Midrand-Home of the access code

Today I went to visit my midly estranged uncle in Midrand.
I say mildy estranged because Indian people don't really believe in being fully estranged, its like having 'half a cup' of tea. Even if you truly dislike someone in your family you don't really ever say it to their face. You use excuses like German measles, horrific car accident and stolen phone until finally you're caught unawares one day and have to actually go visit them.

Driving into Midrand is like driving into another world that shouldnt even classified as being part of Johannesburg. It is a community dumped into the middle of nowhere. There is literally a savannah surrounding their most popular shopping centre. And everyone lives in gated communities! There are no stand alone houses! You drive on roads that are almost swallowed up by the dust and sand of the numerous construction sites of more and more and more apartments and complexes.

And the thing that Midrand is most famous for is its use of the access code. One needs an access code, given to you by the residents, to enter and one to exit otherwise you will surely be sent packing. For once I was prepared with the code, so we skipped the line of visitors who were getting their car boots checked by the security guards, God forbid we snuck in some contraband cupcakes. I pulled right up to the residents entrance hit the code and drove my dusty Hyundai Getz through the gates while I disgruntled guard tried to stop me. It was so crystal-clear that my car and I didnt belong in this pseudo-African palace/Bali-resort style housing community. I mean, as I told my cousin, that very morning my dad ripped off the plastic skiriting that was falling off the underside of my car, and used it to clean the cobwebs of the ceiling.

Either way I'm glad I live in the real world and not in Midrand.