Some enterprising shopkeepers in the shops adjoining the mall had installed kiosk-type windows opening onto the street, so they could sell their wares to passers-by. This was particularly evident in the case of shops providing food and drinks. One could pause from one’s browsing and have a burger and a Coke, or something more indigenous, like nqushu or a walkie-talkie.
I heard, I think, most of the languages of South Africa—apart from Tshivenda and Xitsonga—and quite a few others, including Igbo, Amharic, Shona, Chichewa, Kiswahili, French, and Portuguese, as well as a few others that I couldn’t identify. It struck me that I can probably do my language acquisition in preparation for my African Odyssey free of charge right here, and find it quite enjoyable too.
The variety was spectacular. There were people in conservative Islamic dress, way-out Western dress, and all the variants between these two poles. Skin colours ranged from my extreme “white” to the darkest of browns (a.k.a. “black”); and all manner of facial features were to be seen—flat noses, narrow noses, aquiline noses, round eyes, almond-shaped eyes, high foreheads, low foreheads. There were shaven heads, crew-cuts, small braids, long hair, dreadlocks, blonde, black, brown, grey, even a few blue rinses.
I saw at least two walk-in chapels that advertised prayer services every two hours. Music tumbled from more than a dozen different speakers down the length of the mall and it was all either Gospel or Christmas carols. Even the obviously Muslim storekeepers were selling Christmas trees and decorations and had Christmas greetings inscribed on the fronts of their stalls. I loved being there.
I think that what struck me most was that, in all the busyness, it was very peaceful. I saw no evidence of a police presence. Everyone mixed together quite happily, united by a common purpose—the pursuit of a bargain or two. The merchants seemed to be kindly disposed to their “opposition”—the stalls on either side of them. I got the feeling that they were looking out for one another, rather than viewing each other with hostility.
It made me wonder how much of the racial tension in Africa—and in the world—is actually not naturally occurring, but is the product of the imbecilic rhetoric of political leaders, who are determined to stay in office, whatever the cost. It seems to me that, if you take a racially mixed cohort of people and put them together somewhere, their main priority is to get on with their lives, and not to start fighting with one another. Prejudice disappears in the face of a shared purpose. One can see clear evidence of this in the “colour-blindness” of people who live on the street.
I suppose that like will always be attracted to like (mostly), and that one will generally tend to seek out people with whom one has the most in common, especially language and religion; but this doesn’t necessarily include a call to hostility toward those with whom one has less in common.
I think I was reminded—again—of my African-ness. I happily sacrificed my personal space—which I so diligently protect in western-style shopping malls—and enjoyed the bustle, cheerfully being jostled by enthusiastic buyers. I lost track of time and really enjoyed myself.
It felt quite other-worldly to return to the motorcycle shop—long after my bike was ready—and look at all the sophisticated gadgets on display with their neat little labels containing bar-codes, SKU numbers, and prices. Africa really is a continent of contrasts.
Xikwembu xa matimba; katekisa Afrika, ndzikhongela!