I’m not built for Johannesburg groove.
To clarify, I’m not built for any form of groove. If I had my way, I’d always be in bed by 10pm. Hopefully asleep by midnight. But that’s if I had my way. Foolishly, I rarely ever do, because I must have skipped the part of Life Orientation where we were meant to learn how to evade peer pressure. So this is why I’m writing this in an incredibly stunning looking bar in Greenside, Johannesburg — at twenty past midnight— missing my bed and feeling woozy from the half the jug of Long Island Ice Tea that Shaun, Bonolo’s mate, coerced me into drinking.
And contrary to proper judgement, I am absolutely loving every single minute. My anxiety is on 100, my social battery is cooked but I am 50 kilometres away from home, with an alarming amount of alcohol in my system, and I think I am enjoying this.
Johannesburg has always been daunting. Television perceptions don’t help it, never mind the endless Netflix portrayals of this bustling city as a crime den of sorts, which is why my grip on my side bag was stronger than the hold some African presidents have on their seats. So as an anxiety prone fellow from another city, ke busy ke zula-zula in the middle of the night, you’d think I would be uptight as ever — which I was, until the liquor began flowing.
Naturally, my Saturdays are spent sleeping, recovering from an all-nighter at the SABC. But when the girls mentioned we need to go out for drinks, I needed to head out. So what danger would a few long island’s do?
A lot, clearly?
We’ve hit the stage of the night where speech is slurred and one more step will make for an embarrassing fall in the bar. The “I love yous” are also flowing faster than the booze, and within reason; we had discussed our friendship earlier, and Bonolo brought up something that described our friendship as – I’m going to paraphrase as best as I can – something bigger than us, God-ordained if you will. (He wouldn’t be too pleased with the booze and the gyrating, methinks.) I won’t go into details, but it was a very heartwarming moment which made the evening that much sweeter. For all the chaos between the three of us, there is so much love. And it’s the only reason I’m still here, and not home – because I’m with people that mean the world.
Also, Lungelo’s popped up out of nowhere, which did particularly well to lift my spirits when the fatigue was rolling around. I care very little for Zulu men, but this one is a particularly good one, considering I drunk texted him my location and he pulled up. Sweet, sweet boy, despite him pretending to be a thug. Soft thug, shame. But that was the last of drunk texts that would go out – To prevent any stupid mishaps, I’ve given my phone to Buang who tonight is very clearly the most sober of us all. (She kinda has to be, we came here in her car.)
For all the perceptions I had of where this night would go, it isn’t that bad. Pretoria people are far kinder, but there was the one girl in The Last Alpaca who was incredibly kind and welcoming, not enough to erase the general meanness associated with Johannesburg (nobody will greet you back unless you meet them with a sanibonani, many a Dumelang have fallen on deaf ears in this city), and while I don’t tend to click with new people easily, I’ve met a few new faces who aren’t pricks, which is brilliant.
Right now, my blood is mostly Long Island Ice Tea – the only intermission being a Sparkling Water and a lovely minty drink from next door. My liver is crying, and my father would be disappointed, but I’m having fun, even though my face says “Screw you all, I need to get into my bed.” While the latter is true, the night is nowhere from ending. In the next hour, Buang’s gonna be driving us some fifteen kilometers northeast, some joint in Alexandra that her significant other says might be pumping in a bit. Alexandra. Again, televised perceptions haven’t been kind to Alex, so my coddled self is naturally shaking at the thought of going east of the M1, but if the night’s been kind to us thus far – let’s give it a try.
Johannesburg hasn’t won me over yet, despite having worked here for a year and then some. Gorgeous at night when Eskom isn’t interrupting the sights – and I’d rather not be here after the sun goes down – but there is always going to be something about this city. Past the ring of asphalt that circles this place, Johannesburg has got something about it. At the risk of sounding like an old American uncle, this place has got heart.
I just can’t be arsed to fall in love with this place. But the people who mean a lot to me have got me attached to this place, and I think gradually, for all its ‘heart’, Johannesburg is worming its way into my heart.
I still don’t think I’m built for groove. Especially not in Johannesburg, but shove some booze down my throat and I might give it a think.
Okay, last Long Island of the night. Alexandra awaits.
(Edit, 2 days later: Oh, Alex was a f*cking jump. I will absolutely do that again.)
Told By Tshepi. 