Welcome to Johannesburg

 Then I entered South Africa. I took a long distance taxi from the border of Lesotho to Johannesburg, and I was a little nervous along the way because the Johannesburg taxi rank has a bad reputation. Many a Peace Corps volunteer have been mugged there. After nearly five hours of driving, the taxi pulled the city, the epicenter of World Cup 2010.

Littered, dirty streets amid worn down buildings. Africans everywhere, only Africans, which in South Africa means something because in a decent part of any city in the country you have a mix of races. This was definitely not a decent part of Johannesburg. The taxi pulled into a gated dirt lot between two buildings where it stopped and men flocked to the windows and doors.

A man grabbed my bag and asked, “Where are you going?” The passenger next to me, whom I had told, said, Airport. My hostel was right near the airport. “Come,” said the man, and he took my other bag and gave it to his friend. I followed them but took my small bag back because my laptop was inside. “I can carry the small one myself, it's not heavy.”

We walked a half-block, crossed a street, then another half-block and entered a similar dirt lot between two buildings. Lines of people curved through the lot and taxis loaded them. The guys put me in a line and then one said, “Now give us some money so we can eat. We have helped you.”

I pulled out 10 rand and gave each guy 5. “Ai, this is not money. Don't play with us. 60 or 70 at least. This is what tourists give us.”

I took the 5 rand coins back and pulled a 20 note out of my pocket. “Ai, don't play. I don't have time for this. Give us money or I will have to take it.”

I had two bags, one of which was heavy and unwieldy. I was a white tourist surrounded by black locals in a part of a city I didn't know. I hadn't seen a single police officer around. The people in line around me weren't even paying attention to us. It seemed to me it would be like taking candy from a baby for these two guys to just walk off with my bags right then. And they seemed inclined. I pulled a 50 rand note from my pocket. That is a day's labor wage in Lesotho. I handed it over. They walked off and left my bags with me. Once I got to the front of the line I was asked where I was going, and when I said the airport the guy told me I was in the wrong line.

Once I reached the airport I looked for a personal taxi to take me literally down the street to the hostel where I was booked. I could have walked, except it's not smart to walk with big bags like mine in many parts of Johannesburg. I found a taxi, and when he dropped me off two minutes later he demanded 100 rand, “plus some tip.”

At the hostel, where I had stayed once before, I was charged three times the normal rate plus a “10 percent World Cup tourist levy.” I crashed onto a couch and watched on television the “Kick Off Celebration” concert across the city in Soweto where Black-Eyed Peas and Alicia Keyes played, along with other musicians from around the world. It was a feel good event where nearly every act or speaker gushed about the world finally opening up to Africa. Beautiful, mother Africa. Then South Africa's president, Jacob Zuma, took the stage. “I want to especially thank South Africans for welcoming our visitors so warmly,” he said.

South Africa plays Mexico in the opening match tonight. I'm rooting for Mexico.