First of all, I’m sorry.
I heard some bad things about you. More than once in fact.
I heard about your past, your crimes, your problems.
I heard less about your soul.
I saw a range of photos. But those stories whispered louder in my ear.
I don’t want you to know this. But those stories left me frightened. They left my courage uneven, my curiosity unsure.
They left me tinged with fear. Not cool to touch at the edges, but poker hot like skin scraped raw from scalding, sharpened, coiled barbed wire.
And, let’s face it, you have that wire to spare. Across your walls and rooftops. Over fences, between fields. That wire that hooked my eyes and distracted me from what lay beyond.
Your golden flat topped mountains, from the mining rush that bore you. The red-brown earth and short bleached grass where feet and footballs danced around. Your broad and leafy avenues. Your tall, imposing towers. Your colour and creativity, where you’d have the right to surrender and have none.
Your scope for regeneration. And sense of forgiveness that overwhelms.
Your friendly, open nature when you saw me through my lens. And even warmer response when I stripped that glass shield away.
Yes, you’re a city with problems. There are few in the world that don’t.
But I’ve never felt so welcome. And I have the good fortune to travel a lot.
So please, I hope you’ll forgive me and let me bring your story to the world.
And like those voices I’ve heard speak here.
I hope you’ll let me call you Jozi.
Disclosure: I’m here in South Africa as a guest of GoToSouthAfrica, South African Airlines and JMT Tours. But as regular readers will know, I’m always free to write whatever I like. And I do. Otherwise, really, there is just no point.
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