My enthusiasm evaporated as I got to the Arik airline check in counter. A stone-faced guy named Issah was on duty as the check in officer. His job ordinarily was to check the documents of passengers and ensure that fake and adulterated documents are not used to travel out of the country and he took his job seriously.
“Sorry, I will not be able to take you on board, I cannot see your face properly in the picture on your passport, please step aside,” he told one while asking another to forget about travelling because of one infraction or the other.
It was the Arik airline flight to Johannesburg on the evening of Saturday October 26, 2013. The airport was unusually calm and the throng of passengers and onlookers seemed orderly, even friendly, until you get to Arik counter.
I managed my widest grin and most pleasant manners when I approached Issah. He took my passport and examined it with such ferocity doctors usually reserved for a cancer examination. For several seconds, he flipped through it, frowning as he performed this delicate obligation. Then his eyes rested on the bio data page.
“What are you going to do in Johannesburg?” he asked flatly.
I told him.
“Who is sponsoring you?” he didn’t look up.
I politely responded. The trip to Johannesburg was very important to me and I began to worry he might find some inadequacies in my documents and refuse to put me on the plane.
“Do you have a place to stay in Johannesburg?” Now convinced that trouble was looming, I told him if I didn’t, I would not have been granted a visa in the first instance.
That word, visa seemed to have made him remember something he had forgotten. He shook his head and went in search of the visa, staying on it for a long time. Seeming satisfied he looked up and said: “Now you will show me documentary evidence of the hotel or accommodation you have in Johannesburg.”
My trip to Johannesburg was strictly professional. Last year, I won the Wole Soyinka Investigative Journalist award in the print category and had been inducted into the very prestigious caucus of Nigerian investigative journalists’ network. Last October, the University of Witswatersrand in Johannesburg hosted the annual African Investigative Journalism Conference. I and six other category winners were therefore invited to join the cream of global investigative journalists for a three-day power reporting conference.
With over 300 participants expected from across the best newsrooms in Africa, award winning investigative journalists as speakers and a world class media facility at The WITS as the university is fondly called, I was reluctant to let anyone dampen my excitement of going to the conference.
Prior to this trip, I had every continent in the last ten years and I had the evidence to show. So I was a little angry Issah was asking for a proof of my accommodation in Johannesburg and when I told him I didn’t have a hotel reservation papers, he asked me to step aside.
The station manager came to my aid after I complained to him. He told me Issah had picked me for a random extra scrutiny; he assured me it was nothing against my person or my profession. I believed him. But further shocks were reserved for me on board the Boeing 737-800, which proved inadequate in amenities and crew.
The crew was very unfriendly, there were no smiles as they walked down the narrow aisle, the plane had no in-flight entertainment facilities and there were no apologies for it. The foul mood of the crew affected the passengers and we looked like a sheep on the slaughter slab.
Last year, I flew Arik from Lagos to New York; the crew had told us the earphones for the in-flight television were not available because someone forgets to pack it on the plane. Three weeks later on our return journey, the crew made the same excuse. So I reckoned on this flight the same excuse would suffice.
Johannesburg the beautiful
But the bad customer service, unfriendly cabin crew and boring flight soon gave way to more excitement as soon as the plane landed at O R Thambo international airport. The simple elegance of that airport when compared with the purported renovation carried out by Minister of Aviation, Stella Oduah in the Nigerian airports simply made nonsense of the billions spent by Nigeria.
It was impossible for a first time visitor to remain skeptical about our South African brothers’ determination to maintain the legacy bequeathed to them by the apartheid government. Not a few visitors to the country had come away jaws dropped about the amazing infrastructure which is unrivalled in the whole of the continent.
Johannesburg itself was planned in the European fashion, with the main city centre and several satellite towns with their different characteristics and architecture. Our conference was at WITS University in the centre of Braamfontein, a suburb of Johannesburg; it has its unique and distinct European architecture and a feel of London’s canary wharf with its skyscrapers in the shadow of equally stunning Victorian architecture.
One of the iconic sights in Braamfontein is the Nelson Mandela Bridge with its spiral railings and breathtaking city view. On the streets, residents move at a fast pace as if their entire life depends on it and as I found out to my surprise, South Africans are really a warm and affectionate people especially if you can muster the courage to greet them “Siabonga.”
But your visit would not be complete without a visit to downtown Johannesburg. From Braamfontein it is a mere 20 minutes walk to Johannesburg city centre, the walk takes you through some iconic neighborhood including the famous male and female city prisons built on a hill and which reportedly was once home to Nelson Mandela. But for those who would rather use the Double Decker red city bus, exploring Johannesburg could not have come at a more convenient price of R130. You can hop on and off at any of the amazing sights which include: The Ghandi square, the roof of Africa at the Carlton Centre, the Apartheid Museum, Constitution Hill and the Gold Reef City.
