The streets looked different, but nothing had changed except for CCTV cameras, razor wire, high walls and security guards. The people remained the same, if not a little more stalwart and accepting. In the wealthy northern suburbs of Johannesburg, the maid still does the washing, ironing, cleaning, cooking…the garden ‘boy’ still sweeps the leaves, mows the manicured lawns,  chops the firewood and cleans the cars. And as observed by us, they’re happy to be doing it – happy to have a job.

Our eclectic suburb of Parkhurst was no different – we walked to the village centre where the restaurants are full to bursting every night with a smart mix of races and faces. We discovered Uber taxis and took ourselves to shopping malls, suburbs and restaurants every day – all very inexpensive for us!   We also got together with friends re-discovered and now re-united over a braaivleis in a magnificent home overlooking the whole city, in the once-coveted suburb of Observatory and reminisced, with the help of forty-year-old photos that we’d brought, about our times there together, bringing us all up to date with families and events. Households still remain the same, but need the additional staff person to secure their property, and more importantly, their lives.

For, sadly, everyone we met, everywhere we went and chatted to people, all had a horrifying tale to tell. Without exception. A friend’s family have been particularly brutally attacked, yet it was explained that most whites in Joburg have largely become de-sensitised and accept it as part of their lives. Nothing gets reported, the villains get away with it all, and the police are largely ineffectual for one reason or another.

But, life goes on as usual. So differently to when we lived there – we found ourselves explaining to taxi-drivers etc that if we ever had a black colleague of Peter’s home for a meal or drinks, in our day, he knew full well that if we were raided by the police, he would have to pretend he was domestic staff. Of course, a lot of black people we met were too young to remember Apartheid, but had heard about it all from family, and it seems incredible that it was about 25 years since Mandela was freed to re-write the South African constitution and pave the way for a new South Africa. Now, in trendy Sandton City Mall, super-smart blacks shop alongside whites at Gucci, Prada, and Cartier. The upwardly-mobile middle class  black South Africans dine at gourmet restaurants and drive flash new cars.

Yet the city is still surrounded by shanty towns, and crime is rife with people with little hope for the future. National social services are largely non-existent, and everyone without exception has little help from government – right through to retirement. In fact we met so many people who plan never to retire, but feel they have to keep working. And the unemployment rate is frighteningly high.

Notwithstanding all of the above, we just loved being there – had a fabulous home-from-home to stay in, and met old friends, new friends, had a great time and never felt threatened. But then our beautiful lodge with beautiful gardens did have beautiful steel gates padlocked on every door and window, an armed guard outside at night, CCTV cameras and a beautiful crash-proof solid steel gate operated only with remote control devices.

But it was with some feeling of not-having-been-there-long-enough that we piled into our trusty airport transfer vehicle (with the same driver) and reluctantly headed out to the airport to get our flight to London. This time, there was no traffic jam, no detour, and no dark places to have to wait in. We promised we’ll be back…