I spend the whole morning trying to do just two things .... to connect to the internet to check my flight times and make up my mind about how I'm going to get to the airport. Last night I decided to go by 'public transport' ... minibus taxis.
This morning the idea seems slightly less appealing... It would involve a lot of walking and I have a Level 3 on the Baboon Scale hangover. It is also quite warm I realise when I go outside to leave for Nuno's where I know my internet connection would work. Up to then I spent two hours trying to go online without success.
Then to confuse and frustrate me even further Charles Moore phones to tell me two things ... Firstly that he counted 169 flags on cars on his way to work ... this is fantastic news ... my flagging campaign is clearly taking off ... remember a mere two or three weeks ago when we began our survey we counted only 64.
However Charles reckons that this jump in flags had nothing to do with me ... but rather with the fact that Bafana Bafana won their game against Colombia 2-1. The Star's headline reads: Delighted fans ignore chaos. And by the sound of it I was right again. It was a cheerful shambles with all of South Africa's idiosyncrasies on display .
'Ticket checkers' taking tickets and disappearing with them ... to sell on .... taking bribes to let some people in faster ... and at the wrong entrances and in general making sure that the seating arrangements inside the stadium became 'a cheerful shambles' and clearly despite this and the mammoth traffic jam to and from the stadium counted for nought ... a good time was had by all although it is reported that the vuvuzelas were deafening ... I will do a full blog on that South African idiosyncrasy soon.
The second thing Charles tells me is that he is trying to organise one of the work minibuses to take me to the airport ... but he can't guarantee anything ... This third option throws me completely ... 'public transport' ... private taxi ... or waiting for Charles ... and still I have no real idea when my flight is ...
So then I pack three longjohns, a pair of jeans, shampoo, toothbrush and perfume head for Nuno's ... oh yes and my laptop with power supply this time.
At Nuno's I establish that my flight is at 3:30pm. I ask the darkie waiters about taxi transport to the airport and they give me the lowdown ... which sounds slightly complicated ... but I'm ready to go ... Having plenty of time I have a breakfast and drink a cleansing beer. I am on holiday after all.
Then I begin arguing with myself. "I have the money to pay for the taxi and not having a car saves me a lot of money every month. Think down-payments, insurance, petrol and general maintenance," says one part of my brain.
"You are just lazy and/or afraid to leave the comfort zone of the one taxi route you use," says the other part.
It's a hung parliament and I am called upon to make a decision. I go with the latter view ... It would be the most interesting option ...
I begin walking and only then look at my watch and realise that I have to be at the airport an hour before departure ... Life made up my mind. I turn on my heel and phone Levi ... my regular taxi guy ... he wants R350 for the trip and we settle on R300 because I'm his 'customer'.
On my way to the airport I remember why I wanted to write the blog about going to Hazyview yesterday... I was because my brother Abrie threatened to come and fetch me with his micro-light in Nelspruit ... I did not speak to him again since ... so I'll just have to wait and see what form of transport the last leg of my trip would be... And I guess forgetting about it while writing yesterday's blog was extreme denialism ... But just In case ... I'm at the airport in Joburg now and knocking back two double gin and dry lemons... My plane is due now
Showing posts with label flags. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flags. Show all posts
Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Rian Malan tells it as it is ... couldn't have done better in a month of Sundays update
The following piece by Rian Malan was sent to me by email and since it encapsulates many of my personal views so much better than I could say it I decided to post it here. I'm sure Rian won't mind ... if he does ... let him sue me.
It's a sunny weekday afternoon in Jo'burg, and I am lunching with friends at an outdoor restaurant. The joint we're in was hit by armed robbers earlier this week.
The newspapers on the table are full of hair-raising tribulations – our former police chief on trial for bribery, commuter buses shot up by murderous taxi bosses who won't tolerate competition, and elders of the African National Congress declining to sign the charge sheet against Julius Malema, the controversial youth leader who made global headlines the other day by endorsing Robert Mugabe, the cocky little psychopath who ruined neighbouring Zimbabwe.
Malema is now facing disciplinary charges, but no one in the ruling party is willing to take the risk of being identified as his accuser.
This is worrying. Are racist demagogues winning the battle for control of the ANC? Are decent black men scared to take a stand lest they find themselves alongside whites, trussed up in the missionary cooking pot while Malema lights a fire beneath us?
In a normal society, such questions would induce nervous breakdown, but my mates and I are laughing.
We're sitting in the African sun, sharing jokes, and wondering how to con foreigners into coming here for the World Cup.
Once upon a time, South Africans imagined that this soccer extravaganza would make us all rich.
Myself, I struggled to believe that half a million football tourists would cross the planet in the midst of a brutal recession to visit a country best known for its high crime rate.
My neighbours scoffed, preferring to believe they would make a killing by renting out their homes. Alas. Bookings are running at about half the anticipated level.
