J-BAY & BEYOND
The immigration desk can often provide a telling insight into the country you’re about to enter. The United States, for example, has all the fear, intimidation and severity of a nation under siege. A place where, if you fit the bill, you might be asked by the immigration official whether you smoke marijuana or not? And if you answer “negative” and they don’t buy it, they’ll seize your phone, go through your texts to see whether you’ve lied or not. If so, send you to lock up and put you on the first flight out of the country. (True story—happened to a dreadlocked friend of mine.)
Arriving at the immigration desk at 5.30 am in Johannesburg, you’re greeted by a KwaZulu female official cradling a cup of coffee, singing traditional songs and dancing as she waves you through with a smile to get your passport stamped.
The transit lounge offers more clues as to how this deeply divided, insanely unequal, and historically racist country manages to get by. In a nation where death and discrimination lurk on nearly every corner, where interracial fraternising was once a crime and remains frowned upon in many circles, the most rebellious thing people can do is express
