Roaden Polynice
Superstar
South Africa 
It is with a heavy heart, and deep contrition that I take back all that I have said about ZA (and I suppose Africa in general) throughout my years of posting, whether they were wums or missives fired off with no clear purpose but rather just heat given towards an undue figure that has always been in the background.
First things first though, I had a 10 hour layover in Germany, Frankfurt to be exact and got a chance to get at least a soupcon of Germany before leaving for Joberg. My initial thoughts of Germany was what Walt said some time ago in the Collywood stories, in that a lot of those European nations have a maturity about them. They've been around for so long, and of course maturity doesn't mean they are inherently better or more advantageous than the United States, but that feeling is something that is truly felt. It is something that is felt as soon as you get off the plane and begin to walk around Frankfurt airport.
My fam and I then went and caught a cab into the heart of Frankfurt where people were mewling about, walking with a real European air about them. It's like what I imagine Jay Z tries to emulate whenever he is out and about, waltzing around the biggest capitals of Europe, though this was the real deal. Even something as base and gross as smoking took on a distinctly refined stance, as I witnessed numerous smokers, floating in nimbuses and blowing into the chilly air, panatelas and cigarettes tucked neatly in their hands delicately on a curbside cafe like it was the fukking 1920's or something. The elegance of it all nearly made me retch in respect. I quickly downed my German beer (whatever the fukk it was) and dipped back to the airport.
Landing in Johannesburg is odd. It's not odd in that their airport isn't without the usual trappings of an airport in the United States, but at least when we landed, there was no one there. The gate that we pulled into was completely desolate, and we were met with simply a long and silent hall with signs directing us towards baggage claim and customs. The hall only had a door and those motorized walkways and, that was about it. It was all slightly creepy, like our pilot had experienced a maddening bout of something drastic and took it upon himself to land us plumb spang in Pyongyang on some fukk y'all nikkas shyt.
The big flaw about Johannesburg is the fact that it is not walkable. At all. We hired a driver for the few days that we were here, but beyond that, walking around would prove to be something of a ballache. Really, the outlay of the city reminds me of other unwalkable cities that I've visited, like Houston, Nashville, Los Angeles, and most notably Las Vegas. And let's just get it out of the way that Las Vegas is one of the most devilish places devised in the United States. You can't walk anywhere, yet everything is tantalizing, seemingly in reach. You venture outside and a ten minute hike turns into a elephantine struggle against humanity, being and will while trying to stave off heat stroke, where you silently contemplate a mile in that it would simply be easier to lay in the gutter and bake to death, bums at night pawing your innards out with a penknife ala Star Wars as, by that time in the chilly desert air you might have cooled down.
But that is neither here, nor there. So you can't walk here. Fine. Like I said we had a driver. And while on these Joburg drives, a second thing about the city that I noticed besides its adherence to petrol and tires is that this is a city that is completely ruled by private security firms. I have yet to see any local police forces, or sirens or lights or anything of that sort. Rather, we drove through the more affluent portion of Joberg, by Mandela's most recent house and the other large mansions, a neighborhood that slightly resembles your Beverly Hills and there is just legions of men standing around, watching over their moneyed nabobs. The nabobs of course have hired these coxcombs (as all private security invariably is) and they have locked themselves up behind high fences and electrified current wire that dots and lines the top of these walls. I kept thinking of the Charlie Brooker quote that goes along the lines of about how the rich have hid behind walls where you can't murder them and that is pretty much it. The security is something that is not overwhelming, but is altogether present and noticeable.
I went to Sun City and the Lost City resort, and a safari. All pretty ho-hum. Saw some elephants, a lion, a cheetah, zebras, springboks, and some wildebeests. Sun City was where part of Jackie Chan's Who Am I? was filmed, so it was sorta cool to see that I suppose.
What has really been the best though was the trip to Soweto.
Soweto. What a wonderful neighborhood. South Africa has made progress, and has come a long way and, if you were to visit as an ignorant and blindfolded eejit like me, would prove you wrong tenfold in terms of the lives of South Africans, but Soweto was real. That was some of the realest shyt I've seen ever probably. Walking around there was eye-opening, in that on one hand you can come to Joberg and see a quivering society and landscape that is ripe for growth and is indeed growing, but just several miles away, there is still privation, poverty, and struggle. I also went to the Apartheid museum that had a salient excerpt about middle class blacks from a book called House of Bondage by this dude named Ernest Cole that rang pretty true to this day, in South Africa and America. What he pointed out back in the 60's was that in middle class blacks aim to be a part of white people's lives and to be a part of their society, they essentially compromised their power and franchise, because they would be just floating, perhaps accepted by whites on a cursory level, but never enough to exact change. I think just by walking around Soweto, you can defintely see the effects and consequences of that. I've met a lot of upper-middle class blacks on this trip, and while they are able to enjoy the fruits of their hard work, there is also that other side of things. Thankfully for some that other side hasn't been forgotten. Of course I'm typing all this as an outsider, so
It is hard to ignore the similarities between South Africa and apartheid and the struggle between black americans, and how both paths dealt and are currently dealing with a bad hand dealt by white people. The main difference being that black South Africans are the majority, and black Americans are the minority, so both stories have ventured down different paths. And that is another thing that is great about South Africa is that everything is somewhat catered towards black people, and contrary to some beliefs that Africans don't fukk with black Americans, the Africans I have encountered have been nothing but cordial towards me. And talking with some, it's become clear that there has been a grave misunderstanding; one dude I talked to saying that he felt like black americans didn't take Africans seriously, while I think some black Americans think that Africans think they're above or don't fukk with black Americans. I really don't think that is true. Every place I went to I was of course singled as an outsider, a traveler, but they all asked where I was from, all eager to help and talk.
