We Want Jobs...
Back in Blighty after my week’s mini-break in South Africa. *Tear*
A very family orientated holiday as entire reason for trip was the momentous First Birthday of my niece, Queenie. (Niece is not actually called Queenie, but as her nanny likes to use terms of endearment like, “you are my queenie, you are my A1, you are my five star” I thought I’d adopt the moniker for the purposes of blogging.) Queenie turned one and had a ‘Teddy Bear’s Picnic’ Themed birthday. I had no idea how much production goes into all two hours of a first birthday party. Somehow I landed up in charge of décor – which involved colouring in paper cut outs of teddy bears with the help of my school chum, Klong. Armed with 2 bottles of wine and a smorgasbord of colouring pencils we churned out some beaut teddy bears – the red polka dot one with the squinty eyes was very clearly penned at the end of wine bottle number two:
Clearly blind to the realities of my artistic talents my frazzled sister then asked me to ice the cake. Poor Queenie got a canary yellow iced teddy bear shaped cake, complete with marshmallow ears, jelly baby eyes and little gummy bear shaped buttons. Truly it was a vision:
In the spirit of all things familial I stayed with my parents. I forgot about my Father’s tendency to ‘green things up’ i.e. turn out lights while you are busy in a room. His favourite trick is to plunge you into darkness whilst you are wallowing in the bath. He then plays deaf to your cries of help. I do commend his green initiative - if he didn’t turn out the lights the local municipality (council) would. I arrived in the middle of the municipal worker’s annual strike. The striking refuse collectors would like an 18% pay rise and so have taken to the streets toytoying (dancing and singing protest songs whilst brandishing placards). The toytoying workers not only knocked over rubbish bins and sprinkled rubbish in their wake but they also cut power and water supplies to certain parts of the city. Very persuasive negotiation tactics. One toytoying worker was seen brandishing the placard “WE WANT JOBS, NOT PENIS!” My father and I spent a great deal of time decoding this, I thought they meant, “We want jobs, not to be screwed” whilst my old Pa thought it meant “we want jobs, not pennies.”
Being home I was reminded how ‘hard’ South Africans are. Being mid-winter the country was gripped by a particularly icy spell with daytime temperatures of 11’C. Clearly living in Britain has made me very soft as I was vibrating with cold and was surgically attached to my duck-down body warmer all week. The family seemed unperturbed by the cold snap – doors and windows were thrust open and remained so at all hours to “get rid of the poofy smells” to quote my mother. Personally I’d rather block my nose to the farting of the hounds than live in an Arctic wind tunnel, but “Afrika is nie vir sussies nie” (Africa is not for sissies). And I’ve been a little sissified, spoiled by first world novelty notions like draught excluders and central heating.
Living in Britain I have also been cushioned in my first world anxieties; soul-searching decisions like should I invest in a pair of brogues or are they too last season and are dungarees really making a comeback. But a little incident put life into perspective: my mom and I were standing in the queue to pay for our groceries when my mom noticed that the man in front of us had left his toothbrush behind in the shopping basket. When she asked if it was his he shook his head and looked embarrassed. I naively told my mom to leave it, thinking he had changed his mind. A woman of action, mum commandeered the toothbrush paid the R15 (£1) and swiftly popped it into his calloused hand. He responded with a bashful gnarled-tooth smile (in need of immediate dentistry). Clocking the contents of his shopping basket – polony, bread and maas (sour milk) I was suddenly aware just how big a luxury one bog-standard toothbrush is. My mum’s justification, “If he has to prioritise over food or a toothbrush he’ll never have one and he’ll lose all his teeth. And just look at Queenie (1 year old and toothless) to see how hard it is to gum your food.”
Ah, nothing like a bit of third world reality to count your blessings by.
WE WANT JOBS, NOT PENIS!
A very family orientated holiday as entire reason for trip was the momentous First Birthday of my niece, Queenie. (Niece is not actually called Queenie, but as her nanny likes to use terms of endearment like, “you are my queenie, you are my A1, you are my five star” I thought I’d adopt the moniker for the purposes of blogging.) Queenie turned one and had a ‘Teddy Bear’s Picnic’ Themed birthday. I had no idea how much production goes into all two hours of a first birthday party. Somehow I landed up in charge of décor – which involved colouring in paper cut outs of teddy bears with the help of my school chum, Klong. Armed with 2 bottles of wine and a smorgasbord of colouring pencils we churned out some beaut teddy bears – the red polka dot one with the squinty eyes was very clearly penned at the end of wine bottle number two:
Clearly blind to the realities of my artistic talents my frazzled sister then asked me to ice the cake. Poor Queenie got a canary yellow iced teddy bear shaped cake, complete with marshmallow ears, jelly baby eyes and little gummy bear shaped buttons. Truly it was a vision:
In the spirit of all things familial I stayed with my parents. I forgot about my Father’s tendency to ‘green things up’ i.e. turn out lights while you are busy in a room. His favourite trick is to plunge you into darkness whilst you are wallowing in the bath. He then plays deaf to your cries of help. I do commend his green initiative - if he didn’t turn out the lights the local municipality (council) would. I arrived in the middle of the municipal worker’s annual strike. The striking refuse collectors would like an 18% pay rise and so have taken to the streets toytoying (dancing and singing protest songs whilst brandishing placards). The toytoying workers not only knocked over rubbish bins and sprinkled rubbish in their wake but they also cut power and water supplies to certain parts of the city. Very persuasive negotiation tactics. One toytoying worker was seen brandishing the placard “WE WANT JOBS, NOT PENIS!” My father and I spent a great deal of time decoding this, I thought they meant, “We want jobs, not to be screwed” whilst my old Pa thought it meant “we want jobs, not pennies.”
Being home I was reminded how ‘hard’ South Africans are. Being mid-winter the country was gripped by a particularly icy spell with daytime temperatures of 11’C. Clearly living in Britain has made me very soft as I was vibrating with cold and was surgically attached to my duck-down body warmer all week. The family seemed unperturbed by the cold snap – doors and windows were thrust open and remained so at all hours to “get rid of the poofy smells” to quote my mother. Personally I’d rather block my nose to the farting of the hounds than live in an Arctic wind tunnel, but “Afrika is nie vir sussies nie” (Africa is not for sissies). And I’ve been a little sissified, spoiled by first world novelty notions like draught excluders and central heating.
Living in Britain I have also been cushioned in my first world anxieties; soul-searching decisions like should I invest in a pair of brogues or are they too last season and are dungarees really making a comeback. But a little incident put life into perspective: my mom and I were standing in the queue to pay for our groceries when my mom noticed that the man in front of us had left his toothbrush behind in the shopping basket. When she asked if it was his he shook his head and looked embarrassed. I naively told my mom to leave it, thinking he had changed his mind. A woman of action, mum commandeered the toothbrush paid the R15 (£1) and swiftly popped it into his calloused hand. He responded with a bashful gnarled-tooth smile (in need of immediate dentistry). Clocking the contents of his shopping basket – polony, bread and maas (sour milk) I was suddenly aware just how big a luxury one bog-standard toothbrush is. My mum’s justification, “If he has to prioritise over food or a toothbrush he’ll never have one and he’ll lose all his teeth. And just look at Queenie (1 year old and toothless) to see how hard it is to gum your food.”
Ah, nothing like a bit of third world reality to count your blessings by.
WE WANT JOBS, NOT PENIS!
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