Would-be scalpers are stuck with tickets they can't even give away, and Fifa's gluttonous marketing arm has reportedly managed to lease only 1% of the luxury private boxes in our enormously expensive new stadia.
I am rather enjoying the resulting cries of pain. Fifa has made a monkey out of South Africa
Our own leaders collaborated enthusiastically, partly because they relished the glory of presiding over an event of World Cup stature, but also because they were eager to participate in murky backroom deals that saw politically connected individuals reaping obscene profits on taxpayer-funded construction contracts.
Now we're all saddled by debts it will take generations to pay off. I'm so riled that part of me would be gratified if the World Cup were a complete failure.
But South Africa is a complicated country, and there's always another side of the story. As I write, a certain Mrs Gladys Dladla is ironing clothes in my kitchen.
Gladys is an old-school Zulu matriarch, struggling heroically to maintain a huge family on her meagre earnings as my once-a-week char. She lacks the wherewithal to bribe officials who control access to state housing, so she's lived in a tin shack for 16 years.
In recent weeks, getting to work has become a frightening ordeal thanks to renewed tensions between police and the aforementioned taxi thugs.
Gladys's life seems entirely miserable, but she always shows up on time, chattering cheerfully about church and her hope that God and the ancestral spirits will soon guide us to victory in the national lottery. Gladys and I have a little syndicate going.
The World Cup is an event of huge symbolic importance to Mrs Dladla. In the next several weeks, oily ANC politicians will attempt to convince you that this tournament is a tribute to their heroic victory over apartheid and associated triumphs of the human spirit.
Hm. For people like Gladys, the longing for success is actually rooted in despair. They're so tired of being losers and also-rans, trapped at the bottom of a society that constantly threatens to degenerate into just another African basket case.
Their dream was that in June 2010 the world's eyes would descend on us, and at last find something to admire. Mrs Dladla looks on these things with enormous pride.
She feels that their glory reflects on her directly, and besides, there's always the hope that football tourism might generate jobs for her unemployed offspring.
She was a great supporter of short-lived plans to turn my rambling old home into a cheap doss house for football hooligans. In the end, I baulked at paying tribute to Fifa, whose lawyers crushed all attempts to market World Cup lodgings through any channels other than their own.
Just as well, because our doss house would most likely have failed anyway.
So now we stand before you with clean hands. We have nothing to gain from the World Cup but the pleasure of your company, so it would be nice if you changed your minds about coming. Please! We've almost bankrupted ourselves in our determination to stage a tournament that runs like clockwork.
And if it doesn't – you can have a chuckle at our expense. Last week's newspapers reported a state of abject unreadiness among the pom-pom girls scheduled to perform at the opening ceremony.
A day or two later, President Jacob Zuma informed America that we have the laziest and most useless civil service on the planet.
Elsewhere such an admission would have precipitated the government's downfall. Here, the story was relegated to page five.
I struggle to see how anyone can resist a country where such things happen. South Africa is amazing! At any given moment, all possible futures seem entirely plausible. We are winning, we are losing. We are progressing even as we hurtle backwards.
Every day brings momentous exhilarations and dumbfounding setbacks, and the sun shines brightly even in winter. Throw in the heady proximity of Mandela and Beckham, and you're almost guaranteed a splendid time.
As for crime, well, yes, crime is a threat, but our police have been given orders to smash anyone who so much as touches a hair on any football fan's head.
If you book now, you'll arrive just in time to catch a last glimpse of our fading rainbow, and the first stirrings of our next upheaval.If that sounds alarming, I wouldn't worry. There is much to be said for living on the edge, in a place shot through with "heartspace and the danger of beauty", as the Boer poet Breytenbach once phrased it.
Britain seems pallid in comparison. We are told that your election was an event of epochal significance, but from Jo'burg, it looked boring – three nice white men with almost identical opinions jostling for space on the same centrist pinhead. As for the prospect of a hung parliament… you call that a crisis? Good God. We have far worse, every day, before breakfast. And we're still laughing. Better get here before we stop.
FLAG UPDATE: Charles Moore and Kieran counted 128 flags this morning. My efforts are being rewarded.
It's a sunny weekday afternoon in Jo'burg, and I am lunching with friends at an outdoor restaurant. The joint we're in was hit by armed robbers earlier this week.
The newspapers on the table are full of hair-raising tribulations – our former police chief on trial for bribery, commuter buses shot up by murderous taxi bosses who won't tolerate competition, and elders of the African National Congress declining to sign the charge sheet against Julius Malema, the controversial youth leader who made global headlines the other day by endorsing Robert Mugabe, the cocky little psychopath who ruined neighbouring Zimbabwe.
Malema is now facing disciplinary charges, but no one in the ruling party is willing to take the risk of being identified as his accuser.
