SA Rocks

This last friday I handed in my notice to my bosses. My last day of work is the 23rd November, and then I have a few days to pack up two years of my life [and the entire contents of a well stocked WHSmith bookshop] in shipping boxes and head home to the sunny shores of the Eastern Cape of South Africa.

I am so excited, I feel like I am going to explode with antici….pation. I have spent the last two years cataloguing why the UK is not for me, and why home is where the heart is [that is stuck on an aloe in the hills of frontier land or floating in a rock pool on the wild coast]. I can’t wait for sunshine, glorious sunshine and rising temperatures and warm evenings on the beach. I will consume only braai and biltong for the first week, and drown myself in SAB’s finest offerings [and I am not even a beer drinker usually].

But putting all excitement aside for a moment, there is a small list of things that I am returning to that don’t leave me giddy with joy. Try to read the following points in the spirit in which they are written – that is positively, with an eye to what we should want to achieve together in South Africa.

1. Firstly let’s get crime out of the way. No one wants it. It affects everyone. It sucks, sure. The point is that there is crime everywhere in the entire world. House breaking is universal. What probably worries all South Africans more than theft is the level of violence we have come to associate with these crimes. I think Rev. Desmond Tutu has already said publically [cant find the quote at the moment], that clearly Apartheid and our past did much more lasting damage than we originally thought. It broke something fundamental in us as a people. Maybe that can’t be fixed, but we can raise a new generation of whole and happy people, by nuturing the humanity we see in all of us. I just wish we could fast track this.

2. I have previously written about how I miss driving over here, and i do, but I know I am going to be in the position to afford a car and the upkeep thereof when I get home. Not everyone can say as much, and the only other real option for these people are taxis, which often come with taxi violence and unroadworthiness as a package. We need to provide effecient public transport locally and long distance options. To do this we need to offer both gov-funded and private contracts and open up the industry. The market is there, where are the Richard Bransons of South Africa?

3. limping, crawling, capped internet is for the nineties! I love ordering my groceries online in ten minutes and booking a delivery slot. I love renting all my dvds through a personalised list on the internet. I adore having a wealth of information at my finger tips at any time of the day – always connected, fast and above all cheap. I pay for my internet connection is two hours working time. It costs the same as 4 pints of lager or 3 packets of cigarettes or a third of my weekly shopping. It gives scholars access to research they couldn’t even imagine. It drives development pure and simple, and we need it in SA!

Yes, they aren’t small problems, but they are fixable. When we get them sorted, I guarantee lots more people will start heading home, and fewer will want to leave for long term anyway.

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We won! We won! We are the Rugby World Champions! We have the trophy, and it’s ours for the next four years, at the very least. I am excited like I haven’t been in so long, and if I am honest it is about much more than a sports tournament.

Forgive me for sounding like the liberal arts student I was, but psychologically South Africa needed that win for more than sports pride. We are a positive people as a whole. Let us be honest – a lot of the time we need to be. The daily assault of negative media, crime statistics, questionable politics and dodgy neighbours can take its toll – as in any country in the world. I sometimes feel that the world is conspiring to strip away the good work we put in, and lay bare all our failings and insecurities as a nation.

Maybe it’s because I am so far away from home that I can see the general trends, maybe it’s all in my head, but I feel that the last few months the negativity of your average South African has increased. We all seem “gatvol” and far from the tolerant, striving-towards-unity nation we have been in the past. You could even say that the magic fairy dust of the ’94 elections and the ’95 World Cup “world in union” victory needed a top up.

On Saturday night, however, as one nation we watched and held our breath. We pushed our boys forward with our will alone. We gasped and shrieked, and probably swore at the referee a little bit. And as the final whistle blew, and the English side sank to their knees, we jumped from our seats and screamed with joy. Together. I am willing to bet that no matter where we were in the world, we sought out the company of other South Africans – we walked out into the streets and hugged complete strangers.

This is not to suggest that the problems have disappeared, but now that we have reaffirmed to ourselves that we are in it together, we can put our heads back down and get on with the business of improving the lives of all South Africans . Who’s with me?

