The Pollyanna of Parktown North

I’m afraid my post last week may have frightened a few of my loved ones, which was not my intention. So, Mom, I’m fine; I promise. And Jen, while I’d love to receive a plane ticket back home, I’m afraid Roger will be slightly upset if it’s not round trip. But don’t worry, guys! Joburg’s not that bad. And I’m pretty street smart, I think. Maybe not in the conventional way, but I’m careful. I listen to my instincts. I’m aware of the world around me. And I am a world traveler after all. I’ve lived in some of the world’s biggest cities. And hey – if you ever visited my home in East Atlanta, you know I can hold my own in a tough neighborhood.

And speaking of my former ‘hood – let me assure you that my current neighborhood is definitely a step up. To be honest, I was probably more likely to be shot on Flat Shoals than I am on Jan Smuts Ave! To prove my point – I certainly would never have gone out for a jog in East Atlanta, but here I go running four or five mornings a week. At first I only felt safe running in the park – and only if I brought Moose. But I quickly grew bored of the tiny park, and Moose quickly grew bored of jogging. So now I go jogging by myself – alone on the streets of Parktown North.

There aren’t many other joggers in my part of town, but that’s not to say there aren’t pedestrians. No, the streets are full of people walking to work – people who have taken the notorious "death taxis" into the city from the townships. These taxis usually unload on the main roads, and like clowns pouring out of a car at the circus, the passengers exit the taxis and disperse in the various directions of their employers. Yes, it is these people that I pass each day on my morning jog. I pass them on their way to the homes where they clean, or tend the garden, or cook. I pass them as they make their way to the cafes, shops and markets where they make a living. I don’t stop to chat, so I don’t know the details of their lives, but I do know this – they come to this nice neighborhood five, six, seven days a week, but they do not live here.

At first I was slightly afraid of my fellow pedestrians. After all, at six o’clock in the morning most of them weren’t looking particularly cheerful or kind. And no one ever smiles or says hello. Certainly not me. Here I am in the big bad city. Now is no time to talk to strangers, right?

As I jog, I used to consider what I would do if one of these people cornered me and tried to attack me – tried to take my pink iPod shuffle or my new Polar watch. Would I be able to describe them to the police later? I’ve always been amazed when a witness to a crime can describe the suspect’s appearance, and an artist can produce an accurate likeness. Would I be able to give such a description? Sometimes after I’ve passed someone, I will think about how I might describe them. Wide set eyes. Narrow jaw. Shiny skin. But this line of thinking is depressing. And didn’t I say that I refuse to be ruled by fear? So what if they look kinda grumpy? It’s six a.m. – who looks particularly perky at that time of the morning anyway?

So then I decided to change my approach. I decided to talk to strangers. Now, I say “Hello” and “Good morning” to everyone I pass, and magically, their faces transform. The sour expressions disappear into sparkling eyes and toothy grins and sometimes even a “Hello, Lovey!” (the elderly African woman’s favorite term of endearment). I’m not sure that they are genuinely pleased to say hello or if they feel they have to smile back at me. I don’t know, but it feels good to make a connection. In a world where racial tensions are high, I think it’s important that we acknowledge one another. To pass on the sidewalk without a word – well, it’s almost as if we’d rather pretend the other one didn’t exist. It’s as if we aren’t ready to see each other as friends, as equals – as if we aren’t ready to see each other at all. But to say hello…to smile and connect, if only for just a second – it feels good. It feels right.

But I’m not gonna get all self-righteous about it either. I’m no Pollyanna. There’s another reason that I smile and say hello. The way I see it, if I was a criminal looking to attack someone, I’d much rather hurt the girl who didn’t acknowledge my presence over the girl who smiled and made eye contact and said hello. Wouldn’t you? The theory hasn’t exactly been scientifically tested, but I’m going with it.

So I smile and say hello, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel slightly ashamed. After all, I’m jogging through the streets in a desperate attempt to burn off my culinary indulgences. They walk those same streets on their way to jobs where they will barely earn enough money to feed their families. They aren’t worried about the effects of last night’s fettuccini on their thighs. No, they are just hoping to have dinner on their table tonight. The irony is not lost on me, and yes, I feel ashamed. Not for being blessed with more than I need, but for not being grateful enough for it. I am ashamed for obsessing about something so trivial…for worrying about “too much,” when the real tragedy would be “not enough.”

Once again, I digress. But you can’t talk about crime without talking about poverty. There is a reason Joburg has so much crime – because there are so many people here going without. People trying to pay rent and feed families and buy clothes on about fifteen dollars a day – earned in homes where the ‘madam’ probably spends more on a pair of shoes than her maid earns in a month. Is it any wonder people resort to begging and stealing?

I realize that my thoughts on the subject are slightly naïve. I see enough senseless violence in the news every day to know that crime is not as simple as the needy taking what they need. And even if that were the case – it wouldn’t make it right.

But tonight I’ve rambled far too long already to start an analysis of the relationship between crime and poverty. Let’s just say I’m in the middle of an up close and personal lesson on the subject, so I’ll get back to you with my discoveries.

I’ll also get back to you on how my “Pollyanna” self-defense is going.
So far, so good.