Day 2: The way of the developing world.

4:34 p.m. July 13, 2010

The fact that I spent nearly a week in North Carolina and then 5 hours in Georgia has eased my transition into Africa, because half the people in those states are black, too. Pretoria, South Africa, in the day time, is an easy-going, semi-bustling city. We, the three white amigos, are not a spectacle here; each person walks or drives along, minding his or her own business.

Yet there is some sense of foreboding, some sense that something just isn’t right. There’s a sense that we’re missing something. And this sense comes from the fact that every facility, every school, every church, every building, every residential area is encircled by a tall 7 to 10 foot metal-barred fence with spikes on top. Some places – such as the pre-school and kindergarten – have not only the spiked fence, but barbed wire on top of that. And then the windows are barred as well.

Due to forewarning and just this sight alone, I clutch my belongings close to me as I walk down the sidewalks of Pretoria. I feel like a brat doing this – like a spoiled American brat who thinks everyone here is out to get her because she has it better off than everyone else. That’s how I feel, and I’m ashamed at myself when I repeatedly glance behind me to catch any thieves reaching for my valuables. It’s not a good feeling, to be this way – especially in broad daylight! Nighttime is bad South Africa’s day. We evade it and we fear it, and we will not dare go out alone in it. Even though, secretly, I want to – just to see. I am naively aware of what could happen, but I have a longing to know how the others live. And I have a longing to know why it is that they live that way.

I’d like to know the unemployment rate of South Africa, but living here means my access to information is limited. I can’t just hop onto the internet whenever I feel like it. But I’d like to know the unemployment rate because the trend here is for South Africans to create miscellaneous jobs for themselves. Such is the case with the other developing country I’ve visited, Mexico. We had to tell a man at the airport that we didn’t have enough money to tip him, after he had helped load our bags into our shuttle bus and begged for money. Others stand on the side of the road, or in a parking lot, and ask for money to watch your car for you while you shop. Here, it isn’t so bad – not like Mexico – but I believe that’s because affluence here is a bit more obvious. There are private girls’ and boys’ schools around here, nurseries, pre-schools, and of course the University of Pretoria. The place is modeled after a typical American college town, with countless coffee shops and restaurants, little drug stores and grocery stores. Everything we need is within walking distance from our homes.

This morning and into the afternoon, we promenaded across town. The place shows unmistakable signs of that caught-in-the-middle stage of industrialization. They have what we in the States have, but with so many fewer choices. They have McDonald’s, of course, and, for some reason, Kentucky Fried Chicken; but they don’t have much else as far as American chains go. They have grocery stores without the variety (and without the preservatives). They have different types of restaurants without the ritzy pizzazz. They have a greater selection of cars than does Mexico, but not nearly like we do. They have internet, but it’s bought by bites. Only one café has unlimited Wi-Fi access. I’m sure that the list goes on – and from my end probably will. But, at first glance, these are the obvious signs of a child’s attempts to reach a cookie jar placed too high up. Will this country – and/or any developing country – grow industrially and gain reach, or will it give up and realize the present impossibility of reaching such heights? Or will this country’s growth be stunted by some other factor so that it will never be able to advance beyond a certain point?

I tend to think the last point will hold out to be true. And if the extreme of never is untrue, then at least such desired advancement will occur several lifetimes from now. The disparity is too great and far too unbalanced, and the compassion from the higher echelon is too weak.

As fascinating as developing nations’ past, present and future are, my real concern and interest lies in those undeveloped nations of Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. In Pretoria, I live in the developing sector – without a doubt it is industrialized. But my real destination while I am in South Africa is to the poorest places – the places that don’t reap the benefits but the negative externalities of industrialization. That’s why I came here. I need to see it – to see how they live.

It’s 5:48 here, and the sun is already snaking down into its dark burrow. You on the other side need it for your summer. So we say good-bye to our sun, and sad riddance. Life becomes different in the shadows.

We went to the mall down the road. (Yes, we figured out how to get to the centre-ville using the normal route, rather than the route we took this morning, which required a much longer distance.) We ate at some Lebanese restaurant at 4:30 p.m. because it seemed like dinnertime outside – the sun had begun its descent. And as we ate, a man, carrying a loaf of bread, quietly asked for money. Matt gave him some (I thought he was selling the bread, which I can’t eat, so I declined), and the man was on his way again, asking for money from passersby. Another woman sat, shaking a tin can of change to some tune in her head. A handful of young men whistled at cars and motioned for them to park in the empty spots. For securing them a spot and for watching their cars while the owners shopped or ate, those young men asked for money, too. Everywhere, in every corner, people without real work held out their hands for any amount of money to fill their empty pockets. It has become cavalier, expected, and perfectly normal for people here to make up jobs on the streets for some unknown and insufficient sum of money.

The question is this: What has gotten so many of these South African people to this point, and what has gotten others to a point of comfortable sustenance? That’s a question I’ll keep asking myself throughout my stay here.

~|~

This is what jet lag feels like, I suppose. I’m tired at 8:35 p.m. as I would be tired at around 11 after a long day. I wouldn’t mind it if my nights end early and my days begin early. So if I go to bed soon, I’m going to wake up early and go to the Wi-Fi café. I’ll even sit outside and use the Internet, and then I’ll have a breakfast drink when it opens. Good lord, how American...