At long last, it appears I found a South African who embraces the Christmas spirit. Leaving the house the other day, a garbage truck was making its weekly rounds. One of the crew spotted me and approached the gate, muttering something inaudible over the roar of the truck’s compactor. I was only able to make out something about money and Christmas presents.
Repeating, what he said was, “Please you must give me money for Christmas presents.” I must have forgot to wash the “ATM” off my forehead again, because I’ve rarely had a conversation with a black South African that didn’t end in a request for cash or a job. My initial response is usually guilt, until I remember a conversation we had with a white woman in Namibia. She recalled how beggars would approach her at traffic lights in her beater car, ignoring the black guy in the Mercedes just behind her, knowing that guy would tell them where to stick it.
I didn’t tell the guy where to stick it, nor did I mention that he was lucky to have a cushy government job in a country with (unofficially) 35-40% unemployment. Neither did I mention that I need every rand I have, given one of his compatriots saw fit to steal my debit card info. Last week I noticed some purchases in the UK being made on my account, and I’m fairly certain about not leaving the continent recently. Since the dodgy transactions began shortly after purchasing Whisky Live tickets online, I can only assume someone at WebTickets stole my info and sold it to someone in the UK. As you can imagine, my Christmas generosity is wearing a bit thin, imaging someone enjoying a lovely holiday in Greece at my expense.
I could have told him all that, but instead I just said, “Buddy, I just rent here…”
The city has been relatively pleasant the past few days, having largely emptied out this past weekend. Marnie and I are exchanging our meagre gift offerings this evening before heading off tomorrow to spend our Christmas on the beach in Plett. Thursday I get another shot at seeing a Great White, which has me thinking about some interesting holiday movie ideas (Jaws VI: Festive Feeding Frenzy--“Santa, we’re gonna need a bigger sleigh…). We decided not to make dinner reservations for our time away, so we very may well be eating “Chinese turkey” for Christmas dinner.
I mention all of this not to complain. Okay, maybe a little bit. But the bigger point is that when the malls are packed, a mere dusting of snow has backed the highway up for two miles, and the relatives have worn out their welcome several hours previous, know that Marnie and I would love to be there suffering with you. After all, to pilfer shamelessly from one of my favorite holiday specials: Christmas day shall always be, just as long as we have we.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Repeating, what he said was, “Please you must give me money for Christmas presents.” I must have forgot to wash the “ATM” off my forehead again, because I’ve rarely had a conversation with a black South African that didn’t end in a request for cash or a job. My initial response is usually guilt, until I remember a conversation we had with a white woman in Namibia. She recalled how beggars would approach her at traffic lights in her beater car, ignoring the black guy in the Mercedes just behind her, knowing that guy would tell them where to stick it.
I didn’t tell the guy where to stick it, nor did I mention that he was lucky to have a cushy government job in a country with (unofficially) 35-40% unemployment. Neither did I mention that I need every rand I have, given one of his compatriots saw fit to steal my debit card info. Last week I noticed some purchases in the UK being made on my account, and I’m fairly certain about not leaving the continent recently. Since the dodgy transactions began shortly after purchasing Whisky Live tickets online, I can only assume someone at WebTickets stole my info and sold it to someone in the UK. As you can imagine, my Christmas generosity is wearing a bit thin, imaging someone enjoying a lovely holiday in Greece at my expense.
I could have told him all that, but instead I just said, “Buddy, I just rent here…”
The city has been relatively pleasant the past few days, having largely emptied out this past weekend. Marnie and I are exchanging our meagre gift offerings this evening before heading off tomorrow to spend our Christmas on the beach in Plett. Thursday I get another shot at seeing a Great White, which has me thinking about some interesting holiday movie ideas (Jaws VI: Festive Feeding Frenzy--“Santa, we’re gonna need a bigger sleigh…). We decided not to make dinner reservations for our time away, so we very may well be eating “Chinese turkey” for Christmas dinner.
I mention all of this not to complain. Okay, maybe a little bit. But the bigger point is that when the malls are packed, a mere dusting of snow has backed the highway up for two miles, and the relatives have worn out their welcome several hours previous, know that Marnie and I would love to be there suffering with you. After all, to pilfer shamelessly from one of my favorite holiday specials: Christmas day shall always be, just as long as we have we.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Merry Christmas! Can't wait to hug you both-- in the meantime, have a wonderful time at the beach.
ReplyDeleteFeliz Navidad, Joyeux Noel, Nollaig chridheil agus Bliadhna mhath ùr! (Okay, I had to look that last one up, it is Gaelic). In any language, we miss you so much. Our Christmas wish to you is that Moby Dick rears his magnificent head and that you have your camera ready. Much love, Mom & Dad
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