Anyway. Soweto was brilliant. Saw the Mandela house, Soccer City and went to some buffet in the hood, and also saw the Hector Petersen memorial, which was all rather touching. What stands out though was a few Soweto brehs bumrushing our camp and singing song and dance about Soweto for money. I thought to myself, "Oh, I've seen this movie before
" and braced myself for the inevitable rushing from several street urchins as they tore and ran our pockets to shreds, us allowing this as we are mystified by the song and dance of the lovable block youth. But nothing happened. They sang the song and I gave them 170 rand. I was probably a bit shanghaied in the end, but whatever 
Perhaps the greatest gift of the trip so far has been the introduction of Peri-Peri sauce onto my palate, and general South African cuisine. I have yet to feel any sort of hunger pangs, as every day has been an unceasing menu of toothsome delights, ragouts, drinks, beers, gin, meats, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and breads.
The Peri-Peri sauce has perhaps climbed my list to the top of my favorite condiments, unseating ranch dressing and sriracha. I'm not quite sure how they make it but it is some type of pepper condiment that has a very rich flavor with a considerable heat. One bite and the brow begins to sweat, the tongue does a jig on the hearth, your eyes begin to get that rheumy look of a pensioner, and your brain is programmed simply on the sensory delights and pains that you are currently enduring. And then peace, and flavor, as the television of your mind finds the correct reception, and everything turns to a welcome calm. If only they had that peri-peri in the states
Also, I love the time zones here. I've been able to watch several premier league matches (as well as local matches) at very good times. Even though those unmentionable fukkboys + Sanchez lost
It is with a heavy heart, and deep contrition that I take back all that I have said about ZA (and I suppose Africa in general) throughout my years of posting, whether they were wums or missives fired off with no clear purpose but rather just heat given towards an undue figure that has always been in the background.
First things first though, I had a 10 hour layover in Germany, Frankfurt to be exact and got a chance to get at least a soupcon of Germany before leaving for Joberg. My initial thoughts of Germany was what Walt said some time ago in the Collywood stories, in that a lot of those European nations have a maturity about them. They've been around for so long, and of course maturity doesn't mean they are inherently better or more advantageous than the United States, but that feeling is something that is truly felt. It is something that is felt as soon as you get off the plane and begin to walk around Frankfurt airport.
My fam and I then went and caught a cab into the heart of Frankfurt where people were mewling about, walking with a real European air about them. It's like what I imagine Jay Z tries to emulate whenever he is out and about, waltzing around the biggest capitals of Europe, though this was the real deal. Even something as base and gross as smoking took on a distinctly refined stance, as I witnessed numerous smokers, floating in nimbuses and blowing into the chilly air, panatelas and cigarettes tucked neatly in their hands delicately on a curbside cafe like it was the fukking 1920's or something. The elegance of it all nearly made me retch in respect. I quickly downed my German beer (whatever the fukk it was) and dipped back to the airport.
Landing in Johannesburg is odd. It's not odd in that their airport isn't without the usual trappings of an airport in the United States, but at least when we landed, there was no one there. The gate that we pulled into was completely desolate, and we were met with simply a long and silent hall with signs directing us towards baggage claim and customs. The hall only had a door and those motorized walkways and, that was about it. It was all slightly creepy, like our pilot had experienced a maddening bout of something drastic and took it upon himself to land us plumb spang in Pyongyang on some fukk y'all nikkas shyt.
The big flaw about Johannesburg is the fact that it is not walkable. At all. We hired a driver for the few days that we were here, but beyond that, walking around would prove to be something of a ballache. Really, the outlay of the city reminds me of other unwalkable cities that I've visited, like Houston, Nashville, Los Angeles, and most notably Las Vegas. And let's just get it out of the way that Las Vegas is one of the most devilish places devised in the United States. You can't walk anywhere, yet everything is tantalizing, seemingly in reach. You venture outside and a ten minute hike turns into a elephantine struggle against humanity, being and will while trying to stave off heat stroke, where you silently contemplate a mile in that it would simply be easier to lay in the gutter and bake to death, bums at night pawing your innards out with a penknife ala Star Wars as, by that time in the chilly desert air you might have cooled down.