This is worrying. Are racist demagogues winning the battle for control of the ANC? Are decent black men scared to take a stand lest they find themselves alongside whites, trussed up in the missionary cooking pot while Malema lights a fire beneath us?
In a normal society, such questions would induce nervous breakdown, but my mates and I are laughing.
We're sitting in the African sun, sharing jokes, and wondering how to con foreigners into coming here for the World Cup.
Once upon a time, South Africans imagined that this soccer extravaganza would make us all rich.
Myself, I struggled to believe that half a million football tourists would cross the planet in the midst of a brutal recession to visit a country best known for its high crime rate.
My neighbours scoffed, preferring to believe they would make a killing by renting out their homes. Alas. Bookings are running at about half the anticipated level.
Would-be scalpers are stuck with tickets they can't even give away, and Fifa's gluttonous marketing arm has reportedly managed to lease only 1% of the luxury private boxes in our enormously expensive new stadia.
I am rather enjoying the resulting cries of pain. Fifa has made a monkey out of South Africa
Our own leaders collaborated enthusiastically, partly because they relished the glory of presiding over an event of World Cup stature, but also because they were eager to participate in murky backroom deals that saw politically connected individuals reaping obscene profits on taxpayer-funded construction contracts.
Now we're all saddled by debts it will take generations to pay off. I'm so riled that part of me would be gratified if the World Cup were a complete failure.
But South Africa is a complicated country, and there's always another side of the story. As I write, a certain Mrs Gladys Dladla is ironing clothes in my kitchen.
Gladys is an old-school Zulu matriarch, struggling heroically to maintain a huge family on her meagre earnings as my once-a-week char. She lacks the wherewithal to bribe officials who control access to state housing, so she's lived in a tin shack for 16 years.
In recent weeks, getting to work has become a frightening ordeal thanks to renewed tensions between police and the aforementioned taxi thugs.
Gladys's life seems entirely miserable, but she always shows up on time, chattering cheerfully about church and her hope that God and the ancestral spirits will soon guide us to victory in the national lottery. Gladys and I have a little syndicate going.
The World Cup is an event of huge symbolic importance to Mrs Dladla. In the next several weeks, oily ANC politicians will attempt to convince you that this tournament is a tribute to their heroic victory over apartheid and associated triumphs of the human spirit.
Hm. For people like Gladys, the longing for success is actually rooted in despair. They're so tired of being losers and also-rans, trapped at the bottom of a society that constantly threatens to degenerate into just another African basket case.
Their dream was that in June 2010 the world's eyes would descend on us, and at last find something to admire. Mrs Dladla looks on these things with enormous pride.
She feels that their glory reflects on her directly, and besides, there's always the hope that football tourism might generate jobs for her unemployed offspring.
She was a great supporter of short-lived plans to turn my rambling old home into a cheap doss house for football hooligans. In the end, I baulked at paying tribute to Fifa, whose lawyers crushed all attempts to market World Cup lodgings through any channels other than their own.
Just as well, because our doss house would most likely have failed anyway.
So now we stand before you with clean hands. We have nothing to gain from the World Cup but the pleasure of your company, so it would be nice if you changed your minds about coming. Please! We've almost bankrupted ourselves in our determination to stage a tournament that runs like clockwork.
And if it doesn't – you can have a chuckle at our expense. Last week's newspapers reported a state of abject unreadiness among the pom-pom girls scheduled to perform at the opening ceremony.
A day or two later, President Jacob Zuma informed America that we have the laziest and most useless civil service on the planet.
Elsewhere such an admission would have precipitated the government's downfall. Here, the story was relegated to page five.
I struggle to see how anyone can resist a country where such things happen. South Africa is amazing! At any given moment, all possible futures seem entirely plausible. We are winning, we are losing. We are progressing even as we hurtle backwards.
Every day brings momentous exhilarations and dumbfounding setbacks, and the sun shines brightly even in winter. Throw in the heady proximity of Mandela and Beckham, and you're almost guaranteed a splendid time.
As for crime, well, yes, crime is a threat, but our police have been given orders to smash anyone who so much as touches a hair on any football fan's head.
If you book now, you'll arrive just in time to catch a last glimpse of our fading rainbow, and the first stirrings of our next upheaval.If that sounds alarming, I wouldn't worry. There is much to be said for living on the edge, in a place shot through with "heartspace and the danger of beauty", as the Boer poet Breytenbach once phrased it.
Britain seems pallid in comparison. We are told that your election was an event of epochal significance, but from Jo'burg, it looked boring – three nice white men with almost identical opinions jostling for space on the same centrist pinhead. As for the prospect of a hung parliament… you call that a crisis? Good God. We have far worse, every day, before breakfast. And we're still laughing. Better get here before we stop.
FLAG UPDATE: Charles Moore and Kieran counted 128 flags this morning. My efforts are being rewarded.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
South African language ... that you should know ...