The centre of Johannesburg is the Carlton city mall and hotel. It is a massive skyscraper coloured in red, rising high into the Johannesburg sky. Every Nigerian in the city would swear that the city mall and hotel belong to former Nigerian President, Olusegun Obasanjo, though some city council officials declined to make any comments or confirm its ownership.
The mall itself had all the top world brands in fashion and supermarket. But for those who wish to shop, there is very little to impress in Johannesburg as the major brands are already in Nigeria namely: PEP, Mr. Price, Shoprite, Identity, Trueworth etc.
For those wishing to have a taste of home, there are exclusive African restaurants and if you want a strictly Nigerian affair, Hillbrow, Berea and Braamfontein are your best choices as one can eat a full bowl of garri, semovita or pounded yam for R20. This comes with choice soup of Ogbono, egusi, edikaikan and at least four choice meats including a chicken and cow tail. And if you want to try something South African, most restaurants in the city sell Pap- a corn meal prepared like Semovita- which is eaten with fried chicken or fish.
‘In Johannesburg, a bullet costs N10’
“The cheapest goods in Johannesburg are food and bullets, food is plentiful and cheap so are bullets which costs an equivalent of N10,” a Nigerian who wants to remain anonymous said at a party organized by some Nigerians in Braamfontein.
While one may find this difficult to believe, crime rate in Johannesburg appears to be the highest in South Africa with violent robberies being very common. Despite the sunshine, the malls, expansive road networks and the food, visitors to the city cannot but notice that people are on the edge. The most instructive advice that can be offered a visitor is ‘don’t go out at night.’
“Here we do not joke with the security because it takes very little for violent robberies to happen. Another common crime here is rape, while we condemn Nigeria, we should also know that beside the rainbow here, there is real fear,” says Fisayo Adenekan who has been living in Johannesburg for five years.
But the rate of the crime and the violence of it vary from one district to the other. In Braamfontein, shops and businesses close religiously at 5: pm. This is because robbers use the cover of darkness to perpetuate evil and it is not uncommon to see customers rushing into the stores to beat the 5: pm closing time.
“Johannesburg is a city for the blacks and that is why the crime here is so high, the best thing you can do if robbers stop you and ask for your money is to give the money to them. They can kill because of a cell phone. It is dangerous to refuse to corporate,” Adenekan offered this invaluable advice to me.
But I didn’t need to take his advice as I ensured my day ends at 6:pm, whatever sceneries I desired was viewed from the safety of my hotel room window, which fortunately overlooked the expansive Jorrisen road Braamfontein.
Joburg’s weird religion
They called themselves the Holy Mountain Apostolic Zion church. Our path met by fortune and it was love at first sight. Their meeting room was a gymnastic hall opposite the Zimbabwe motor park in Braamfontein . Their spiritual leader was a lanky and heavily bearded fellow called Apostle Moses.
The dressed like members of the Nigerian Aladura church, in white and blue cape, those who had attained a higher spiritual level added a yellow mantle to their uniform. I had been engaged in a solo run of the city when I came across their celestial choir singing as if from paradise. When I got into the arena, about 10 men and six women were engaged in a weird spiritual exercise.
The core of their worship was dancing around in circle with a spiritual stick in hand. The dance was energetic and rigorous; it looked more like a gymnastic exercise. Suddenly, the spirit would seize one of them and he would fall to the ground screaming “Amo, Amo.” Soon, Apostle Moses saw me and beckoned for me to come for prayers.
I was put inside the circle and a violent dancing began, after five minutes the dancing stopped and prayers started, they spoke in tongues and in the Zulu language. Then the Apostle put his hand on my neck and spoke in tongues some more. Then he transferred his hand to my chest and spoke in violent supplication, he called two other brothers and they began to hit my chest violently. Ten minutes later they were done and the leader pulled me up. I was drenched in sweat and fear as the leader held my shoulder and continued a deep and silent prayer. Then he went into the spirit screaming Amo Amo and suddenly he stopped and told me to leave. As I was wondering what offense I had committed, two brothers came and gently but firmly led me out.
“Why did you go to that church? They are a very strange sect and many people don’t like them here in South Africa. Only God knows what they must have done to you,” one of the Nigerians said to me his word increasing my terror. The service ended at 5: pm, every one began to rush home. Soon the streets of Johannesburg would assume a frightening dimension, shops would be locked and doors bolted. The men with the gun will rule the night and the beautiful streets.
Will South Africa continue to be the economic and industrial strong house of Africa? One member of parliament had a simple answer for this.” When blacks have governed this country for 50 years and we are able to maintain the infrastructure we met on ground, only then can we boast that we can really rule.”
