Johannesburg, the over-grown mining camp it is, will always be a snake-pit. There's no two ways about it. Everyday I spend here is a struggle. I know Jozi like I know the back of my hand, and there is a part of me that loves it. And a part of me that hates it.
This is place where things happen, anything. And you have to be prepared for that. Life in the fastlane, lost in the mainframe.
Over the last week I've seen many ghosts, memory flashbacks mostly, but some real ghosts too. The ghosts are here for me to see plain as day. Most of them are benign, but the sharp edge of memory is real too.
Today I went back to where I used to live in Yeoville, at the top of the ridge, overlooking the city, thunderstorms sweeping the eastern skies, the sun bearing down on Hillbrow and the city centre illuminated by bright spotlights.
My struggle is that I know how life can be different; I know this place, it's hope and misery. At the end of the day though; there are only two kinds of people on the planet. Those who were born in Jozi, and those who weren't.
Acceptance. That'd be the keyword to it all. I don't think I can fight it much longer... I have to accept Jozi and how it has shaped me.