Behind bars

Johannesburg

The South African sun is beating down on my brother’s garden. We have just returned from a shopping mall in Johannesburg. Jo’burg is full of shopping malls, massive American-style walkways. My brother and I have been sitting outside the Seattle Coffee Company watching people as they pass by. South Africans are averse to tanning. Some claim this is latent racism, others argue that in a country where the sun shines nearly every day they simply wish to preserve an element of youthfulness for as long as possible.

My brother lives in one of those high-security compounds. It has walls with electric barbed-wire and armed guards. I am supposed to wear a panic button around my neck. It is on a heavy chain and is red and unwieldy. If I press it, six armed guards are supposed to leap over the wall. I imagine that this is the closest I will ever come to living like a Hollywood celebrity. But for most middle-class whites this sequestered existence is the norm. I asked one white South African what preoccupied them, and she replied, ‘Being murdered.’ Then added as an afterthought, ‘And money.’

Living in a compound makes one feel like a goldfish. But it is safer than living in a detached house no matter how heavily guarded. The grounds of a detached house are full of trees and bushes, from which an armed robber can stage an ambush as you sit in your car waiting for the electric gate to open.

This is how most attacks occur. Usually the robbers poke a machinegun through the window or smash it. Then they order the occupants to lie face-down on the floor. If you are lucky they take your money or your watch. If you are unlucky they shoot you.