Michael Angelo hotel

Johannesburg, November 1, 2005. I’m here on a science journalism junket, sponsored by the South African International Marketing Council. The invitation came out of the blue and now after weeks of planning and an 18 hour flight I find myself at the Michael Angelo hotel in Sandton, one of J’Bergs richest suburbs. The IMC didn’t spare any creature comforts, I flew here first class and to say this hotel is top-shelf would be an understatement.

Haven’t had much time yet to look around the city. My sponsors arranged to have me picked up at the airport, where I was met by Charles Bronson, as he called himself, a funny black driver who spoke in that lilting accent that can be so hard to understand if you’re not used to it—a strong emphasis on the “i” as in “sit.” So, South Africa becomes “South Ifrica,” and so on.

My impressions so far are limited the opulence of this place. The Michael Angelo sits in the middle of a massive mall complex called Nelson Mandela square. I spent my first day here in a sleep-deprived, jet-lagged haze, surrounded by high-end clothing stores and excellent restaurants. An enormous statue of Nelson Mandela towers over the square and presides over hoards of diners sitting in outdoor cafes; a scene you might find in any major city in the western world. South Africa’s wealth and poverty are at opposite extremes, but so far, I’ve seen only glimpses of the latter: despondent street folk, hanging around listlessly, eyes to the ground. But around here, these ragged people are few in number. This afternoon, though, things will be different. I’m headed to Soweto to interview sources working at an AIDs clinic.