When I Look Back... Into The Dérive...

After 100 days of various levels of national lockdown, the need to find and be in new spaces is urgent; visiting any place beyond the four walls of my room feels like an adventure. But the way we will handle public space from now on will change radically to accommodate the concerns regarding the spread of the Corona Virus.

Due to this I have never missed the freedom I used to find in certain spaces more. The crowds and pedestrians we are accustomed to seeing are severely dwindling in numbers, everyone is wearing masks and there is a cautious minimum 1-metre-rule that now subconsciously exists as we carefully walk around people on the sidewalk and in the shops.

When I look back I realise how much I appreciated the comfort, excitement, freedom and ambiance different spaces, and the people that occupied it, gave me. I realise now that it is unlikely I will be able to experience these places and these people in the same way. In honour of the memories certain places have created for me, I offer up a nostalgic derive to immerse oneself in during these times of national lockdown.

“When it becomes difficult to have our own adventures, we can always find them in one another.”

A derive, a French word meaning ‘to drift’, is an account of a person’s experience of a space as they drift through it in no intended direction. According to French Marxist philosopher, Guy Debord, people are more appreciative of and experience places in a more intimate way through the process of walking and observing what is occurring around them with no intentions of their own.

When it becomes difficult to have our own adventures, we can always find them in one another.

Johannesburg CBD Derive

I started at Park Station and exited on the back end into the local fruit and vegetable market. I found they also sold second hand clothing and second hand school books and novels, as the market caters for the local inner-city residential population. As I went further I saw small spaza shops and hair salons on the ground floors of old derelict office blocks that were now being repurposed for more residential accommodation.

Among the many old buildings, one building was being refurbished. It had the beginning of a beautiful mural of zebras, similar to the one found on Ellof Street, on one wall. Supposedly, it is being developed by the same investors who created the Braamfontein cultural precinct on the opposite end of the station. This seemed more like a threat of gentrification to the local population than an opportunity for regeneration in the area.

The atmosphere is busy as people go about their daily lives and attempt to make a living. The fruit looks fresh and colourful piled into pyramids for display. After buying some apples and giving them a wash, I found they tasted just as good as they looked. The people are warm and welcoming – they seem used to supporting one another as a community, as they swap and create the required change.

The sidewalks are littered with plastic and paper, and the paving shows signs of severe wear and tear. Additionally I did not witness a single metal manhole cover - they had all been stolen and sold as scrap metal. Now in place of them lay big exposed holes which you had to be cautious of. I feel happy and excited as I blended in with the people there. No one really pays much attention to me as they are so busy walking on their way to work, for lunch, or are running errands.

Just past the markets lay what could be seen as an anomaly, but is actually a key characteristic of South Africa’s skewed development, the lavish and pristine Bank City.

Bank City is almost completely opposite to the environment I just experienced. It is almost brand new, with mosaic patterned walk ways between the different banks, small cafés and shops, and the communal outdoor lounges in the central areas of courtyards that stand between 4- to 6-storey high office blocks. The architecture is modern and the buildings are freshly painted. Between them in the courtyards, milled few people in formal business and office attire, possibly out on their lunch break. Not many people are talking to one another and there seems to be a permanent sense of urgency permitting from the office-workers striding about. I feel out of place wandering around in casual fitness wear at a significantly slower pace. I am probably noticed more here.

I walk through the old mining district on a narrow cobblestone walkway, between large modern office blocks that frame one of the first roads in Johannesburg. Between the buildings lay old mine shafts, small restored railway carts that transported the gold, and other artifacts that were part of early mining mechanisms.

Just past the old mining district is the Chancellor House and the old legal office of Nelson Mandela. A statue of him, in a boxing fighting stance, made of colourful layers of metal lies in from of the small golden statue of Lady Justice in front of the courthouse. As I pass his old legal offices I read a timeline display through its windows detailing his early life, his studies, his law career and his participation in the fight against Apartheid. Walking through this part of town makes me feel immersed in the local history dating from the establishment of Johannesburg during the Gold Rush all the way to Apartheid, and I also see signs of the manifestation of the Post Colonial South Africa.

As I walk back towards the station, I notice the street art and graffiti I find around every corner. Joburg streets display such a range of street art, from a variety of graffiti tag ‘blowups’ (the name of a graffiti artist in styles of large bold font) to commissioned street-art and mural by international artists.

I walk through Braamfontein’s new cultural precinct decorated with various alternative bars and cafes, which holds an air of gentrification mixed with the contemporary university culture of neighbourhood campus, WITS University. This part of the city can be seen milling with students during the academic terms, and on Saturday mornings these streets are teeming with diverse groups of people and a growing amount of tourists as they visit the local Nighbourgoods Market, located in an alleyway parking lot opposite a student-populated digs apartment block. I feel a tingling sense of wonder and familiarity, as the buzz of activity reminds me of campus in Grahamstown but the environment is significantly larger.

As I stroll back to the station, I notice my urge to remain is strong and my need to leave is reluctant, but onwards I must drift.