Why disappearing in SA could never be as smooth as in Japan
In South Africa, even an attempt at vanishing quietly becomes neighbourhood entertainment.
I recently read about night movers and johatsu, a practice in Japan where around 100 000 people disappear in Japan each year.
Night movers come and take all your possessions, then help you to vanish without a trace. So, imagine me trying to pull a johatsu in South Africa.
You know – vanish without a trace, slip away like mist, become an “evaporated person”.
Sounds mysterious and noble in Japan. But here? Ai tog, it would be chaos.
First problem: the night movers. In Tokyo they arrive in quiet, unmarked vans, moving your belongings with ninja-like precision.
In South Africa? Forget it. The moving truck would rattle up with “Bra Johannes & Sons Removals” painted in red across the side, vuvuzelas blaring for directions and the driver shouting: “My broer, where’s the gate remote? Yoh, this place stinks, neh!” There goes my stealth.
Second problem: the neighbours. In Japan, people politely pretend not to notice when someone disappears.
In my street? Oupa Piet would already be WhatsApping the entire neighbourhood watch group: “Suspicious activity at number 42, looks like Sonja is moving at midnight. Possibly criminals. Sending dog.”
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By morning, everyone would know I tried to vanish – including my aunt, who would casually drop a voice note: “So, you johatsud now, né? But who’s going to water the succulents?”
Third problem: my actual belongings. Japanese johatsu clients slip out with dignity.
Me? I’d have to explain to the movers why we’re packing 14 mismatched Tupperware lids, a collection of takeaway sauce packets, three dead kettles, and one chair the dog already ate half of. Not exactly the elegant mystery of vanishing.
Fourth problem: disappearing in South Africa is impossible. Try being invisible at the traffic department, Pick n Pay, or home affairs offices.
Someone will always recognise you: “Ag, I know you! Didn’t you once complain about the bread being stale in 2021?”
Finally, even if I did manage to johatsu, my family would still track me down with pure South African determination: “She said she wanted to disappear… check Spur first. If not there, she’s probably hiding at the beach in Durban with a double thick milkshake. Or she went to the Karoo – nobody finds people there.”
My conclusion? South African johatsu would end with me half-evaporated, stuck in a WhatsApp group where 47 people know my exact hiding place and the movers still charging me for “climbing extra stairs”.
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