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So Heritage Day rolled around recently, while I was 10 000kms away from my home, and left this Saffa-in-the-UK feeling more than a little homesick (which I guess is natural), and somewhat bewildered.

Firstly, “what was my heritage?” I pondered, and am still unable to find an answer that fits 100%. I am a white, English speaking South African. Technically, I am of European extraction (English, Dutch and French), but my family have been in the Eastern Cape of South Africa since around 1800. There’s even a book about them. It’s called The Frontier Family. I wish I could tell you where to find this book, but Google has failed me. My entire family tree, however, is in it [excluding me as it was published about five years before I was born] tracing my lineage back to a settler family called Miles.

Now if you’re an Eastern Cape local, you’ll understand if a Thompson, a Cloete or Miles says they couldn’t reproduce with anyone born in the Eastern Cape, but suffice to say there’re a lot of us about.

And here I am in the UK, never been closer to my ancestral home, and I feel no link, no attachment. This place and its people, and their ways, bear very little resemblance to my South African life and values. Is this my heritage? And if not, what is?

A friend said to me this weekend that it must be hard being Afrikaans in South Africa on Heritage Day, and when prompted went on to say that she sees a lot of people conflating proud Afrikaaners with racists. I think she has a point.

We are so keen to be PC and be recognised as “proudly South African”, but can you not be if you went to Stellenbosch Uni and count “De la Rey” among your favourite songs? Sometimes I think that is the message politicians are sending out. Surely, the best move forward for our country is to be as inclusive as possible now? No, we don’t want racist afro-pessimists, but you cannot label an entire group under that heading because the nationalist government of our ugly past was largely Afrikaans.

Moving on, I feel disconnected from my European heritage. It is too far removed from me and my experience and even my grandparents’ lives to have any daily significance. I feel that I am South African, and take offence when the implication is made that I am not because of the colour of my skin.

So what is heritage? I think it is the answer to this question: What of my past do I carry with me into the future? I carry knowledge, not just from my grandmother, but from news, history and friends. I carry hurt, for my once divided nation. I carry hope, to live in a safe, equal society with majority rule and minority protection. In this way, I claim a South African heritage – and one you cant take from me.

“It’s my home it’s where I’ll stay and where I belong
I didn’t choose to be here I was born I might seem out of place
but everything I hold dear is under the African sun”
-Hog Hoggidy Hog.

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Tea and Biltong with the Queen:

In my last column I wrote about isolation versus belonging, and missing the feeling of being part of the bigger picture, a contributing member of an exciting society. I’m cheating a little with this article as it’s not so much about what I miss but rather a continued look at this attitude I described previously.

Now, I’ll concede that South Africa is still a rather divided nation in some sectors, but I do think this is diminishing, especially with the younger generations – for all the reasons I gave here. Racism is something I now tend to associate with older people – products of apartheid who refuse to (for several reasons) change the way they see the world and how they treat people. When I encounter racist youth I am always pretty surprised, and saddened, but I do think these people are the exception rather than the rule.

These racists are both white and black, and the very nature of racism is that it defies logic so you cannot reason it away. I find it very hard to accept this and often “take the bait” and try to make people realise the falsity of what they believe, but in my most rational moments I must accept that this is a losing battle.

With that little disclaimer above, I will say that I believe the over-riding attitude in South Africa is one of amazing optimism. We have so much to overcome, but we were recently found to be the 7th most business-optimistic country in the world, according to a report by Grant Thornton. Other reports suggest that finances rather than ethnicity is now the major deciding factor in terms of where we choose to live – and while divisions in wealth are not a good thing, they are more easily overcome in a growing economy as ours than racial tensions.

If you’ll forgive the bastardisation of a cliché – we now have a South African dream. Unlike the original (read: american) version, this is not a dream of being handed everything on a platter – this dream is not about a land of excess and easy rides. I think the nation dreams of “just rewards” and that my children will compete against yours in a fair world. That is a pretty respectable dream, in my view.