A sort of a friend mine (I shall not divulge ... so don't ask) compiled a glossary of common South African English words that can be found on http://www.mediaclubsouthafrica.com/ ... go there for more 'good news' stories about this 'blighted' place ...
I wanted to post the direct link but I AM USING @#$%^& WINDOWS @#$%^&* VISTA ... so it's not possible.
Language in SA is an interesting topic ... if you are interested in language ... I am ... so here goes ...
We have 11 official languages and I'll try and list them ... remember I said 'try' and hopefully in 'spoken by most people' (even as alternative language) sequence ... forgive me if I get it wrong ... I'm in no mood for internet research ... check the dateline. So here goes:
Most whiteys profess that they regret not having learnt to speak a darkie language but very few of them ever do. Most darkies speak several languages so ... a Sotho would probably also sepak Zulu and Xhosa and all the other Pedi languages ... as well as Afrikaans and/or English depending on where he or she grew up.
On the mines everybody speaks Fanagalo ... a type of 'universal' language that was created to facilitate communication between the various nations that would put the creators of Esperanto to shame ... because this one actually works.
According to the linguistic legend Noam Chomsky, languages living together in the same space will inevitably 'contaminate' each other and nowhere is that seen quite like in South Africa ... I think in 50 years or so ... we will all be speaking Fanagalo.
For the moment one would only need a basic English in South Africa to get around. It is the lingua franca of the country after all.
So when my maid Zita reiterates her plan to become a magosha (the 'g' is pronounced with a guttural ggggg sound not 'gh' or 'gee') I know she wants to become a prostitute. Yes Zita is still adamant that she will sell her body during the World Cup ... for R500 a pop. I point out to her that it is slightly above the current market average and she retorts: "Aikona ... I will throw in a massage and and a blowjob as well ... all adding up to hard work. I just roll my eyes.
Words that you will definitively encounter in SA:
aikona - no
braai - barbeque
biltong - dried meat delicacy
boerewors - farmer's sausage
eish - an expression of pain
lekker - cool, good, fun,
I wanted to post the direct link but I AM USING @#$%^& WINDOWS @#$%^&* VISTA ... so it's not possible.
Language in SA is an interesting topic ... if you are interested in language ... I am ... so here goes ...
We have 11 official languages and I'll try and list them ... remember I said 'try' and hopefully in 'spoken by most people' (even as alternative language) sequence ... forgive me if I get it wrong ... I'm in no mood for internet research ... check the dateline. So here goes:
- English
- isiZulu
- Afrikaans
- isiXhosa
- seSotho
- sePedi
- seTswana ... these three are very close and as a language group probably much bigger than most of the above
- siSwati
- tshiVenda
- isiNdebele
- xiTsonga
Most whiteys profess that they regret not having learnt to speak a darkie language but very few of them ever do. Most darkies speak several languages so ... a Sotho would probably also sepak Zulu and Xhosa and all the other Pedi languages ... as well as Afrikaans and/or English depending on where he or she grew up.
On the mines everybody speaks Fanagalo ... a type of 'universal' language that was created to facilitate communication between the various nations that would put the creators of Esperanto to shame ... because this one actually works.
According to the linguistic legend Noam Chomsky, languages living together in the same space will inevitably 'contaminate' each other and nowhere is that seen quite like in South Africa ... I think in 50 years or so ... we will all be speaking Fanagalo.
For the moment one would only need a basic English in South Africa to get around. It is the lingua franca of the country after all.
So when my maid Zita reiterates her plan to become a magosha (the 'g' is pronounced with a guttural ggggg sound not 'gh' or 'gee') I know she wants to become a prostitute. Yes Zita is still adamant that she will sell her body during the World Cup ... for R500 a pop. I point out to her that it is slightly above the current market average and she retorts: "Aikona ... I will throw in a massage and and a blowjob as well ... all adding up to hard work. I just roll my eyes.
Words that you will definitively encounter in SA:
aikona - no
braai - barbeque
biltong - dried meat delicacy
boerewors - farmer's sausage
eish - an expression of pain
lekker - cool, good, fun,
and many more ... look up the glossary and come to South Africa ... you'll have a lekker time.
FLAG UPDATE: The results for this week are disappointing to say the least. I did not catch a lift with them but Charles Moore and Kieran kept on counting ... 67 on Wednesday and today ... only 60 ... that just means I have to redouble my efforts to get some 'gees' going.
'Gees' with the 'g' pronounced the same way as in magosha is the South African word for the spirit of something or a group. When things are 'lekker' everybody has gees.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
My part in the success or failure of the World Cup
When Gabrielli tells me that the Germans, of all people, expected a bit more World Cup fever from us I decide to oblige her.
Although I had thought that that I had done my bit when I flagged my sister's car, I can now clearly see that this is far below what is required ... so I buy two lighters ... ever-patriotic, one with the SA flag on and another with a soccer ball motif.
