Welcome to Johannesburg

Salutations, people. Carol Siegfried here. I'm a young woman living in the City of Johannesburg, crown jewel of the Republic of South Africa. My parents Dieter and Maria Siegfried moved to the Republic of South Africa from their hometown of Heidelberg, Germany, in the summer of 1999. We've been here ever since. I barely remember Germany, and proudly consider myself a South African. It's one of the most beautiful places in the world. I wish more people from the outside world would visit South Africa and see it for themselves rather than believing the lies told by others.

I'm not dumb enough to sit here and lie to you about the racial politics of South Africa. While the country is more integrated than it's ever been, the past continues to haunt us. Black, white, Indian, Chinese, South Africa is home to a very diverse population. We're all obsessed with identity, which is a problem. I pray for the day when all South Africans will see themselves as citizens of RSA first and foremost, rather than anything else.

The Republic of South Africa isn't one country, but several small countries woven into one. Among the blacks, Xhosa and Zulu don't get along. Among the whites, the Dutch, the English and the Germans aren't in love with each other. The only thing that kept them united in the past was a fear of black revolt. The ascent of Nelson Mandela to the Presidency of South Africa terrified them, but our nation's father saw the future and proved a wonderful leader. The Indians and the Chinese have an economical rivalry going on, and it's nothing new. Sounds like a madhouse, eh? Welcome to South Africa.

When September 2015 came, I began my third year in the School of Engineering at the University of Johannesburg. It's an exciting time for me. I want to be a civil engineer, like my father before me. I love building things, even though it's not a traditionally female pursuit. I could care less about that. I've always been the type of gal to go my own way without caring what others thought of me. That's why I've often been called Red-Hot Carol, as much for my hair color as my fiery temper. I am just me, I guess.

I'm six-foot-one, neither skinny nor fat, but "sturdy" as my father puts it. As I said before, I've got bright red hair, lime-green eyes and I guess I have some Irish in me or something because I don't tan, I burn. Oh, and I have freckles over most of my skin. If you call me "Spotty", like those fools at Four Holy Marshals Academy, my old Catholic school, I will kick your arse. I used to get teased by other students at my old school for my chubbiness, my hair color and other factors. Yeah, there's a reason why I have such a sparkling personality.

To the white students, I was Chunky Carol. Believe me when I tell you that I did not like the nickname, but it stuck to me like white on rice. To the black students, I was simply the Witch. A lot of blacks believe that red hair is a curse. They also seem to hate albinos. Don't ask me why. All I know is that the students at my old school, regardless of color, were united...in teasing me. Small wonder I grew up to be a mean bitch. The only person who was nice to me at school was this skinny black dude named Joseph Anathi, a nerd from a Xhosa background.

Four Holy Marshals Academy, located at the heart of metropolitan Johannesburg, took the progressive approach after the Republic of South Africa embraced racial integration. The school remained sixty percent white, and the sons and daughters of well-to-do Black, Indian and Chinese families were allowed to enroll. To me, the school was pure hell and I didn't like it for aforementioned reasons. I spoke German, and had to learn English. From my friend Joseph, I learned the Xhosa language, starting with the curses.

I got along just fine with my non-annoying classmates, regardless of color. As I said before, I loved building things and excelled at mathematics. One of our few black teachers, Roselyn Anathi, who also happened to be Joseph's mother, encouraged me in this. After school, I would hang out at Joseph's house and we'd play together. Now, considering how recent Apartheid was, you might think this was a problem for our respective families and you'd be wrong.

Joseph's father, Lincoln Anathi, is a police officer with the City of Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department and his mother Roselyn was my math teacher. They were nice folks, rising within Johannesburg's growing black middle class, and my parents were always polite and friendly with them. Get this through your head, outsiders. Not every person of color in South Africa is angry and disenfranchised, and not every white person is bigoted and paranoid. Most of us are decent people trying to live our lives the best way we can. Got it? Cool.

Joseph Anathi graduated from Four Holy Marshals Academy in 2011, and I was there along with his parents and mine to encourage him. Joseph looked so handsome in his cap and gown. The nerdy young Xhosa who'd been my friend and playmate since my earliest days in Johannesburg grew up to be six-foot-three, burly and handsome, with chocolate skin, and a smooth shaved head. Imagine a younger version of actor Wesley Snipes and you'd get what I mean.

My father Dieter gave Mr. Lincoln Anathi a bottle of Pinotage, one of South Africa's best wives, to celebrate Joseph's graduation day. We were at the barbecue that followed the ceremony. At the barbecue, all the adults were sitting around and talking and drinking, while Joseph and I made ourselves scarce. I turned eighteen a few months prior but still had a year to go at Four Holy Marshals Academy, and I couldn't wait to get out of there. I envied Joseph, for many reasons.

You see, Joseph Anathi won himself an international scholarship to study at the University of Toronto in Ontario, Canada. The governments of South Africa and Canada have an agreement for educational and economic partnership, you see. Lots of Canadian students come to Johannesburg, and lots of South African students ( of all shades ) come to Canada. I wanted to go to Canada so bad, but didn't have the grades. Joseph, the smarty pants, got to go. I was happy for him but envious.

Joseph and I sat together in a quiet room near his father's study. It was the same room where we smoked weed and played with trucks. As we sat there, my buddy Joseph and I talked about the future. Joseph couldn't shut up about Canada and how thrilled he was to go there. Sitting across from my lifelong friend, who looked so handsome in his blue silk shirt and black silk pants, my heart skipped a beat. I swear I never thought of Joseph that way before.

