Somehow it’s a long road to Johannesburg, made yet longer by the delays at the border. It’s a wonder how all those bureaucrats are going to survive taxes abolition, when the unavoidable and desirable simplification of procedures arrive with the only market for the region.
This is a road far from monotonous, crossing the lowveld, mountains and finally the open plain of Gauteng, where Joburg is situated. The road stretches along a vast brownish extension of land, good for agriculture, industry and mining. This brown tapestry remains almost the same throughout the seasons, a clear sign of how rigorous winters and summers are.
One thing is for sure, if your imagination can fly with such a road you’ll soon forget witch corner of the world you are really speed crossing. A German highway, maybe?
At the end of this road, like a surprise gift, lies a feverish, labyrinthine city. Arriving in Jozi is always like mooring alongside a well-known quay, where you meet old and new friends. Things don’t change. They only disguise themselves with different clothing. Just like life doesn’t change either. Life takes turns and invites us to go ahead or not. Nothing can ever change the way people do.