Jo-berg, Potchefstroom and the Firehouse

We flew to Washington, D.C. then boarded a South African Airways Airbus. The direct flight to Johannesburg was almost sixteen hours. The plane , not quite full, carried a mixture of tourists, hunters, missionaries of various sorts and those retuning home or going to jobs. The flight to “Jo-burg” is the way to get to Mozambique and Zimbabwe.
We gathered our bags in the renamed Oliver Tambo airport, small airport and headed past security with no problem. We were greeted by Hein Pretorious and Mary Ann Wikner. We purchased simm cards for our cell phones and changed dollars into Rand ($1.00 = R7.23). We were alerted to the police presence by their highly reflective vests, but also struck by the fact that the police men and women were focued on each other visiting like schoolmates, while outside the terminal into the parking area there were none.
We drove through rush hour traffic, then the smoky hills on the outskirts of Soweto. In the fading light I was able to glimpse, the shacks with outhouses backed to the fence along the four-lane divided highway. Some two and one-half hours later we arrived in Potchefstroom (pot-CHEF-strum), a city of about 80,000.
Hein and Mary Ann delivered us to the Rotary clubhouse, an old firehouse. The building is two stories high, the three bays two stories now house walls decorated with club photos, banners from hundreds of club visits and portraits of past club presidents, bedecked like royalty with a chain necklace symbol of office. Most notable is the full bar in the next room with the atmosphere of a neighborhood pub. We were immediately greeted like old friends, with our names being used and handshaking all around.

Thus begins our trek, into South Africa.