The Air Up Here

 I went camping this weekend. 

It's wonderful to escape the noisy, crowded suburbs to a noisy, crowded resort and campsite. Seriously I'd highly recommend this venue- if I were being paid. As I'm not, it shall remain nameless.

People at the campsite enjoyed themselves with family and friends. There was not a politician in sight to tell them why they shouldn't. Or to point out that the neighbours had a larger tent and more wors.

I am not an experienced camper. My camping family erected the complicated tents and gazebos with a speed and efficiency that would have sent your average tenderpreneur into a dead swoon.

 "Eish! And they're not even being paid. Something is not right." 

I met a West Indian couple once, while out of the country. On hearing that I was from South Africa, they exclaimed:

"Ah, the friendly country!"

I thought that we had gone about decolonising that particular notion over the past decade or two. Aided by our snarling, finger-wagging, fist-waving, nation-building politicians. 

Not so. People tossed out friendly greetings at campsite, pool and even the communal bathrooms. Many called me 'sir' and I wondered whether it was my knightly bearing or the gown and mortarboard from my teaching days. (I like casual, comfortable camping gear).

I wondered whether it was just the Western Cape. But I remember an elderly gentleman in a Johannesburg minibus taxi complaining that passengers didn't greet anymore. I've found that they often do. I recall growing tired, in a Northern Cape town, of returning waves from passing motorists, while sitting out in the  cool evening air. In Durban, you can strike up a conversation even in a lift - provided it's in English or isiZulu. It seems to me that we have not yet sufficiently heeded the inspirational calls ftom our Great Leaders to behave like savage packs of hyenas. Not for want of example from that Honourable lot. 

The exception was a gentleman at the campsite, who chose the late hours to expound loudly and at length on what he planned to do to someone who had clearly upset him. Shades of the State of the Nation address. His superior logic and linguistic ability reminded me of a party whose name escapes me now. His skilful use of the f verb in every sentence was a thing to marvel at. People said that he was inconsiderate. I disagree. It was thoughtful of him to outline the detailed plan. A terrible thing to get f...d up without the benefit of a thorough briefing first. I recall Mr Malema extending similar courtesies to a gentleman at a pap (Pan African Parliament) meeting. He explained to the gentleman that he would f...k him up and kill him outside. Location is important. As is the precise sequence of events.

As is the case with the party mentioned earlier, (still can't get to the name), nothing actually happened, following the yelling, the hot air, the verbal flatulence.

Fortunately, unlike the great party, the man did shut up after an hour or two. How splendid it would be if they, too, would run out of steam in 2024. It is impossible to run a modern country, hungry for peace and progress, on steam alone.

As with all things South African, Big Brother would not be ignored and made his clumsy presence felt with a contribution of two sessions of loadshedding. Even that did not dampen the spirits of the campers. In the dark, a group sang with gusto, Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika (God Bless Affica). 

Of course, I was delighted that this camping trip took my mind off the absurdities of South African politics entirely.

I salute the campers and the folks who run the wonderful campsites of our country.

Yes it is OUR country, comrades. Move forward, not backward.

Again, quoting Mr Khayyam, with minor tinkering and apologies:

The moving finger writes

And having writ, moves on

Nor all thy thuggery nor sh..t

Shall lure it back to cancel half a line

Nor all thy threats wash out a word of it.

Tips for the blogger gratefully accepted 

Capitec Bank, South Africa  

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O Tichmann 

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