One minute we were sitting there, talking about school and whatever, and the next, I was holding Joseph's face in my hands. The young Xhosa looked startled. I drew closer, then stopped. I smiled, trying to mask my nervous. Joseph hesitated, then he pulled me close and kissed me. Just like that, Joseph and I crossed the line between friends, and many others. It was my first time kissing anyone, I swear.

When we came up for air, I looked into Joseph's eyes and told him I wanted him. Joseph pushed me away. Muttering something about differences, Joseph got up, looked at me sadly and walked away from me. I called out his name, but he ignored me. From that day forward, I stopped hanging out with Joseph. When he left Johannesburg for the bright lights of Toronto, I didn't even shed a tear. I decided to forget about him. Rejection hurts, folks, and us ladies aren't immune to feeling hurt when the guy we want acts like a jerk and pushes us away. Lives have been lost over that type of shit, pardon my German.

Life goes on, folks. I graduated from Four Holy Marshals Academy in 2012, and immediately enrolled at the University of Johannesburg. I began my classes in September, and put Joseph Anathi and his soft lips and sinfully sexy body behind me. I met this guy named Lloyd, a newcomer from New South Wales, Australia, and we dated for a year. Our relationship ended when I caught Lloyd in bed with Justine Chang, a Chinese chick I was friends with. I deleted them both from my Facebook and my life.

In 2013, I met this guy named Gary Singh. Tall, brown-skinned, dark-haired and handsome, Gary is originally from the City of Pretoria. His father is Indian and his mother is white. I was really surprised to meet Gary's parents. In South Africa you see a lot of white males with Indian women, Chinese women and Black women but you seldom see a white woman crossing the racial line. Gary's parents, Ram Singh and Alexandra James-Singh, were very nice. I liked them a lot. Gary and I had many wonderful times together. I even introduced him to my parents and you know what? They were fine with us dating.

Gary Singh and I dated for the next two years, and then he met this tall Indian chick named Richa in the University of Johannesburg Architecture Programme and it was all downhill from there. Gary ended up leaving me for Richa, whom he married. I felt sick to my stomach when I heard they got wedded in a chapel near campus. What is it about me that's so unlovable? I am not the prettiest gal in the world but I'd like to think I'm okay. Is there any man out there capable of loving a six-foot-one, chubby, pale-skinned redhead with a huge ass and an even bigger temper? Guess not.

My father sat me down and talked to me, the day I came home crying after glimpsing Gary Singh and his new bride Richa walking around the Sandton Mall. Dad told me that one day, I'd meet someone amazing. I didn't want to believe him since that's what dads are supposed to say to their man-less daughters. I went to bed with tears in my eyes. I hated my life. I hated my body. I hated my lousy luck. And I absolutely hated Gary Singh. Damn that fucker!

My third year at the University of Johannesburg began, and I told myself I'd focus on school and ignore males. Black, white, Indian, whatever, all males have one thing in common. They treat us ladies like shit. I focused on my engineering classes and I did very well in them. Until fate threw me a curveball. I was walking home one day after class when I heard a vaguely familiar voice call my name. I turned around and saw...Joseph Anathi.

The tall, dark and handsome Xhosa nerd stood there, clad in a red silk shirt, black silk pants and a black tie. Dapper as ever. Smiling at me, Joseph walked up to me and gave me a hug. Hesitantly, I hugged Joseph back. I was not expecting to see him there. We talked for a bit as we walked. Much had happened in Joseph's life in the four years since I'd seen him. Joseph has a bachelor's degree in mathematics from the University of Toronto. I was impressed, I must say.

As Joseph and I walked, I couldn't believe how much he'd changed in four years. Gone was his nerdy, shy demeanor. The young African man who stood before me was handsome, confident and serious. I listened to Joseph as he ranted and raved about life in Toronto, the wonders of Canada, and how awesome Canadian women were. I smiled politely, but I didn't really listen. I kept getting distracted by Joseph's come-to-bed eyes and sweet-looking lips.

I was snapped out of my reverie when Joseph asked me if I had a boyfriend. I shook my head, even though part of me wanted to say yes just to fuck with him. Joseph grinned, and told me how beautiful I looked. I nodded, and played it cool. Last time we got so close to each other, I kissed Joseph and the fool pushed me away. I was not looking for a repeat. I'm not some nerdy school gal any more. I'm a grown woman. I've had sex. I've dated. I've had my heart broken. I have battle scars from the dating wars.

Joseph looked at me, paused and then asked me if I remembered the time when we were alone together, right after his graduation ceremony. I shrugged, and Joseph sighed. Next, he told me about how life in Canada changed him. Apparently, Joseph dated quite a few white chicks over there and he even showed me a picture of himself holding hands with some blonde skank to prove it. My heart winced when I saw the picture but I acted nonchalant. Joseph's life and exploits are his business not mine.

I looked at Joseph Anathi, coldly told him I'd moved and then walked past him. That's when something unusual happened. Joseph grabbed my arm, and spun me around. The young Xhosa looked into my eyes, and I noticed his were filled with intensity. Joseph said nothing. Dude just grabbed my face and kissed me. Much to my immense surprise, I kissed Joseph back with all the passion I could muster. When we came up for air, we just grinned at each other and laughed.

Arm in arm, just like old times, Joseph Anathi and I began the long walk back to my place. I don't live with my parents. I rent an apartment in the east end of Johannesburg proper, not too far from the University of Johannesburg campus. A working-class neighborhood that's popular with students, wage workers and the like. In Johannesburg, even decades after the end of Apartheid, people still stare when they see a white woman with a man who isn't white. That's okay. Let them stare. My Joseph has come home to me. And I plan on giving the brother one hell of a welcome, if you catch my drift.