The following quote is taken from an old (2004) BBC article on change in South Africa:
“Where things have changed for the better – where houses have been built, where black people now feel free to go anywhere they choose – this is often taken for granted.
Where things have not changed – where people remain unemployed or live in terror of crime – there is a deep scepticism whether any political party has either the ability or the will to do anything about it. ”

I think this duality of the public opinion of the time is very well expressed, but I would add to this to bring it up to date. We are a nation waking up to personal responsibility and power, we are no longer asking for solutions to be given, but striving for them ourselves. I see this everywhere: in expats marching in London, in various protests and demonstration all over South Africa, in internet discussion forms and websites, in politicians increasingly panicked attempts to explain themselves.

I guess where I see involvement, other may see unrest and dissatisfaction, but I invite them to don a pair of (lightly) rose tinted glasses and get out on the streets (peacefully) or get vocal about our concerns. Action must lead to action.

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Tea and Biltong with the Queen: No, it is not the same as Beef Jerky!

I’ve written in previous columns about the distinct feeling of isolation I’ve experienced as a legal alien in the UK, and I’m starting to believe that it’s not so much the addition of a new feeling (isolation) but the removal of a feeling I had at home (belonging). This may seem like a strange thing to say as a South African, but at home I felt part of something – both a movement and a people – and it’s weird to think that I identify more with South Africans from a multitude of cultures, than I do with the British (my ancestral home).

Recently, with the floods in England, I felt an increase of national spirit from the locals here in the UK – sometimes a little adversity will do that. And it reminded me, firstly, that I am not at home here, and, secondly, how great it is to feel like you’re contributing, that you belong and are part of a greater whole. If press coverage of SA is to be believed, there seems to be a similar process happening at home.

It has been thirteen years since the first democratic election in SA. Thirteen years is actually not a long time. The problems we have in SA are going to take generations (yes, generations! Plural!) to fix but we must acknowledge how far we have come, and above all, not cease to strive. This means vote, protest, and foster equal opportunities.

There used to be a feeling of “jump ship” when faced with crime and unemployment in South Africa, now it’s more of a “dig in and get your hands dirty” vibe. Don’t believe me? How about the increase in websites like “SA Good News”, “Homecoming Revolution” and “Crimeline”? How about increased coverage of crime against the poorer sectors of our communities? People worry that more crime stories mean more crime, but often they mean more effective police work and increased awareness. This reflects a change in our collective attitude as South Africans.

It is a very exciting time for South Africa. The afro-pessimists will scream that its scary, sad, chaotic, but I see a full generation of people who attended integrated schools, who know of Mandela as a free man, who’ve escaped the economic isolation of the 80’s, who can travel and compete in international sport. We’re a people who have won the begrudging respect of our international peers, whose constitution is often lauded as the best in the world, who aren’t travelling just to escape, but for travel’s sake.

Yesterday I ran into the members of the Soweto Gospel Choir just walking down the street in Edinburgh. They’ve arrived for the Edinburgh Arts Festival, I guess, and although I was rushing in the opposite direction, and don’t know any of them from Adam, I couldn’t help myself yelling “Molweni” as I passed, to which they happily responded, and those few quick phrases exchanged in Xhosa made me happier than I’d been all week. I felt like I had met people I could identify with for the first time in months.

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Kate Thompson’s Tea and Biltong with the Queen:

Leaving home is a virtually universal experience, whether it’s a minor move from your folks’ home to your own place just down the road, or a major one like emigrating – it can be a heady mix of emotions, simultaneously exciting and terrifying. When I first moved away to university I had a small taste of this, but it didn’t compare to the experience of moving overseas.

I thought I’d minimised the shock by picking a country with similarities to my own, and at least one I knew a little about.
Speak the same language – check!
Have family to house me for the first little while – check!
Familiarity with the culture? Well, let’s see: Queen Elizabeth, Prince Charles, an obsession with horses and dogs –check, check, check!

Well, the thought process wasn’t quite as naïve and clichéd as that, but I did think I’d thought it out and was prepared, but the truth is I hadn’t a clue. Culturally, despite being brought up in an English speaking family in an ex-British colony, it turns out (insert sigh of relief here) we have nothing in common.

