Since the First Resident of our republic initiated lockdown last year, I've tried to sharpen my sanity-finding skills by immersing myself in a little insanity. The Johannesburg CBD and its surroundings have all the insanity I need to test my ability to stay sane.
Abandoning the more than 100km of dedicated cycling lanes in the city and venturing on my mountain bike into its grimiest crevices gives me a feeling of being viscerally connected with the city.
My chakras line up when I find yet another unnamed coffee shop in Bertrams where the barista is from the same country as the brew he's serving. It's calming for me to listen to passionate stories from home countries like Kenya, Rwanda, Tanzania and Uganda as they divulge what makes their beans better than everyone else's. Just before a civil war breaks out over which African country produces the best coffee, I'm out of there.
Like a Joburg northern suburbs housewife, I unnecessarily get off my bike and climb it over the kerb of barely raised pavements as I cycle over to one of the most chaotic parts of the metropolis. I find it calming. Newtown's public art makes it, for me, one of the most therapeutic places in Joburg.
The colourfully tagged Winnie Madikizela-Mandela under the M2 bridge doesn't charge me anything as she listens to my first-world problems: not having enough money, not having the coolest mountain bike, not living in the leafiest suburb.
Just a few more revolutions of the chain and the life-size bronze statue of Brenda Fassie — located close to the Sci-Bono Discovery Centre and the Music Factory — fills me with warmth as she smiles maternally at me, almost offering a hug full of soul that's worth more than money.
This is an area inhabited by many poor and homeless people, but it's rich with history. As I exit Newtown, I wheelie my bike past the Bus Factory as a kind of salute — a sign of respect for the place that was a garage to house buses in the 1970s. Before that, it was a repair station for the city's trams. Today, it houses a number of up-and-coming artists' studios.
I ride over to one of the most chaotic parts of the metropolis ... I find it calming
Sanity, for me, is doing things that some would consider crazy, like attempting to follow a 1931 map of the tram lines in the inner city. They take me through Berea and Hillbrow, offering some of the most tranquil views of the bustling migrant city from above.
One of my lockdown hacks for staying sane has been cycling through areas that I think may be gentrified in the near future. I predicted the rise of Maboneng but I didn't see the development of Lorentzville coming.
I'm willing to bet that the suburbs of Cyrildene and Rosettenville are next on the list to be re-ignited by the hipsters among us. They possess the richest deposits of Chinese and Portuguese heritage in the city. Slap on a plaque or two about the areas' histories and tourists — even local ones like myself — will be queuing up in no time.
One of the eventualities of being on two wheels is picking up a puncture, and this forces me to push my bike to the nearest convenience store. This humbling event gives me the opportunity to interact with the city's salt of the earth: nurses coming home from a 12-hour shift and fuel station attendants — who know more about the city than Google and taxi drivers — are able to direct me to the best places to have the cheapest and tastiest lunches.
Of course, I know this account of the city makes no directional sense as I zigzag from one end of it to the other, and back again, but, as I said, this mad lack of aim and direction helps me feel sane. As I cycle through the many different parts of my city, taking in what's changing and what's staying the same, I feel more and more connected to where I live.