But that is neither here, nor there. So you can't walk here. Fine. Like I said we had a driver. And while on these Joburg drives, a second thing about the city that I noticed besides its adherence to petrol and tires is that this is a city that is completely ruled by private security firms. I have yet to see any local police forces, or sirens or lights or anything of that sort. Rather, we drove through the more affluent portion of Joberg, by Mandela's most recent house and the other large mansions, a neighborhood that slightly resembles your Beverly Hills and there is just legions of men standing around, watching over their moneyed nabobs. The nabobs of course have hired these coxcombs (as all private security invariably is) and they have locked themselves up behind high fences and electrified current wire that dots and lines the top of these walls. I kept thinking of the Charlie Brooker quote that goes along the lines of about how the rich have hid behind walls where you can't murder them and that is pretty much it. The security is something that is not overwhelming, but is altogether present and noticeable.
I went to Sun City and the Lost City resort, and a safari. All pretty ho-hum. Saw some elephants, a lion, a cheetah, zebras, springboks, and some wildebeests. Sun City was where part of Jackie Chan's Who Am I? was filmed, so it was sorta cool to see that I suppose.
What has really been the best though was the trip to Soweto.
Soweto. What a wonderful neighborhood. South Africa has made progress, and has come a long way and, if you were to visit as an ignorant and blindfolded eejit like me, would prove you wrong tenfold in terms of the lives of South Africans, but Soweto was real. That was some of the realest shyt I've seen ever probably. Walking around there was eye-opening, in that on one hand you can come to Joberg and see a quivering society and landscape that is ripe for growth and is indeed growing, but just several miles away, there is still privation, poverty, and struggle. I also went to the Apartheid museum that had a salient excerpt about middle class blacks from a book called House of Bondage by this dude named Ernest Cole that rang pretty true to this day, in South Africa and America. What he pointed out back in the 60's was that in middle class blacks aim to be a part of white people's lives and to be a part of their society, they essentially compromised their power and franchise, because they would be just floating, perhaps accepted by whites on a cursory level, but never enough to exact change. I think just by walking around Soweto, you can defintely see the effects and consequences of that. I've met a lot of upper-middle class blacks on this trip, and while they are able to enjoy the fruits of their hard work, there is also that other side of things. Thankfully for some that other side hasn't been forgotten. Of course I'm typing all this as an outsider, so
It is hard to ignore the similarities between South Africa and apartheid and the struggle between black americans, and how both paths dealt and are currently dealing with a bad hand dealt by white people. The main difference being that black South Africans are the majority, and black Americans are the minority, so both stories have ventured down different paths. And that is another thing that is great about South Africa is that everything is somewhat catered towards black people, and contrary to some beliefs that Africans don't fukk with black Americans, the Africans I have encountered have been nothing but cordial towards me. And talking with some, it's become clear that there has been a grave misunderstanding; one dude I talked to saying that he felt like black americans didn't take Africans seriously, while I think some black Americans think that Africans think they're above or don't fukk with black Americans. I really don't think that is true. Every place I went to I was of course singled as an outsider, a traveler, but they all asked where I was from, all eager to help and talk.
Anyway. Soweto was brilliant. Saw the Mandela house, Soccer City and went to some buffet in the hood, and also saw the Hector Petersen memorial, which was all rather touching. What stands out though was a few Soweto brehs bumrushing our camp and singing song and dance about Soweto for money. I thought to myself, "Oh, I've seen this movie before
" and braced myself for the inevitable rushing from several street urchins as they tore and ran our pockets to shreds, us allowing this as we are mystified by the song and dance of the lovable block youth. But nothing happened. They sang the song and I gave them 170 rand. I was probably a bit shanghaied in the end, but whatever Perhaps the greatest gift of the trip so far has been the introduction of Peri-Peri sauce onto my palate, and general South African cuisine. I have yet to feel any sort of hunger pangs, as every day has been an unceasing menu of toothsome delights, ragouts, drinks, beers, gin, meats, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and breads.
The Peri-Peri sauce has perhaps climbed my list to the top of my favorite condiments, unseating ranch dressing and sriracha. I'm not quite sure how they make it but it is some type of pepper condiment that has a very rich flavor with a considerable heat. One bite and the brow begins to sweat, the tongue does a jig on the hearth, your eyes begin to get that rheumy look of a pensioner, and your brain is programmed simply on the sensory delights and pains that you are currently enduring. And then peace, and flavor, as the television of your mind finds the correct reception, and everything turns to a welcome calm. If only they had that peri-peri in the states
Also, I love the time zones here. I've been able to watch several premier league matches (as well as local matches) at very good times. Even though those unmentionable fukkboys + Sanchez lost
(is that true 
