Watch “Fear Fokol.”

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Tuva Björk’s short documentary opens with a private-security officer offering a litany of the weapons he has with him in his car, recounted with a pride that borders on glee. He has a small metal bar, best for breaking the bone around the eye socket; a knuckle-duster, worn down from use, attached to his key ring; a long, wiry strip to flick at someone from a distance which he says “draws blood” and works “like a whip.” The list culminates in a firearm that his partner carries. Private-security work is big business in Johannesburg—of the sixty-three million people who live in South Africa, almost three million work in private security. Björk’s film follows several of them as they guard residential areas and even patrol some public spaces. “Residents can just come on top of the ridge in a safe place, and then they can enjoy their conversations,” says one of the officers, armed and wearing a face covering in front of a fence topped with spikes and razor wire. One night on the ridge, security guards encounter some locals who have come up the mountain to pray, singing and swaying around a fire; the two groups’ interaction raises the question of how people achieve the feeling of security, and of who gets to feel truly safe.