Like a kid on Christmas, I was filled with wonder at the items I was being given, except that none of them were gifts, they weren’t new and they were all already mine. I was merely getting them back, but it felt as sweet as losing it was terrible.
I am often asked about crime in Johannesburg, about the dangers of a city so vast, and how people cope. I know no one in this immense, wonderful and dangerous city who hasn't been robbed at least once in their life. I've heard horror stories of armed home invasions and assaults, not in the news, not from someone who knows someone who knows the someone it happened to, but from friends and their families who have experienced violent crime first hand. The lucky ones have had cars or homes broken into while parked or out of town. The less lucky ones have had a gun pointed at them or been threatened at knife point for their belongings. The very unlucky ones have survived stabbings and gunshots. They shrug it off and say, this is Africa. TIA.
These crimes may not be preventable, but they can be avoidable, to some extent. I avoid certain parts of town and I’m very careful when driving, especially at night - the little old lady who administered my driver’s test all those years ago would be appalled at the stops and red lights I blow through here. I never leave anything visible in my car and keep the doors locked. Still, statistically speaking, it was only a matter of time before it was my turn.
The smash-and-grab - it’s a classic Joburg move. I was actually about to run a red light, but I slowed down just enough to see if anyone was coming from either side. The impact was so sudden and so powerful, I thought another car had hit me, and I ducked as the glass shattered. But there was no other car; suddenly there was a face next to mine. It was so dark, and he was so quick, it all happened so fast. He was halfway inside the car, which was still moving, and I shouted and floored it, and he disappeared. In my panic I had a moment of clarity - whatever you do, don't stall the car. I was borrowing a friend of a friend's far, a finicky thing that sometimes had to be hot wired from under the hood to start. It looked like a clown car, a yellow blob with two mismatched blue doors, and I don't know why anyone would ever think of finding anything valuable in that POS, but unfortunately for me, his gamble paid off big time.
I was in the process of moving into a new house, so I had all of my belongings with me . Underneath the passenger seat in a much-loved leather satchel that has traveled the world with me, was my laptop, camera, wallet with my credit cards, cash, all my backup cash, and my passport. Little things too, like sunglasses, a book I was reading, reading glasses, headphones, house keys, keys for the gates of my clients' houses, a compact mirror my brother gave me from Paris, some earrings I had just bought, a solar charger for my phone, the list goes on and on. My phone, thankfully, was not in the bag. In this day and age, I hate to say it, but I honestly couldn't last a day without it, not here.
The man was in and out of the car before I knew what happened. My riding helmet bag had been on the passenger seat, now gone. My mom gave me that helmet and it wasn't cheap, not to mention the sentimental value, but it was replaceable. At least he didn't get everything, I thought. I reached under the seat to be sure. I felt just space, and rising panic. I'm a quiet person - I don't scream on roller coasters, I don't startle easily, and in general I just don't make very much noise. White-knuckled on the wheel, I unleashed every obscenity I have ever learned in every language, so loud the car almost shook.
I drove straight to the home of my nearest friend, who always seems to know what to do, and we made a plan, as they say here. She fixed me some tea and cleaned up my cuts from the glass, and we canceled my credit cards, looked up up window glass repair shops, and determined the procedure for replacing a stolen passport, which requires a police report to be filed. I felt a bit shaky about driving home, since the broken window left me rather exposed, so she drove me home in her car, followed by her boyfriend in the clown car. Since my house keys were gone, we had to break into my house by climbing the garden wall (not a small feat, as houses in Joburg are heavily fortified for obvious reasons) to disarm the alarm and open the gate from inside. I spent a sleepless night thinking of everything I would never recover from my laptop.
First thing in the morning I went to the police to file a report, which I needed in order to replace my passport at the consulate. The police were lackadaisical. They couldn't even find on the map where I told them the incident occurred, and the whole time acted as if I was inconveniencing them by having gotten myself robbed. Hours later, we had almost finished the report but the officer said she needed to see the car. I hadn't driven, I had walked, so she told me to come back another day with the car and we would start over. What a mess!
Later that morning I got a very worried call from an old friend on the other side of the country. Someone had found some of my things, including my driver’s license and a notebook which held my hotel contacts, which included a guesthouse owned by my friend’s friend. The finder had been calling my contacts, trying to find someone who knew how to find me, and the guesthouse owner had in turn contacted my friend. I took a friend with me to go meet this guy, Jabu, at a gas station right across the street from where the robbery had happened. My notebook wasn’t worth anything, but I would need the driver’s license and couldn’t have gotten a replacement here in South Africa anyway.
Turns out, in addition to the notebook and driver’s license, Jaby had found my riding helmet, my passport, all my credit cards, and all my keys. It was like opening a gift, but the biggest gift of all was the restoration of some faith in humanity. I will never see my laptop or camera again I am sure, and the value of the gadgets and the cash was not insignificant, but not having to replace my passport (which saves me a return trip to the police), and not having to replace all the keys for all my clients went a long way in saving me time and trouble. I was happiest to have my riding helmet back, as it was probably worth more than anything else that was stolen, and it was a gift from my mom.
So when people ask me, “Isn’t Johannesburg dangerous?” the answer is inevitably yes, but when they ask, “well then why do you keep going there?” I have a million different reasons why I love this city, and they all outweigh the potential dangers. There is crime in every city in the world, and although the risks here might be a bit greater, the good, the love, and the community I find here are tremendous, and that keeps me coming back. Danger can be a heavy weight to carry around with you, like a shadow looming over your shoulder, and I try not to feel that way about it. I’m more alert, aware, and careful, and I avoid unnecessary risks and chancy situations. Beyond that, I try not to be too attached to my possessions, which I think is an important life lesson in itself, and I’m grateful for the community that surrounds me. I think some of the strength in the community comes from the dangers we all face here, and the bonds that form by facing them together.