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After seven years catering to the world’s wealthiest in the UAE, my friend returned home for a well-deserved break, offering a stark contrast between the unchanging charm and rising challenges of our beloved city writes 041Culture columnist MVUME NDIMBA.

Recently a friend of mine came home for a holiday. 

For the last 7 years, he has been living and working in the United Arab Emirates (UAE) in the hospitality industry. Taking care of the various needs of the obscenely wealthy of this world. His time back home was a chance to unwind and not need to cater to other people. He recently came into some well-deserved success and wanted to come home and enjoy the fruits of his labour. 

We went outside over the weekend shared a couple of drinks and spoke. One of the biggest takeaways I got from our chat is the fact that: 

1. Everything is still the same. 

2. Everything is different. 

I know this is a contradiction but hear me out. In his time here in the bay, before immigrating, he was a self-admitted screw-up. He loved a nice time and often found himself in less-than-safe areas for the sake of vibes. He commented on this saying the majority of the clubs we once frequented are now closed. The hospitality industry in our city has all the potential to rival the likes of Mykonos and Ibiza but for some reason, it just never seems to grow beyond having “potential”… Everything is the same. 

On his final night in the city, he decided to host a small braai, he invited me, another childhood friend of ours and the 3 of us sat with his sister, parents, uncles and aunties and discussed the state of the city. One recurring theme was the fact that the crime had gotten way out of hand. 

Uncle Simon lamented, between sips of his brandy and coke that “kidnapping and ransoming has become quite popular these days” Uncle Steven, puffing his Winston blues, groaned and grumbled about the work he puts in constantly to maintain the fencing around his small holding. Telling us how every week or so some clever chap will try to break into his home but is scared off by the trio of hell-hounds that survey his 13-hectare property. “it’s all about deterrents”  he said, some of his British accent bleeding through his South African dialect. “If they approach the fence the sensor will go off, alerting farm-com and local law enforcement. If they manage to get through the electic fencing somehow they get to deal with the girls” He said gesturing to the 3 Rottweilers. 

“And if they manage to get through these man-eaters, I got something to pepper them up nicely” as he gestured to his hip, implying that uncle Steven keeps that thing on him in case he has to lay an intruder out on their back. I kept my thoughts on farm murders to myself and elected to listen more than I spoke this evening.

Everything is different. 

On my podcast’s last episode I spoke to GQ’s spot as the number 1, most dangerous city in the country and at the time (around March) I laughed it off thinking they counted petty crimes like theft and scams in the ranking but I was wrong. Loud and wrong! 

Since that episode wrapped we’ve seen 2 business owners kidnapped and ransomed for R1m + each, I’ve seen two armed robberies go off at Little Jamaica (robbing stoners is crazy) and DSTV in Newton Park, thanks to CCTV footage released by local publications. 

A murder/suicide in Bluewater Bay where a man took his own life after killing everyone else in his home, a pastor in Njoli killed over R100 notes and a literal spree that saw 9 people lose their lives in Motherwell, months after a young man and his younger brother were killed over a botched robbery attempt set up by a sale on Facebook marketplace. 

Things have gotten weird outside and it still seems like some of us aren’t truly aware. Perhaps due to socio-economic reasons, geographical reasons or simply due to not paying attention to your surroundings, but everywhere we look our city has started a decline and that breaks my heart as a citizen of this beautiful city. 

This is enough to depress anyone… Except for me, because my brain works differently I assume. . 

To flashback to the Saturday night when my friend and I sat down for some beers.

I left the parking lot and walked toward my favourite bar, I looked good, smelled good and felt good, ready to catch up with an old friend and talk a little shit for the first time in a while. Suddenly a white Polo pulled up directly in front of me. As the rear door opened my mind ran to the crime stats, our ranking as number 1 in the country when it comes to crimes, the fact that i looked, smelled and felt good. I instinctively dropped my right foot back, squared my shoulders and got into a fight stance as a female voice said to her driver “stop, stop, stop” 

I cocked my fist and prepared to swing as a small size 5 foot touched the ground, the foot attached to a leg, to thigh to a hip… my stance softened. A young woman popped out, smiling with warmth and love in her eyes, “hey!” she exclaimed. 

The emotional rollercoaster slowed as I recognised what was going on. 

“How are you ?” she said in a distinctly northern Sotho accent. 

“I’m good, how are you?” I responded, forgetting that I was just mentally and emotionally prepared to swing on this person. 

“My name is (redacted) and I am part of the 041 connect. A local organisation of young professionals who meet regularly to discuss our professional lives and connect as God-fearing-” 

I switched off at this point and realised that I am a little traumatised by my city. A few years ago I would’ve assumed she wanted a piece or was part of a young group of Christians trying to recruit more people (which is pretty much the same thing, hence them being “Jesus freaks”). Instead, my first thought was “ndizophakwa apha” 

We finished our parking lot talk, exchanged information and met up again recently with the rest of her group. Surrounded by engineers, accountants and auditors all I could think was “this is nice”. 

This ties back to the original idea behind this column… Everything is different. Myself included… but everything is the same. The friendly city is still a city full of love and yearning for connection and support. We still lead with love in this little slice of South Africa, the same love I felt in that bar where I sat with a bunch of Christian strangers and discussed the difficulty of just existing in the world while trying to maintain a spiritual and emotional balance,  at that braai on the farm with the old white men. As I looked through Aunty Sharon’s artwork for the last few decades, as I hugged her and her family goodbye. Our city is still one full of joy and potential and one day, when I’m big, I’ll come back here and tell you all why the high-rise buildings in Central, just off the freeway approaching Summerstrand will never be refurbished and turned into a benefit for our local economy (older folks tea is HOT okay?) 

I say all this to say that, yes. Crime is on the rise here, people are hungry and they have no issue taking the food off their plate since their plate is empty. But lead with love, keep your heart open and your eyes open. Become aware of the city you live in for what it is, a place where like-minded individuals can sit and plan and create with an almost unified way of thinking, but remember that trust is earned, dont let fear run your life because if I did I never would’ve met the crew of ladies and gentlemen who enjoy a nice cold chocolate milkshake after a long day while I sip my Jack Black Lager. 

Stay safe out there!