Souf Effricen and prowd of it!

I find that many expats I run into and befriend left their country of origin because they found that the habits of their fellow countrymen and women were growing so annoying, that before they ended up on the crime channel, they had to leave and establish themselves elsewhere.

But I also find, that sooner or later, those very same idiosyncrasies and habits, that were to you so unbearable, are now the things you miss about your country the most.  I didn't expect it to happen so soon, but there you are. I miss South Africa and even more...I miss South Africans in all their glorious ability to drive me insane. I miss every last thing about them, whether they be pink, orange or blue.

And these days, it doesn't take much to reduce me to a sniveling mass of emotion when confronted with anything South African. I find myself suddenly wailing things like, ''...oh lord I miss the traffic - the bumper to bumper, the  smog on a gloriously clear highveld winter morning, the sea, braais...oh god I miss burning meat in a garden!'' at a friend's dinner table, and suffer the curious and somewhat alarmed looks of my fellow guests...since what they were actually talking about, was a new baby seat Betty (another South African) had bought to fit in her jeep.

I blame that movie Invictus. I didn't want to watch it, but it was the only movie I hadn't seen on dtsv Africa. I was reduced to a tv-watching invalid by the most hideous head-cold I have ever encountered. It must be an central African invention - I am convinced. Leaves you sounding like a hippopotamus on heat...impossible to chew and breathe at the same time. And in case you're wondering...yes I do happen to know what a hippopotamus in heat sounds like - when the movies ran out, I had to watch the discovery channel, dammit.

There I was, couched, tissued, sniveling and lonely (everyone else had the sense to steer clear of me except for Puppy, who investigated every discarded tissue and thoughfully chewed on whatever bits of my hair he could get hold of) watching Matt Damon fletten his a's. grind out his r's...(he's so cute at it, I hear scooters here do a less admirable job...rrrrrrrrrrrrrr), turn his th's into f's and enthusiastically grab at other men's crotches in a ruck. 

And suddenly....I missed home. I forgot that Matt isn't even South African - I think at one point I actually started seeing Francois Pienaar in his face..(but that could have been the cold medication)....and that Morgan Freeman isn't Madiba...because suddenly I missed that feeling of the World Cup, both of them - football and rugby. Not the sport...the people. For heaven's sake I am now watching etv news in an attempt to cure myself - I keep looking for Julius...

See, Rwandans are dignified in their suffering, conservative in their pain, they're moderate in their objections and obedient in their laws. 

But South Africans - they laugh in their adversity, they squabble, oh god they annoy you with their constant debating, their to- and fro-ing, they bicker over shit, they complain, they're ungrateful and destructive. 

They're passionate - about everything...about nothing. The same amount of passion that is expended   at a strike, is spent on a Saturday watching Pirates and Chiefs play.  But at the same time they're completely apathetic about curing themselves of the crime problem, or the sexual abuse of children.

Those of you who have been exposed to me in a newsroom know of my somewhat temperamental nature, I also tend to be a rather spirited debater. I am noisy. 

And I am an anomaly here. 

I squeal when delighted, rage when crossed and use my hands to punctuate. I question, say things no one else dares to, but wants to...but mostly...I laugh at myself. Loudly.

How much of that is personality and how much cultural...I don't know. But if we're to believe all the experts, then we are the product of our upbring and our surroundings.

No matter which way I look at it....no matter how I twist and turn...I am a South African - and I guess I'll always be one. And despite the fact that on certain days I could happily wring the neck of every South African - every call centre agent, home affairs clerk, supermarket cashier, petrol attendant, every policeman, nurse, unionist, striker, criminal, ag everyone...but mostly just snotklap every politician...there is no denying, that South Africans do the most unpredictably kind and generous, heartfelt, unselfish, patriotic, amazingly talented things sometimes. 

I believe there is nothing wrong in leaving the country of your birth though. I think it is good for you. Good to see and learn and experience new cultures and new people and take advantage of greener pastures (if you're lucky enough to find them with no poopoo on them). And it is also okay to grumble about your old country, and bitch and moan about the circumstances that brought you to where you are. You do the same with your family. I believe that being in a foreign country eventually makes you appreciate what is good about where you come from and makes you lessen their sins. 

But if you think that you going to escape WHO you are....you have another thing coming. I met a gentleman in a Kigali supermarket. He said he regarded himself as an Australian now, completely rejected all things SA.....but Matt Damon could've taken lessons in that Souf Efricen ekkent from him hey...I mean rrreeeally boet - not that the shorts, khaki-short-sleeved agri-shirt, socks and sandals wouldn't have given you away or the fact that you asked the assistant for a 'jean-pant'. 

Folks, I am not poking fun at him, I was happy to see him. If I wouldn't have come off as a complete nut I would have pulled him in for a cuddle and just well...blessed his dear...ahem....Australian heart. For a minute he made me feel irritated....and less homesick.

Keep those braai fires burning....

Bisous

Sam