I also launch an awareness campaign about the flags, asking all and sundry where their damn flags are.
To test the efficacy of my campaign I ask Charles Moore and his son Kieran to help me spot flags on the way to Kieran's school and further on our way to work.
They jump to the task at hand with diligence and here are the first results:
Yesterday we counted 24 flags up to Kieran's school and a further 40 to Randburg for a total of 64. That is our baseline then.
I counted a further 16 on during the day but that will not be part of the official statistics ... Ok I like counting stuff so what?!
I like to keep stuff scientific, so the only numbers that will count here is that of the early morning trip between Melville and Randburg with a slight detour to Parkview to drop off Kieran.
I only do this trip on Wednesdays and Thursdays so I will give you a weekly update on Thursdays.
But the early results are heartening. This morning we counted 26 to Kieran's school and a further 49 to Randburg for a grand total of 75 ... My efforts are clearly paying off.
A further bracing sign that World Cup fever is taking hold of South Africa is that my friends spontaneously started talking about it on Tuesday evening.
The talk began about who we think is going to win ... Germany got a couple of votes ... to who are our favourite 'second' teams. Jan likes Holland, Vince likes Germany, I like France, Carol likes ... I can't remember and John does not express himself ... as is often the case with John.
Then the conversation inevitably turns to the chances of Bafana Bafana. Carol says that she's sure they'll surprise us by reaching the second round. I secretly hope that she's right but my brain tells me otherwise. Jan says he'll bet her R1000 that they would not.
In fact, he says, he won't even bet her that ... he will GIVE her R1000 if they reach the second round and Vince pitches in that he would GIVE her a R100 for every goal they score ... he stipulates in the contract that this offer excluded own-goals.
So yes all things considered it would seem that my efforts to make the World Cup a success are on the right track and I'll keep you posted about my progress.
But do not expect too much too soon. I pointed out to Gabrielli that we South Africans of all colours tend to be 'last minute people'. Our history is full of telling examples of this tendency.
Just take our recent history to begin with. In the early '90s we found found ourselves on the brink of civil war many a time but we always turned away from it at the last minute ... we decided to take HIV/Aids seriously at the last minute (some would say way beyond the last minute) Julius Malema got disciplined by his party at the last minute ... some would say way beyond ... the government started to focus on our looming electricity crisis at the last minute ... some would say ... most World Cup preparations will only start functioning at the last minute ... and some way beyond the last minute .... but you get the drift.
So I am convinced that by the time most WC visitors arrive WC fever will be in full swing and everybody is going to have a great time.
Although I had thought that that I had done my bit when I flagged my sister's car, I can now clearly see that this is far below what is required ... so I buy two lighters ... ever-patriotic, one with the SA flag on and another with a soccer ball motif.
I also launch an awareness campaign about the flags, asking all and sundry where their damn flags are.
To test the efficacy of my campaign I ask Charles Moore and his son Kieran to help me spot flags on the way to Kieran's school and further on our way to work.
They jump to the task at hand with diligence and here are the first results:
Yesterday we counted 24 flags up to Kieran's school and a further 40 to Randburg for a total of 64. That is our baseline then.
I counted a further 16 on during the day but that will not be part of the official statistics ... Ok I like counting stuff so what?!
I like to keep stuff scientific, so the only numbers that will count here is that of the early morning trip between Melville and Randburg with a slight detour to Parkview to drop off Kieran.
I only do this trip on Wednesdays and Thursdays so I will give you a weekly update on Thursdays.
But the early results are heartening. This morning we counted 26 to Kieran's school and a further 49 to Randburg for a grand total of 75 ... My efforts are clearly paying off.
A further bracing sign that World Cup fever is taking hold of South Africa is that my friends spontaneously started talking about it on Tuesday evening.
The talk began about who we think is going to win ... Germany got a couple of votes ... to who are our favourite 'second' teams. Jan likes Holland, Vince likes Germany, I like France, Carol likes ... I can't remember and John does not express himself ... as is often the case with John.
Then the conversation inevitably turns to the chances of Bafana Bafana. Carol says that she's sure they'll surprise us by reaching the second round. I secretly hope that she's right but my brain tells me otherwise. Jan says he'll bet her R1000 that they would not.
In fact, he says, he won't even bet her that ... he will GIVE her R1000 if they reach the second round and Vince pitches in that he would GIVE her a R100 for every goal they score ... he stipulates in the contract that this offer excluded own-goals.
So yes all things considered it would seem that my efforts to make the World Cup a success are on the right track and I'll keep you posted about my progress.
But do not expect too much too soon. I pointed out to Gabrielli that we South Africans of all colours tend to be 'last minute people'. Our history is full of telling examples of this tendency.
