What a week

Johannesburg is not an easy city to love right now.

You see it in the potholes, the broken pavements, the many traffic lights that no longer work, and the buildings that carry the quiet dignity of better decades. There is anger there too, and sadness, and frustration. Some of it belongs at the feet of politicians and corruption. Some of it belongs to systems that have failed.

But some of it belongs to me. To us.

Not in a blaming way. In an empowering way.

Because cities do not decay overnight. They decay gradually, in parallel with a quiet erosion of shared responsibility. And they recover the same way. Gradually. Locally. Person by person, street by street, institution by institution.

I was reminded of this repeatedly during a week spent in Johannesburg, one of my favourite cities and where I have spent much of my life. It was a week of contrasts. Of vulnerability and strength. Of decay and brilliance. Of danger and kindness. Of difference, in all its forms.

And ultimately, of perspective.

The fragility of the moment

On Tuesday afternoon, walking from one meeting to another in Rosebank, I was attacked from behind.

It happened quickly. A hand grabbing at my phone. A scuffle. Fingers and wrist bent back painfully. A sudden surge of adrenaline and instinct (and punches from CResults!) Then the attacker was gone, jumping into a waiting car and disappearing as quickly as he had arrived.

Nothing was taken as I was not letting go of my phone, bag or ring. But something was revealed.

How fragile the moment is. How quickly normalcy can be interrupted. How fortunate we are when outcomes are better than they might have been.

My wrist remains bloody sore. A small, daily reminder of that encounter.

But I walked away.

And in walking away, I was reminded of something else. That fear cannot be allowed to define our relationship with our cities or our country. If it does, we surrender more than just physical space. We surrender possibility.

Later that same afternoon, I sat with friends over champagne. We spoke about life and ideas and plans. We laughed. We debated. We shared stories. Hosted by Derek from Great Domaines.

Music has always captured this paradox better than analysis can. Leonard Cohen wrote, “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” Cities are like that too. So are people. So are countries. Imperfect, wounded, and yet still capable of brilliance.

The contrast was not lost on me.

In the same city, within the same hour, both violence and generosity existed. Both threat and friendship. Both fragility and resilience.

That is Johannesburg. And that is South Africa.

Institutions matter because people matter

Over the following days, I was fortunate to spend time in places and with people who quietly, persistently, make things better.

At EasyEquities, I saw a growing team united not by uniformity, but by shared purpose. Different backgrounds, different personalities, different journeys. All contributing in their own way to a common mission.

At St Stithians, I attended the Dukes Valentine’s concert. On stage stood young people who represented the full diversity of our country. Different races, different voices, different expressions of identity. Some confident, some nervous, some flamboyant, some understated.

All belonging.

It was made even more special by the personal threads woven into that evening. My godson Tian Crafford is the Head of Dukes this year. His brother Yuan Crafford was inducted as a new Duke. To see them step into a tradition that has been carried forward across generations was profoundly moving.

Schools and communities at their best create continuity. Not sameness, but continuity. They create a lattice of relationships across time. Teachers and students. Parents and children. Godparents and godchildren. Friends and mentors. These connections strengthen us. They remind us that we are part of something larger than ourselves, something that existed before us and will continue after us.

Shakespeare captured this enduring truth in The Tempest: “What’s past is prologue.” The past does not constrain us. It prepares us.

Education at its best does not produce conformity. It produces individuals who are secure enough to engage with a complex world, and with people who are different from themselves.

Difference expands us

Over the course of the week, this theme repeated itself in different settings.

At a bridge table hosted by a dear friend, surrounded by players far stronger than me, I was reminded that growth requires humility. At a book club, listening to interpretations that differed from my own, I was reminded how much there still is to learn.

Music reminds us of this too. Nina Simone once said that an artist’s duty is to reflect the times. She did so not by conforming, but by standing firmly in her own truth. Her difference was her strength.

The Booker Prize winning author Douglas Stuart wrote in Shuggie Bain that “You cannot be brave if you have only had wonderful things happen to you.” Difficulty deepens us. It strengthens empathy. It broadens perspective.

Difference, including difficult difference, expands us.

Local responsibility is where change begins

My friend Dennis Beckett wrote years ago about the importance of local accountability. Of bringing responsibility closer to home. Of knowing the person responsible for fixing your street, not as an abstract official, but as someone you can speak to. Someone you can support. Someone you can challenge.

He was right then. He is even more right now.

We cannot outsource the future of our communities entirely to distant structures. We must participate in building them.

Fix what is in front of you. Help your neighbour. Support your school. Strengthen your workplace. Show up for your community.

Momentum begins locally.

Life reminds us, sometimes gently and sometimes not

This week also carried deeper personal weight.

My father suffered a massive stroke. He is nearly 88. Physically and emotionally, he will never be what he was before. That is the reality.

But he is still here. Our responsibility now is to ensure that he is comfortable, that he is treated with dignity, and that he has the best quality of life possible for whatever time remains, whether that is days, months, or years.

Around the same time, I reflected on the passing of my university friend, Liza Albrecht, who died at just 51 after cancer. Liza was smart, fun, funny, and complex. She was also a trailblazer, becoming the first female editor of Rapport and one of the youngest editors of a major national publication in South Africa.

We did not always agree. Our paths diverged. But she played a massive role in my life at a formative time. She challenged me. She made me think differently. She helped shape who I became.

Her passing is a reminder that life does not unfold on a predictable timetable. Some of us are given warning. Others are not.

It is tempting to speak of fighting illness, of battles won or lost. But perhaps that misses the point. Life is not something we conquer. It is something we live, day by day, moment by moment.

Author Julian Barnes wrote, “Life is not an emergency, but living urgently matters.” That urgency is not about panic. It is about presence. About recognising the gift of time, however much or little of it we are given.

Today, sitting in church at Stellenbosch Gemeente, reflecting on difference and diversity, I was reminded that faith calls us into relationship. Relationship with God. Relationship with others. Relationship with ourselves.

Difference is not something to fear. It is something to understand. To engage with. To love.

Choosing contribution over complaint

It is easy to complain about Johannesburg. About South Africa. About the state of things.

Some of those complaints are valid.

But complaint alone does not build anything.

Contribution does.

Every teacher who stays late. Every entrepreneur who builds. Every volunteer who gives their time. Every neighbour who cares. Every institution that operates with integrity.

These acts rarely make headlines. But they shape the future.

Johannesburg, for all its flaws, remains a place of extraordinary people. So does South Africa.

The future will not be shaped only by those in formal positions of power. It will be shaped by those who show up. Those who take responsibility. Those who engage with difference, not as a threat, but as an opportunity.

Not to be different for its own sake.

But to make a difference where it matters most.

See you again soon Jozi town. I ain’t done with you yet! Nor with the many wonderful people who live there.