying upright in our smaller raft through this one so most of our 'crew' went to the bigger (and much more stable) raft in our group. Sure enough, within about 10 seconds of hitting the long stretch of rapids our boat had flipped and I was plunged into the raging maelstrom. I wanted to swim towards the surface but had no idea which way was up or down so just had to wait until I was spat out the other end, hoping my life vest would figure some of this out for me. I was under for what felt like a long time and I could feel my breath running short but I could also see that it was getting lighter so I figured that I was nearing the surface. Trouble was, it was like floating in foam and I was loath to take a breath until I was definitely clear of it for fear of sucking in a lungful of water.
I did inhale some water when I finally ran out of breath but thankfully one of the support guys in a kayak was nearby and I managed to grab on and he got me back to the overturned raft. A few minutes later our skeleton crew was back at the raft and the guide flipped it and we got back in. I spent the next few minutes removing the water from my lungs and getting my breath back.
Whilst my ride was quite wild a girl on another raft came off at a different set of rapids. Her experience must have been some orders of magnitude more tomultuous as she spent the rest of the trip lying prone across the front of the raft, both arms outstretched with hands gripping the safety rope running around the outside of the boat. She was also crying a shaking and wouldn't move, not even to a more stable part of the craft when heading through the final sets of whitewater.
I didn't find being in the rapids as violent as decent sized surf however it did seem way more out of control. The unpredictable flow of water, whirlpools, overhwhelming current and other hazards are truly something to be respected. For the curious, there's some youtube footage (not of my trip) here.

Greg does ADP

I set up this blog back in 2005 and as you can see I haven't made it very far. Anyways, now as I've embarked on a brief adventure I'd figured I'd give this a go as a means to communicate to the masses (this may be overstating the size of my audience...).



Going back to 2006 or 2007 I noticed that my employer offered the opportunity to undertake a project in the development sector through a program known as ADP. I was fortunate enough to run into someone on the core ADP team in January 2008 at a training event and this chance meeting was a catalyst for converting talk into action. Around six months later I was again fortunate enough to have found a role on an ADP project with the International Red Cross.



I commenced around mid-August at the Geneva headquarters as part of a team of five and I'm now down in Johannesburg at the Southern Africa Zone HQ, ready to head out to the field to meet with some of the people at the coalface of the organisation both here and in a number of the neighbouring countries.