I try to buzz through the small talk with S*, who delivered my rental car to OR Tambo airport, as I drive him back towards the Johannesburg city center. *(I didn't plan on retelling this as a story, and didn't tell S that was a possibility, so I'm refraining from using his full name.)

"Wow, this weather is much better than where I left."

"Oh, traffic's good today!"

"No, the flight was just fine."

S is a heavy-set black South African who came to Johannesburg from Polokwane when his father got a job near the city. He was 11-years-old and it was 1980. It's mind boggling to think about how much the city has changed since them.

"So is it alright if I ask you about politics?" At first S is hesitant, but he opens up quickly. Like most South Africans, he's supported the ANC his whole life. They were the party of the struggle and the party of Madiba. But now, he's not so sure.

We're passing by Edenvale and S reminds me to stay right. The left lanes will join the N12, then the M3, going towards Durban. I've never been, but people keep telling me it's a relaxing place, kind of like California. They're probably thinking of the Hollywood-version of surfers and beaches, a very different state than the one I grew up in. Still, it sounds nice.

S makes a political analogy about soccer, about a player getting credit for passing the ball along, even when the other guy scores the goal. The ANC has a proud history, but in recent years he thinks the government has been coming up short. He complains about how promises for better services haven't been kept, and how the current crop of politicians focus on self interest. He complains about corruption.

We merge onto Albertina Sisulu Road and pass by the turnoff for Bruma, the home of Johannesburg's growing Chinatown. Originally Chinatown was located in the inner-city, but it's lost out to the influx of migrants who make their homes near the suburb of Bruma.

For the first time in his life, S doesn't know who will get his vote. He doesn't really know what all the new parties stand for, and he hasn't completely lost hope for the ANC, but for the first time he is unsure. He thinks that it would be a good thing if another party won: it would force politicians to keep their promises.

As we pass into town, past Jeppestown he points out Maboneng, the new place where "everyone wants to go." I tell him that I used to live there. It's nice, artistic, vibrant and interesting. And really expensive. He laughs and agrees.

Maboneng is dubbed "hipsterville" by many of the people I've encountered. Like most "hipstervilles" around the world, it's the result of a rapid reinvestment and gentrification of the inner city.

We turn up the street towards the rental agency, and I explain that this used to be part of my drive to work. I point out a spot where someone threatened to hijack my car just a few days before I last left Johannesburg. Neither of us says, "Well, that's Jozi for ya," but I know I was tihnking it pretty hard.