Just take our recent history to begin with. In the early '90s we found found ourselves on the brink of civil war many a time but we always turned away from it at the last minute ... we decided to take HIV/Aids seriously at the last minute (some would say way beyond the last minute) Julius Malema got disciplined by his party at the last minute ... some would say way beyond ... the government started to focus on our looming electricity crisis at the last minute ... some would say ... most World Cup preparations will only start functioning at the last minute ... and some way beyond the last minute .... but you get the drift.
So I am convinced that by the time most WC visitors arrive WC fever will be in full swing and everybody is going to have a great time.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Germany rejects my use of the word 'darkies' and race relations in South Africa
I share my office with three darkies. They are Ntoks, the darkie female anchor of the show, Fortune, I don't know exactly what Fortune does, but he is the only darkie follower of my blog and he laughs a lot so I quite like him ... and then there's the Erudite Mister Zee.
They are all much younger than me and probably earn much more money than I do. (There is a reason I mention this.)
Mr Zee is the marketing manager of 50/50, the environmental show that I work for. He wants to be called only Zee but screw him ... he is a Mister.
The reason for this is that it was him who helped me through my ordeal of the first two weeks in my new job.
I once told him in that time: "Zee if you cheat on your wife ... just tell her that you have a helpless Boer in your office and he is taking up all your time with ... well requests for this ... HELP! And Mr Zee saw my pain and helped.
So after Gabrielli complained about my usage of the word 'darkies' I felt that I needed to consult them before writing this.
You must remember that I worked for a blue-collar working class newspaper, Daily Sun, where the word darkie was common currency as in: "Hey Temba is this a darkie word?" Meaning will darkies understand it ...? That is how we speak here.
You must also remember that English is the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 6th, 7th, 9th, or 13th language for most people here.
So I poll my three darkie office companions about Gabrielli's complaint.
Ntoks says no it's not offensive.
Fortune says no it's not offensive.
The Erudite Mr Zee is on the phone, so I wait for him to be done before I publish the result of the poll.
Finally, I get Mr Zee's erudite attention about the question in question and he explains to me thus (and I paraphrase): "I don't find it offensive in itself ... that's how we speak here. But you must remember where the Germans are coming from ... you know the holocaust and so on ... but their collective feelings of guilt is for a past sin that was committed by their forebears with very few of the victims still in evidence. Germany has apologised and that was good.
"But here in South Africa the former oppressed and the former oppressor are dealing with each other on a daily basis... in your face ... and we must just get on with it."
Mr Zee also pointed out to me that it would have been offensive if I wrote about 'white people' and then 'darkies', but since I talked about whiteys and darkies in the same sentence ... it is how we speak here.
Meanwhile I trained Madelein to do my job because they need a back-up for me because the program (computer programs are spelled like that ... even in non-American) that we work on is full of snags and i don't want anybody to go through the same ordeal ... being dumped into a very deep pool of not knowing anything. The worst fate possible with tight deadlines.
Madi is full of nervous energy and she has not had a structured job for a long time ... she calls Zee... Doctor Zee ... you see ... race relations in South Africa ... they are really relations ... not issues.
And then again I spotted 34 flags on cars today ... I do not count those covers on the rearview mirrors of cars ... just flying the flag and more and more people are flying the flags of their 'other team' because the consensus is that our team ain't gonna makew it past the first round.
They are all much younger than me and probably earn much more money than I do. (There is a reason I mention this.)
Mr Zee is the marketing manager of 50/50, the environmental show that I work for. He wants to be called only Zee but screw him ... he is a Mister.
The reason for this is that it was him who helped me through my ordeal of the first two weeks in my new job.
I once told him in that time: "Zee if you cheat on your wife ... just tell her that you have a helpless Boer in your office and he is taking up all your time with ... well requests for this ... HELP! And Mr Zee saw my pain and helped.
So after Gabrielli complained about my usage of the word 'darkies' I felt that I needed to consult them before writing this.
You must remember that I worked for a blue-collar working class newspaper, Daily Sun, where the word darkie was common currency as in: "Hey Temba is this a darkie word?" Meaning will darkies understand it ...? That is how we speak here.
You must also remember that English is the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 6th, 7th, 9th, or 13th language for most people here.
So I poll my three darkie office companions about Gabrielli's complaint.
Ntoks says no it's not offensive.
Fortune says no it's not offensive.
The Erudite Mr Zee is on the phone, so I wait for him to be done before I publish the result of the poll.
Finally, I get Mr Zee's erudite attention about the question in question and he explains to me thus (and I paraphrase): "I don't find it offensive in itself ... that's how we speak here. But you must remember where the Germans are coming from ... you know the holocaust and so on ... but their collective feelings of guilt is for a past sin that was committed by their forebears with very few of the victims still in evidence. Germany has apologised and that was good.
"But here in South Africa the former oppressed and the former oppressor are dealing with each other on a daily basis... in your face ... and we must just get on with it."
Mr Zee also pointed out to me that it would have been offensive if I wrote about 'white people' and then 'darkies', but since I talked about whiteys and darkies in the same sentence ... it is how we speak here.
