For them thunderous holidays...

Ok, I hope I’m not the only one who seem to have blinked and it’s December already. Unbelievable, isn’t it. It’s as if it was last month when in remote villages across the country we cried our lungs out at midnight welcoming the long anticipated two-thousand-and-mine, now few believe it was theirs. Now that we have to do this whole merry-go-round again, I decided to pour myself a calabash of thick- home-brewed…*ehm*, warming up for the mighty consumption of the same stuff that is calling me till the brink of a new year – whereby we’ll pause for a minute to thank the Almighty for carrying us throughout the year and urging him with ‘sincere hearts’ to renew our contracts next year.

Ok, not that it’s any of your business, but I decided to write this now because most people who might read it will not be able to, due to ‘blessings’ of end- year office parties, so next time they might stop to read my concoctions, it will all be irrelevant. This is the time whereby most migrant workers, prodigal sons and daughters like me and you resume contacts that possibly ended on the 5th of January this year.

As I’m ‘planning to get broke systematically', I’m reminded of what plays itself every year during these times. Knowingly or unknowingly, you are likely to witness the following in your various places of origin. The big brothers, uncles and cousins who disappeared to Jozi will be mostly celebrated; they will be enjoying this whilst boasting with their nice cars with GP registrations. Ok, I admit I envy them, I always wanted to be ubhut’ waseGoli when I’m old, pity...nx. Eintlik, why vele do even people today who live in Jozi always seem to be likeable than others? When you have CA registrations, people hardly celebrate you, instead they feel sorry for you. Strue. They are sorry that you do not only live in God-forsaken far away place, far from everyone and everything central to Mzansi, you’ve also got terrible weather, and since Helen Zille and her white people still rule Western Cape - you are likely to be poor, if you are above poverty line, chances are you’ve spent all your money on the road trying to get home. The nice part about this is it makes you less of a target for ‘cool drink’ monies, except for those uncles with unforgiving hearts. All this is a walk in a park for me, but yey there are heavens to be feared. Izulu. Rain, or more appropriately weather. Have you ever noticed that most natural disasters in recent years takes place just after Christmas, Tsunami took place on the 26th the Boxing Day and many disasters in our country. One of the few joys of living in Cape Town is that although we aquaplane day-in day-out, and that we’ve stopped teaching off-springs about the 4 seasons of the year to them, but narrowed to being 4 seasons of the day; the weather here doesn’t give that dramatic exhibition of lightings and deafening thundering, instead the Almight gave us in His infinite wisdom, rain only. I know in some places elsewhere that long before Christmas, people are already homeless due to that notorious dramatic display.

As a result during these festive times my fun is continuously spoilt by gazing at the skies for signs of another show, this is so traumatic that I get to be in touch with all my extreme feelings, at once. Yes, the sun is lovely, but there is thundering. One minute you are attending a wedding, the next the whole event has turned to a rescue mission. To be exact, the most things I fear are lightnings and not so much thundering. When growing up we were drilled into fearing it. We’ll be told to sit down and be still when ‘God starts shouting at us’. As for why would He shout at us that much, I never got to ask. This fear of lighting and rain reduced fear of teachers at school to nothing. I remember very well, in primary school, whenever clouds gather and its starts thundering, we will be called to assembly and be set free to go home quickly before it gets too hectic. I suspect teachers hated themselves for letting us go when 30 minutes later the skies clear and walla, we have half-day of schooling. In high school, whenever clouds starts to gather, especially after lunch, we will inform the teacher that ‘the river will start its business, I must be on my way’, even me who didn’t have to cross a river, will remember that the beds, electrical appliances at home were not properly catered for to avoid them rain-drops. Thus we must be on our way to put protective measures like placing dishes, jugs, mugs, pots and everything else to prevent water from damaging the furniture. Before the teacher consents, we’ll be off and if it ends up not raining, then we are in deep sh*t the following day.

The worst part of it all is that, there is a possibility of being struck by a bolt of lightning – worse still, sent by your long-forgotten enemy. I’ll not elaborate on the know-how of the village astrologers and scientists; I’ll not tell you where to get a discount in buying them lightings for your enemy. But you know, whenever clouds gather and it’s starts thundering, I remember all my enemies and always hope that whatever happened no longer matters.

So as we go home, when it starts thundering, remember the village general science, if you are at home disconnect TV aerial, sit down, shut your mouth, and do not fall asleep. But should it find you in an open land: do not run, do not walk on the path – dummy, that’s where lighting runs, oh and do not follow anything with tail, you will be on a hectic receiving end.

To all my enemies, if you can’t forgive me, let’s start this again next year.

Happy Holidays mense!