In her assessment that South Africans hate Christmas, I initially thought Marnie was being a bit harsh, biased perhaps by her longing for the familial comforts of being home for the holidays. On reflection, she may have something.
Admittedly, my own view is tainted by the current Grinch-iness I find myself in. The Kirsteins, the family we rent our flat from, are getting divorced and selling the house. I take no pleasure in gossiping about the misery of others, but the resultant chaos and lack of consideration towards us in the past month is taking its toll. Home turnovers in South Africa typically take three months after a deal is done, so our living situation won’t be affected, apart from the inconvenience of being booted out of the flat for open houses on short notice. In better times, being “part of the family” had its benefits, but right now I just wish for the privacy of our own space.
Then there’s the weather. If this had been Ohio, we would be buried under four feet of snow, given the torrential thunderstorms we endure like clockwork every night. This has the bonus effect of knocking out the satellite TV, punching 15-20 minute holes in every show we watch. Not that we would be watching Christmas shows, such is the dearth of festive programming around here. By now Marnie and I would have been watching Christmas movies for a month solid, but DSTV isn’t showing any holiday fare until the week before the big day. Apart from some truly horrid made for TV films (the last refuge of the D-list actor) and the seasonal cooking shows on BBC, we are in a Christmas dead zone here.
It seems the Ch
ristmas spirit extends only so far as commerce, with holiday commercials and newspaper adverts appealing for consumers to part with their rands. The malls are certainly decked out in all their plastic evergreen glory, but the patrons don’t seem to reflect the festive décor. This Santa perched atop a security wall in Parkhurst would have won the neighborhood, nay regional, home decorating contest by a mile. That's just sad.
Admittedly, my own view is tainted by the current Grinch-iness I find myself in. The Kirsteins, the family we rent our flat from, are getting divorced and selling the house. I take no pleasure in gossiping about the misery of others, but the resultant chaos and lack of consideration towards us in the past month is taking its toll. Home turnovers in South Africa typically take three months after a deal is done, so our living situation won’t be affected, apart from the inconvenience of being booted out of the flat for open houses on short notice. In better times, being “part of the family” had its benefits, but right now I just wish for the privacy of our own space.
Then there’s the weather. If this had been Ohio, we would be buried under four feet of snow, given the torrential thunderstorms we endure like clockwork every night. This has the bonus effect of knocking out the satellite TV, punching 15-20 minute holes in every show we watch. Not that we would be watching Christmas shows, such is the dearth of festive programming around here. By now Marnie and I would have been watching Christmas movies for a month solid, but DSTV isn’t showing any holiday fare until the week before the big day. Apart from some truly horrid made for TV films (the last refuge of the D-list actor) and the seasonal cooking shows on BBC, we are in a Christmas dead zone here.
It seems the Ch
ristmas spirit extends only so far as commerce, with holiday commercials and newspaper adverts appealing for consumers to part with their rands. The malls are certainly decked out in all their plastic evergreen glory, but the patrons don’t seem to reflect the festive décor. This Santa perched atop a security wall in Parkhurst would have won the neighborhood, nay regional, home decorating contest by a mile. That's just sad.The only “Merry Christmas” we’ve heard was from a security guard when we were leaving the museum at Maropeng, Marnie nearly launching out of her seat to enthusiastically return the greeting. I think she frightened him a bit. A month ago I was startled to hear “Joy to the World” in four part harmony outside our flat window. The carollers were quickly shooed away by the maid, though I was strongly tempted to call them back. And I hate carollers.
The best insight on the matter has come from Marnie’s “waxologist”, who lived in the US for twenty years, and quite correctly predicted we would hate the holidays here. She pointed out that most people can’t afford presents, and many businesses stay open, so Christmas is just another work day. For the more fortunate, many choose to head for coastal resorts, since the holiday period coincides with the school summer holidays. We decided to spend four days in the Garden Route area of the Western Cape, and listening to others’ holiday plans, it seems as if the majority of Johannesburg is joining us. Quite how Santa is supposed to find you at a beach resort I’ll never know.
But the most depressing thing is the lack of that feeling, the sense that everyone is just a little bit friendlier than usual, the coziness of bundling up against the cold, the chill that runs up your spine when a choir sings “Oh Holy Night” (that’s a choir, not Celine or Mariah—showoffs). Every Sunday, I read a column by an ex-pat South African living in New York City. Last week she chose to criticize the over indulgence of the festive season in the States. She has a point—we eat too much, drink too much, spend too much. What she doesn’t acknowledge is that if you take that all away, December 25th in the US still means something to people, usually something about faith and family and being decent to one another. In South Africa the 25th is just a Saturday.
The best insight on the matter has come from Marnie’s “waxologist”, who lived in the US for twenty years, and quite correctly predicted we would hate the holidays here. She pointed out that most people can’t afford presents, and many businesses stay open, so Christmas is just another work day. For the more fortunate, many choose to head for coastal resorts, since the holiday period coincides with the school summer holidays. We decided to spend four days in the Garden Route area of the Western Cape, and listening to others’ holiday plans, it seems as if the majority of Johannesburg is joining us. Quite how Santa is supposed to find you at a beach resort I’ll never know.
But the most depressing thing is the lack of that feeling, the sense that everyone is just a little bit friendlier than usual, the coziness of bundling up against the cold, the chill that runs up your spine when a choir sings “Oh Holy Night” (that’s a choir, not Celine or Mariah—showoffs). Every Sunday, I read a column by an ex-pat South African living in New York City. Last week she chose to criticize the over indulgence of the festive season in the States. She has a point—we eat too much, drink too much, spend too much. What she doesn’t acknowledge is that if you take that all away, December 25th in the US still means something to people, usually something about faith and family and being decent to one another. In South Africa the 25th is just a Saturday.
Case in point: At the mall the other day, instead greeting a long line of kids, Santa sat in his chair looking bored. Some guy did stop to ask him directions though. Santa doesn't give directions, he gives joy to the children of the world, dude.
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