Meanwhile I trained Madelein to do my job because they need a back-up for me because the program (computer programs are spelled like that ... even in non-American) that we work on is full of snags and i don't want anybody to go through the same ordeal ... being dumped into a very deep pool of not knowing anything. The worst fate possible with tight deadlines.
Madi is full of nervous energy and she has not had a structured job for a long time ... she calls Zee... Doctor Zee ... you see ... race relations in South Africa ... they are really relations ... not issues.
And then again I spotted 34 flags on cars today ... I do not count those covers on the rearview mirrors of cars ... just flying the flag and more and more people are flying the flags of their 'other team' because the consensus is that our team ain't gonna makew it past the first round.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Reflections on race and the World Cup in a bar in Randburg
I am waiting for my boss Charles Moore to give me a lift home from the offices in Randburg. Earlier the day when I went to get some Chinese take-aways I bumped into my old friend Roman .... he is really old (69) and an old friend too.
Roman is a German and a chef and in his most recent incarnation the front-of-house manager at a sportsbar called Paddy's in Randburg.
Meanwhile Gabrielli ... my other German 'friend' asked me to write something about the upcoming Soccer World Cup in South Africa.
The seminal event is scheduled to begin in exactly 33 days from today and I must admit that I have not reflected too much about it ... mainly because I think it will be a cheerful shambles at best and a total disaster at worst. Let's hope for the best. My money is on a cheerful shambles.
With all these elements neatly in place, I tell Charles that I will wait for him in Paddy's in order to study the local fauna in their natural habitat because ... Randburg is not Melville.
Being of a scientific bent I count all the patrons in view (some people call this counting business of mine a disorder ... screw them).
There are 48 after-work drinkers in view at Paddy's at the time I begin my survey at 5:25pm.
They are ... 25 whitey males ... 8 whitey females ... 2 coloured girls ... 2 darkie chicks ... 5 darkie guys and 6 coloured guys ... This is not Melville.
To begin with there would be more darkies, coloureds and women in any bar in Melville, but the ambiance is also different.
There is an urgency in the air that I suspect stems from the fact that all the patrons look as if they are in sales of some sort. They talk rapidly and somewhat too loudly (their laughter is the same) as if they are sniffing a deal.
I also notice that all the waiters, who are all darkies, also wear the Bafana shirts ... under some warmer tops. They have good sense because it is cold.
By the way most waiters in South Africa are darkies and since they only get something like 3,5% of their turnover as commission, tipping is essential here ... the going rate is 10-15% and it's rude not to do it.
This is not Melville because the waiters are attentive. My friend Jan once remarked that 95% of people would become uncomfortable if one would stare at them long and hard and the other 5% become waiters in Melville.
But I digress ... There is a campaign on to get World Cup fever going. It consists of 'Flagging the World Cup" meaning that you have to fly the South African flag. I duly buy a SA flag for my sister Emily's car ... car pointing out to her that it was not only the duty of darkies to be patriotic. I also intend to by her a French flag since we are both francophiles.
While on the subject of my sister Emily ... oh no ... it is actually the World Cup, I decide some more research is needed and I take Emily for lunch at Sakura ... a Japanese sushi and teppenyaki restaurant in 7th Street Melville. They do a decent if not spectacular sushi and teppenyaki and I'm quite fond of the latter.
Emily orders herself a French soccer jersey from a street vendor called Amen ... and I pay a R50 deposit for him to also bring me a French flag for her car. She is dubious about just giving Amen the money and i tell her not to worry.
Although I do not know Amen, he knows me. All the street vendors know me because I banned them from pushing their wares into my customers' faces when I managed the gay bar ... and enforced this policy .... quite vigourously. Amen took her number and has just phoned to say that the merchandise is ready for collection.
The reason for this outing is to count the number of flags on cars as a means to measure WC fever ... In the parking lot in front of Paddy's in Randburg I counted ... zero on about 300 cars ... I did not count the cars ... OK I just counted one row and multiplied it by three ... so do not say anything about disorders.
Melville is not Randburg but I'm disappointed to count only about 17 in all. But this is early days so I'll keep you posted about the number of flags I coun... see.
Everybody is trying to make a quick buck out of the WC ... my maid Zita wants to be a hooker and her boyfriend Martin is in on the deal as pimp. Some other people are planning to rent out their houses and live in their garden sheds ... I just hope more people read and follow my blog. It is a work in progress.
The latest news is that 'they' are now stealing the flags off the cars ... no doubt to re-sell as shop-soiled wares. Nobody knows who 'they' are. I know but I won't tell. It is especially the rear-view mirror flag covers that are being targetted. So be aware.
I will also keep you posted on World Cup fever but for now I'm off to watch rugby ... My team the Cheetahs are playing against some other also-ran team but the Cheetahs have been hitting some good form lately and my hope is that they will improve their standing from 13th on the log to say ... 12th. One can only hope.
