#Culture

I still haven’t finished telling you about my gallivant around Europe, which happened back in March and April and is fast becoming ancient history. I’m going to keep on peppering you with one or two European posts a month until all the stories are told.

For nearly three years, Thorsten and I have watched and listened to the exercise classes happening in Kingston Frost Park behind our Brixton house. We walked past many times and spoke to Dennis Dlomo, the coach, who greets everyone passing by and invites them to join. I heard the classes every morning and afternoon while typing on my laptop in my home office. But we didn’t get up the courage to actually join Dennis Dlomo’s Fantastic Fitness Club (the word “fantastic” is my own addition) until last month.

I’m struggling with this post. I keep writing stuff and then deleting it because I don’t know what to say about Hillbrow that I haven’t said before. I’ve been blogging about Hillbrow since 2011 (that first post was embarrassing though), and I’ve used up all the Hillbrow clichés. I’ve even created some clichés of my own, like “Hillbrow is hard to know.” I wrote that in 2017 and then almost used it as the title of this post, until I realized it’s super pretentious.

I don’t want to go into the whole story of why the library, which underwent a glorious renovation just a little over a decade ago, has been closed for such an inordinately long time – theoretically for repairs. There are lots of other stories you can read about that, and anyway if you live in Joburg you already know the answer. The city is experiencing a complete breakdown of infrastructure and public services, and our political leaders seem unwilling or unable to do anything about it.

When my friend Michelle, with whom I traveled around Spain during my recent European trip, first suggested we should check out the Picos de Europa, I had the same response that you might be having: the Who de What?

Ever since I moved to Melville in 2010 – and since long before that – people have been portending the suburb’s demise. “Melville’s not like it used to be,” people would say. And I used to chuckle at those people until a couple of years ago, when I’m ashamed to admit I became one of them.