Global Poverty Monitor

[The flight from Perth to Johannesburg, South Africa]

The last two hours of the flight here went pretty smoothly, we had dinner (bacon ravioli, which was really nice) and I tried to read again for a while. By the time we started the descent I was feeling so tired, even though it was only 5pm Mozambique time, and would have been 11pm for me if I were still at home. We got off the plane onto South African soil, and it was a really weird feeling to know that you’re not in Australia anymore. I don’t think its hit me even now. After getting off the plane we found we were in the middle of the runway, and there was a small bus waiting to take us all to the main airport. When we got there we lined up and had to get our passports stamped again, then off to baggage claim. Luckily there were no problems there either. Going through customs was relatively straightforward – just lined up once again and handed in a form on our way through the gate.

Then we were outside with all our luggage, and there were South African porters everywhere, wanting to help us with our luggage. There had been repeated messages over the loudspeaker when we were inside to only use the official porters wearing the orange uniforms, and that the recommended rate is 5 rand per bag. It was quite confusing because the porters were all very distinguished looking men, in clean, expensive-looking uniforms, but we kept having to remind ourselves that without the small amount of money they get from tourists in return for carrying their bags, these men have no way to make a living. It was strange because when you think of poverty you think of obvious poverty, but this was far from it.

We used a porter who’s name was something similar to Hero. He was very pushy, asking to be in photos with us, and even writing down his address for us. He stayed with us longer than he needed to, and when our bus came, he offered to exchange money for Will. After seeing what went on with the porters today, it made me think about how much pride some people have. In essence, these men were asking tourists for money in exchange for a simple task – wheeling some bags outside. This is no different to someone on the streets who asks for money in exchange for a song or a shoe-shine, but these men were treating it as a very distinguished, important job.