By the way welcome to Braam van Straaten an lemartle ... or something like that ... one day you will proudly tell your grandchildren that you were some of the first to join this world famous blog.
Roman is a German and a chef and in his most recent incarnation the front-of-house manager at a sportsbar called Paddy's in Randburg.
Meanwhile Gabrielli ... my other German 'friend' asked me to write something about the upcoming Soccer World Cup in South Africa.
The seminal event is scheduled to begin in exactly 33 days from today and I must admit that I have not reflected too much about it ... mainly because I think it will be a cheerful shambles at best and a total disaster at worst. Let's hope for the best. My money is on a cheerful shambles.
With all these elements neatly in place, I tell Charles that I will wait for him in Paddy's in order to study the local fauna in their natural habitat because ... Randburg is not Melville.
Being of a scientific bent I count all the patrons in view (some people call this counting business of mine a disorder ... screw them).
There are 48 after-work drinkers in view at Paddy's at the time I begin my survey at 5:25pm.
They are ... 25 whitey males ... 8 whitey females ... 2 coloured girls ... 2 darkie chicks ... 5 darkie guys and 6 coloured guys ... This is not Melville.
To begin with there would be more darkies, coloureds and women in any bar in Melville, but the ambiance is also different.
There is an urgency in the air that I suspect stems from the fact that all the patrons look as if they are in sales of some sort. They talk rapidly and somewhat too loudly (their laughter is the same) as if they are sniffing a deal.
They are mostly between 20 and 35 in age and the guys are all in shirt-sleeves or T-shirts despite the fact that I find the autumn evening quite chilly ... but these are clearly hot-blooded guys ... I wonder why they they are sitting mostly with other guys ...
But I am here to reflect about the upcoming World Cup, as well, so I turn my attention to that... I count three guys wearing the Bafana Bafana (the nickname for our national football team ... meaning: "The boys, the boys") shirts. Of these two are whiteys and one a coloured.I also notice that all the waiters, who are all darkies, also wear the Bafana shirts ... under some warmer tops. They have good sense because it is cold.
By the way most waiters in South Africa are darkies and since they only get something like 3,5% of their turnover as commission, tipping is essential here ... the going rate is 10-15% and it's rude not to do it.
This is not Melville because the waiters are attentive. My friend Jan once remarked that 95% of people would become uncomfortable if one would stare at them long and hard and the other 5% become waiters in Melville.
But I digress ... There is a campaign on to get World Cup fever going. It consists of 'Flagging the World Cup" meaning that you have to fly the South African flag. I duly buy a SA flag for my sister Emily's car ... car pointing out to her that it was not only the duty of darkies to be patriotic. I also intend to by her a French flag since we are both francophiles.
While on the subject of my sister Emily ... oh no ... it is actually the World Cup, I decide some more research is needed and I take Emily for lunch at Sakura ... a Japanese sushi and teppenyaki restaurant in 7th Street Melville. They do a decent if not spectacular sushi and teppenyaki and I'm quite fond of the latter.
Emily orders herself a French soccer jersey from a street vendor called Amen ... and I pay a R50 deposit for him to also bring me a French flag for her car. She is dubious about just giving Amen the money and i tell her not to worry.
Although I do not know Amen, he knows me. All the street vendors know me because I banned them from pushing their wares into my customers' faces when I managed the gay bar ... and enforced this policy .... quite vigourously. Amen took her number and has just phoned to say that the merchandise is ready for collection.
The reason for this outing is to count the number of flags on cars as a means to measure WC fever ... In the parking lot in front of Paddy's in Randburg I counted ... zero on about 300 cars ... I did not count the cars ... OK I just counted one row and multiplied it by three ... so do not say anything about disorders.
Melville is not Randburg but I'm disappointed to count only about 17 in all. But this is early days so I'll keep you posted about the number of flags I coun... see.
Everybody is trying to make a quick buck out of the WC ... my maid Zita wants to be a hooker and her boyfriend Martin is in on the deal as pimp. Some other people are planning to rent out their houses and live in their garden sheds ... I just hope more people read and follow my blog. It is a work in progress.
The latest news is that 'they' are now stealing the flags off the cars ... no doubt to re-sell as shop-soiled wares. Nobody knows who 'they' are. I know but I won't tell. It is especially the rear-view mirror flag covers that are being targetted. So be aware.
I will also keep you posted on World Cup fever but for now I'm off to watch rugby ... My team the Cheetahs are playing against some other also-ran team but the Cheetahs have been hitting some good form lately and my hope is that they will improve their standing from 13th on the log to say ... 12th. One can only hope.
By the way welcome to Braam van Straaten an lemartle ... or something like that ... one day you will proudly tell your grandchildren that you were some of the first to join this world famous blog.
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