It is so hard to pin down what South African culture is. Maybe we could venture a guess at some familiar pillars of Xhosa culture, of Ndebele or Afrikaans or English South Africans – but we’d be hard pressed to narrow it down in any meaningful way. And that’s not nearly as hard as describing South African culture, with tons of languages, peoples, and influences. I’m not a sociologist or an ethnographer, and I doubt even their ability to do that, – but, here’s the kicker, it doesn’t matter!

You don’t have to pin down the culture of your home to know that it exists. It’s something so ingrained, so subtly learnt that you don’t know that you’ve learnt to read the signs or even that there are any signs for you to read, until the signs change (when you wake up on another continent, for example).

This may contain a few overused examples, (we all know why something becomes a cliché, after all), but below is a list of some good South African words, phrases and understandings:

1. “Now” – this is great word. It can be used to mean this minute, or in an hour or two. Combined with “just” or repeated as in “just now” and “now now”, this tiny simple word can mean virtually any time without ever being specific.

2. “Howzit, how are you?” – no, I haven’t just repeated myself. One is a greeting and one is question – obviously!

3. “Ja no” – another absolutely nonsense phrase which adds little of worth to a sentence, except for what it adds in colour. Can be used instead of “um”, as in “Do you have the keys? Ja no, I last saw them in the kitchen”.

4. Bilingual and Creative swearing – most South Africans speak at least two languages, and even those we don’t speak we hear often enough to learn the fun and useful bits. I love swearing in Afrikaans and Xhosa round the office and getting away with it, while the office manager has a go at other staff for saying innocuous things like “Damn”. Oh, and South Africans love a good euphemism. My personal favourite is “Ooooh, veldskoen!”

5. The Metric System – the simple decimal system that the two most powerful nations in the world can’t wrap their simple heads around. It’s just easier folks!

6. “Robot” – traffic lights are robots. Sure it’s a little old fashioned sounding, but they’ll never be anything else to me. Oh, and this applies to “packet” too. I get blank looks when I ask for one here because in the UK they’re simply “bags”.

7. “Pavement special” – don’t make the mistake of referring to a cute mix breed dog as this. People in England take pedigree seriously, far too seriously. Maybe that’s why they still have a royal family?!

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Tea and Biltong with the Queen: No, don’t feed it to the corgies! That’s Kudu!

Some people, of a poetic or artistic persuasion, have suggested that a place has a rhythm, that the street has a rhythm of its own – a unique beat that people can tap into. In tales, it is often this rhythm that the protagonist is trying to find, this understanding that turns the situation to his advantage, that changes the world around for him, in whatever quest he is on…

But what makes up the rhythm of a place? Wouldn’t Cape Town’s beat be as different to Jo’burg’s one as London is? Can it be explained or quantified, like a genetic memory or spatial identity, or something more esoteric than that?

I don’t know much about that, but I know the cobbled roads of the Old Town of Edinburgh slow your pace, giving you long enough to gaze up at the medieval city towering above you. I know the sleek sidewalks of London will move you on if you don’t keep up the pace. I know Dublin encourages staggering (or is that just my friends?).

I know the dust gathers like a gritty talc in the Karoo seeping into your tekkies, building up on your socks, giving you the sensation of time accruing as if tiny Karoo towns gather time. It makes me want to slow down too, maybe sit on the stoep in the afternoon and watch the world go by.

The world feels young and feral in the coastal valleys of the Wild Coast, where people have only just been able to leave an imprint. It’s fresh, but it isn’t soft. It’s a world of aloes and dirt tracks and sharp rocks. I stand in awe of nature, but I watch my step.

The Western Cape is green and hilly in a chocolate box kind of way. It is a mix: so very French, so very Dutch, so very quaint, soooo cosmopolitan! It makes me want to frolic – if only I knew what a good frolic looked like!

