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Despite the crime, there is a kind of normalcy here. It's not as if people walked around in abject fear, women clutching their purses, men packing heat. (Though I take it that many South Africans carry weapons: it is not uncommon to have a security check at a mall, and to have a "gun room," where weapons are stored before you go meander through the mall.) But while people look like they are going about their business in an emotionally stable state, I can't help but think this wears on them, this siege mentality.

As for this tourist/visiting journalist, the emotional climate makes me suspicious of nearly everyone I see in public. It prompts actions that are not altogether rational.

As I said, my wife and I were driving through Jeppestown, on our way to visit an AIDS hospice where my daughter is working. Jeppestown is a neighborhood in Johannesburg where a week ago one of the early anti-immigrant riots took place. I was making my way through the neighborhood — passing shops (some open for business, some boarded up), a handful of burned buildings, and men standing on corners (the unemployment rate in such areas can be as high as 60 percent, although the national average is about 24 percent, according to the CIA) — when my steering wheel started pulling right. Soon, there was a definite bumping sound coming from the right front wheel. I knew I had a flat.

Normally, I'd have pulled over and fixed it immediately rather than keep driving and risk destroying the tire. This time, I kept driving. Whether it was racism or wisdom I cannot say. My experience with the South Africans I have met has been positive and convinced me that the vast majority are decent, law-abiding people who will reach out to help a stranger. But at that moment, those memories were blocked, and the advice I'd been given kicked in. It seemed to my small imagination that if I stopped to get out and even look at the tire, every man out there would pounce on me and my wife.

I drove another eight blocks to the hospice, the pounding of the tire becoming ever louder — it began to sound as if the car would fall apart — and finally, in great relief, pulled into the gate. The tire was shredded. I put on the spare, and later that day went to a tire shop to have it replaced; I wasn't going to drive anywhere without a spare. My fear cost me $70. In any other circumstance, I would be outraged at paying the equivalent of $280/hour just to be behind a spiked gate. In this case, I think it was a bargain.

Anxiety wears, and occasionally drops, the mask of normalcy here, where Christians are called to minister to their fellow citizens. Not all are up to the task. Some, both black and white, collapse into the safety of a purely "spiritual" ministry — that is, religion that has become an escape from the world. Some Christians with resources say that life in South Africa is unbearable, and they move to England, Australia, or the United States (brain drain is an ongoing issue here).

I asked one semi-retired Cape Town-area pastor (the father of the daughter shot after being mugged) why he stays. He spent the first part of our interview cataloging the many problems South Africa faces: horrendous unemployment, declining education standards, government corruption, tribalism, racism, uncontrolled borders, and crime. He says he regrets but understands why so many Christians leave, but he cannot. He feels called to stay and minister here.

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June (Web-Only) 2008, Vol. 52