Urban Anthropology Blog

Having grown up in New York City all my life, I have endless memories of city life. But the one that sticks out the most was one that most New Yorkers would chose; September 11, 2001. I was just in 7^th grade, and much of those childhood years are fuzzy due to time past, but this day is as vivid in my mind as yesterday. I was in science class when my father appeared at the door and took my out of class. He explained what had happened, but I couldn’t really comprehend what has happened. I hadn’t yet seen any of the images or people that I would soon see. I walked out of my school which was downtown, and I walked to 8^th avenue with my dad. The first thing I remember were the cars and taxis and buses on the avenue, but they weren’t moving. The city itself was at a stand still, but the people who were walking quickly made up for the lack of motion of the cars. It was a sight that ill never forget. I have never seen so many people walking in one direction in my life. Even the marathons didn’t live up to it. The people who we were walking uptown with were not running, were not screaming, were not crying. They were walking at a moderate pace, most with their heads down. There were some that had soot and ash covering their whole body. Some were bloodied, and some were perfectly clean. It was such a mix in a city that some call the most diverse in the world. We finally made it uptown to my dad’s office. We decided that we should open it up to anyone who needed a place to rest or needed food or water. We went outside and grabbed some food and bottles of water for anyone who needed it. And that’s when it hit me. I looked around and realized that it wasn’t just me and my dad doing this, but every store, every restaurant, every deli was also doing it. People were stopping and talking with strangers on every block. Strangers who they would normally pass by. We were opening ourselves up to anyone who needed help, and on that day, that was most of the people on the streets. It was such an incredible sight. We all came together to offer a hand, and not because anyone had ordered us to, but because at that moment, we all knew there were fellow New Yorkers in need, and that was the first priority. And for days after that, I saw the same thing. People gathered on city streets and corners, just to find some companionship in a stranger in that time of need. We had gone from a city of millions, to a city of one. One energy moving through all of us, as cliché as that might sound. It was something that I have not seen since, but I know the next time the city is in need, we’ll all come together without a second of hesitation.

The near absence of the sun baths the sidewalks in a rose gold tint that twinkles off the bronze embedded into the framework of the city. Names archaic mingle with those still hot for the magazine press. Natives pay no attention to the starry paths; casually trending where foreign eyes strain to capture. Music of human voices crescendo flooding out of every restaurant as the harmony of the city makes its daily oscillation from the mumble of the day to the excitement of the night. A birthday wish is made that their future lies in this city; while another birthday is celebrated to the peak of expectations, because there is someone who cares. The stars from the pavement twinkle in all eyes that have a dream or a lover, or both. It will not be long before the stars in the eyes of the lover are swallowed by a black hole, but the dream will fan the flames of hope for many more years. There is no telling if the valley lit by flashing signs will ever be home for the aspirations of the child. Sometimes it is and sometimes the twinkling just dims into dusk, that’s just how the city is. Dusk, setting over the city like a blanket, not muting but amplifying the life, severing as a catalyst for licentious decisions that they will only pretend to regret. Time passes like cars on the freeways, the veins of the city, and as the morning peaks in the night, only the clocks notice that rush hour is nearly over. Veins soon to be clogged with foggy thoughts as their owners wait for the multitude of vehicles to make a movement, any movement at all. If only it were as far away as it seemed, because to everyone with the sky in their eyes, that was the only city that could exist, the city filled with dreams. Darkness if far from interminable, although it appears as though no harm is seen in pretending. Pretending that youth will come in an endless supply and sleep is nothing more than a myth from an old nursery rhyme. However, when the floor of the city starts to shimmer, and it smiles once more at the opposite end of the sky, the rest of the world no longer holds the illusion of being a far off memory. The honking of horns lose their charm and a birthday wish goes into hibernation behind a modest hemline, a sharp jacket and a neatly pressed collar.

I am going home. As the plane descends through the cloud cover and the expanse of water below becomes visible and in the distance starts to give way to my city.  The tallest towers rise up from the smaller buildings around them to clearly define what people consider to be “downtown”. Each is unique, the newest are grand, elegant spires of steel and glass reflecting the evening sun, and the oldest are much shorter and made of concrete and brick while still being beautiful. Oldest is a relative term here; this is a new city, a city that has been ruined and rebuilt all at once. You can’t feel the centuries of evolution and history that other cities have here, but frankly, you don’t miss it. Looking down on this shining gem on the edge of the water my eyes can jump only small distances and trigger memories years and miles apart. It starts with summer on the grand beaches that line the shore and flicks to wandering through the glass and steel canyons, staring up at some of the most potent examples of mankind’s ingenuity and nobility. My eyes wander to the center of the city, a sweeping stretch of green, and remember nights spent watching the lights of the skyline and the colors of the fountain, tourists wandering among locals, men selling glow sticks and other bright amusements. Fireworks shot from the pier out over the lake and bike rides down the drive all spin together as I gaze out over my home. A city filled to bursting with life and light, a town of wonders and memories for me, things that I want to show all of the unfortunates who have never been there before. I want everyone to see and experience this city in a garden, this city of big shoulders, this city that I can never call the second city, because it will never be that for me.  It’s my kind of town, Chicago is.  

The sheer beauty of your surroundings while walking the streets of Pretoria almost allows you to forget you are in one of the most impoverished parts of the world. The urban appeal of any North American city is replicated here in the midlands of South Africa with all the amenities of western life so easily integrated into the political capital of the Republic. Western retail stores and fast food chains line the streets of city center where masses of people flock.  Walking down the main street of city center you see everything from McDonalds to a small ethnic food shop where everyone only speaks Tswana.              

While the glamour of the new, skyscraping buildings may draw the full attention of some visitors, to truly experience the nature of the city you need to look to the past. Amidst all the typical urban appeals of a city lie signs and memories of a different time, a past regime. The older buildings and portions of the city give the city a character that is unlike everywhere else. These old buildings are all either fenced in or surrounded by walls and lined with barbed wire, signs of the times of apartheid. The majority of the inhabitants of these areas was once the privileged whites, but is now mostly a black area. It is in these neighborhood and areas where the calls for a revitalized black cultural movement are strongest and most frequent.

The areas of Church Square and the Union Building are the true gems of Pretoria. Church Square is the cultural center of the city and boasts many important buildings from the time of apartheid as well as architectural beauties. The Union Building is the political headquarters for all of South Africa with the chair of the President being located here. This building sits at the highest point in the city and directly beneath it lays an expansive area of gardens which contain all the natural plants of South Africa.