Sometimes cliches aren’t imposed, they arise. A place can shape its inhabitants, and as exciting as new and different places are, you know the feeling of home the minute your foot fits the pavement – hence the saying, “it’s like coming home”. I sometimes wonder if it is this connection that expats are trying to recapture when lighting a braai in their postage-stamp garden of their digs in Southfields, London.

Yes, braais and boerie are wonderful all on their own, but isn’t there another part of you that longs for home when you do it? We’ve left home for a variety of reasons and some people sadly cannot imagine returning, but we’re still trying to conjure up a semblance of South Africa, even if just for an afternoon. I know it’s this I’m looking for when I trek to the South African shop on a Saturday and spend a week’s grocery allowance on biltong and niknaks…

You don’t know it’s there until you leave it behind, and then you don’t feel complete till you have it again. It’s in the smell and the dust and the land and the languages and the faces and the feet…

*With thanks to Miriam Makeba

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Tea and biltong with the Queen: Rooibos with lemon, or honey, or four spoons of sugar in a tin cup on a frosty karoo morning?

Here’s the problem with the “first world”: it’s too damn regulated and it sulks. It seems that when a country has loads of money, good employment levels, and a little bit of clout, politicians and the powers that be find themselves without very much of any importance to do. Sounds good, right? Wrong! Politicians aren’t the type to accept when they aren’t needed. Instead they look for ever increasingly petty and annoying things to hold over you.

In the UK you can’t offer a colleague so much as a panado, because if anything happened to them they could then sue you and the company you both work for. Instead you have to have a designated first aid officer, who is trained to hand out tricky essentials like plasters. Furthermore, you are required by law to have car insurance. Just hear me out… Insurance is good. We should all have it. But I reject the notion that the government should compel me to do so.

Petty regulations aside, the Brits (and, yes, I’m generalising here – with even more to come), love nothing more than a good moan. A few examples: Global warming is making my life unbearable. It’s going to rain all weekend. It’s too hard to recycle because the supermarkets provide too much packaging. I can’t honestly be expected to reduce my household waste! The school lunches given to my children are too fatty. My dogs, kids and husband are too fat. The schools have banned junk food …

Yes, yes, it would be lovely if South Africans had less serious things to worry about – but the baby-sitting government of the UK irks me sooo much that I had to air my feelings. It seems if there is a lack of genuine things to be worried about, people create new silly ones. And as much as I bitch about it, wouldn’t it be nice to have a few less things to stress about in SA (poverty, crime, AIDS, corruption, racism, malnutrition etc)?

Well, at least we can pat ourselves on the back for possessing a national “get-on-with-it” attitude. If you’ll excuse the cliché, it seems you can’t keep a good nation down, because even with all the scary things going on, South Africans have earned a reputation as being positive, friendly, and hard working people – and it’s this group, this generation I’m excited to be a part of!

We’re the generation that don’t know segregated schools. We’re the generation that were never under any illusions about AIDS. We’re the generation that can change the stereotype of the racist South African. I love being a part of that, and I’ve tried to be an ambassador for my Saffa generation over here, but have missed it terribly since I’ve been in the UK.

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Tea and Biltong with the Queen: Earl Grey, Ma’am? *blank stare*

A babble of languages on the street, an airport greeting message on a billboard that’s twelve lines long, a no-place-like-home mis-translation like “Welcome at Witbank Mall” – all signs of a TRULY multicultural society. Ever stopped to ask a stranger something and had to try out three languages before you found one you had in common? “Excuse me” you say. “Jammer?” they say. “Ndithetha nci nci Xhosa” you say. “Heke!” they say.

It’s a common occurrence in the land of eleven official languages. It’s something we complain about sometimes, and if you’re a little more old-fashioned you sigh about how inefficient it is, but it’s every day life in South Africa. And it makes me happy! The days of the Afrikaans-English bi-polar schooling are gone, but we still require scholars to learn a second language for around ten years, and I would imagine that most South Africans are, at least, bilingual.

Remember “Simulcast” – that 80’s method of tuning into the original American sound of a t.v. programme through your radio? With the cynicism of a media graduate, I know that this was an ugly symptom of an oppressive regime. But, I was five, six or seven years old, and I remember snuggling down with the whole family for the EVENT that was watching a programme like Beverly Hills 90210.

Do we have the radio? Is it pre-tuned so my teenage sister doesn’t miss what Kelly and Whatshisface have to say to each other? Where’s the electric lead in case the batteries go dead? There was preparation involved. And through the innocent eyes of youth, it was a family tradition that is probably fairly unique in the world at that time. I even have a friend on the other side of the simulcast divide for whom Alf will always be the little Afrikaans hairy alien!

Nowadays, when I’m skipping through the “sameness” of British television, I long to catch a snatch of something I don’t understand. In the 1700’s Scots and Gaelic were outlawed in Scotland by the ruling English, and even though it was repealed in the same century, the damage was irreparable. Today you can catch about an hour of Gaelic programming per week across five channels. By comparison, South Africa has embraced poly-language broadcasting (particularly in radio). There may be some proportional issues to sort out and a definite need for locally-produced quality content – but if you get home in time for soapie hour, you can have your pick of languages. If you like a show, but you’re not fluent – read the provided subtitles, or stumble along with the bilingual dialogue.

It’s a positive thing that enjoying a subtitled programme is standard. Or better yet – watch the weather in Zulu. The symbols are all the same, so you get the gist of it, but can also appreciate the unashamed enthusiasm the Zulu weatherman brings to his segment, even if you don’t understand a word! And Afrikaans rugby commentary is simply priceless: “O! Dis onder die pale in. Ongelooooflik!!!”

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Tea and Biltong with the Queen: Sliced? Or would you rather just gnaw on that one, Ma’am?

I Spy, the number plate game and the lowest common denominator in music may not be everyone’s first choice of how to spend ten hours, especially when you’re the youngest child and the primary source of amusement for your older siblings. Throw in some stale egg sandwiches for “padkos”, maybe an harassed parent or two, and you have all the ingredients for a South African tradition. My family even had a “volksie bus” to make our epic journeys in – the back window covered in stickers from the places we had visited. My brother and sister each got a long seat to stretch out on and I got the crumbs-and-sticky-juice-spills floor – but even the 30 hour drive from East London to Windhoek has a special place in my heart.

We don’t leave the car trip behind us when we grow up. It just changes style a bit. Now you can drive or your mates can, and suddenly everyone has a Golf to squeeze into, and a perfect excuse to ditch Friday lectures and drive to Cape Town for the weekend. Next you find yourself a member of the 9-5 working club and the drive to work even has an impact on where you want to live. In a country with an outmoded transport system, cars (our own, taxis, friends’ cars – all included) can become a home for landmark occasions, a license more significant than the fake gold keys of your 21st.

And you can’t beat eighteen months of public transport to make you yearn for a little car time: Buses and trains that come and go without concern for your timetable, the foul tempered driver, the crazy person drooling on your shoulder, freezing in winter, baking in summer, with ever present body odour and screaming babies… I’d swap that for clutch-foot cramp any day of the week!

We live in a BIG country, and as a result we take distance and cars for granted. Here in Scotland, my office only provides parking for the senior managers, and you can drive across the country in less than a day – a lot less, but it is seen as a far distance, an unnecessarily long drive. In fact you can fly from Edinburgh to Glasgow, which is around 80kms; although, if you drive it’ll take you over an hour with the traffic, or 50 minutes on the train. Sigh! Now I’m a small town girl, but it only means I’m more familiar with the receding horizon of country roads. This in itself is not unique – I’ve no doubt other ex-pats will identify – but it is an aspect of home I really miss, an unofficial South African tradition.

From my first month in the UK, I’ve been planning how I’m going to be a tourist in my own country when I come home – the current version involves driving a convertible from Jozi to iKapa through the interior during mid-Summer, stopping only in one-mangy-dog villages and staying only in BnB’s run by little old grannies who think decorating involves doilies. I don’t know when I’m going to have the chance – so you go ahead, but, please, take it easy on the roads.

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