A Burning World

We expect riots to happen in places like Egypt, Libya and Bahrain. Places where people are oppressed in one way or another. Places we see each day on our television and in our newspapers. We follow the stories of those unhappy people on Twitter and social media. It’s them. It’s not us. Good for them to stand up and fight for a better life.

And then London…

What do they riot for? What do they fight for? A television set and a laptop? A few beers and a packet of crisps? Is that what liberation of the West means? Material stuff for a material society?

But it’s not what they do and what they steal and what they burn that makes me worry. The riots are despicable. It’s wrong. It’s meaningless. It’s violence. It’s opportunistic. But it is no more despicable than the rioters burning the houses and businesses of the innocent in those far-off “exotic” places. They are in essence the same people doing these horrid acts for the same reasons.

The lost voices fed by idiot boxes.

They are fed by media who are meaningless. Television of nothing. They are told to stare at the television and absorb all this great information. Information of what? Controlled news. The voices they hear are those of posh people who have what they want. A life. But stare into the idiot box and eventually you find nothing in there. Just empty promises and posh voices. No life. No future. Just an idiot box to make more idiots.

The powerless being fed fake reality.

They are being fed lies about a better life. Watch some reality show and maybe your dream can come true. Maybe you can be somebody too. Maybe that is your way out if the lotto doesn’t do it for you. A quick fix. But the reality of these people is no better future. They are told to follow the stories of those who came from their backgrounds and who made it into this world of those who have. But eventually they see that those are the exceptions to the rule. The majority stay behind with no life. And maybe even a life cut shorter. They don’t make the news. They are just those who live on the other side of the railroad track. The people without a life. Another life lost won’t mean much. It doesn’t make for good reality television.

The hungry being fed brands and consumerism.

They are told to own the latest music system. The latest tablet. The latest sneakers. The latest hip product. Buy it and you will become one of us. And they buy. And buy. They cut corners and steal money to make that dream come alive. And then they get the product and nothing happens. They still live in those same streets. They still live those same lives. Just with cooler products. And then the money runs out and something new comes along. And they are back to where they belong. With no life and just the need for the latest gadget or hip product.

The meaningless being fed politics of change.

They are told that there are people who really care. Who cares about them and their future. That they will make a difference. They will be the difference. But the difference is really aimed at them. It’s aimed at the middle class to keep them happy. The real majority isn’t in the number of people but in the numbers in money. They are told that companies care about them. They can see it in the charity handed out daily. But none of this makes them become one of them. They don’t hire them. They don’t vote for them. They just promise the world and then turn their backs. The only change is that they are told that they are the problem. That they are lazy. That they are uneducated. That they fail to deliver on the promise of this great society. A society they were never invited to. A party for the invited only.

The social being fed social media.

They chat and they talk and they tweet. They like and they poke and they link. They are the heart of social media. They become part of the social movement. They connect with people from all over. They are the social movement in social media. But then they open their eyes and see that it’s still the same. The people following them are still those who sell them promises and the latest hip products. The social media turns into media. The social media become a me-me-me want more-more-more media. The social part of media breaks down like the social fabric of their lives.

How can we be surprised at the riots? It’s happening around us daily. In little ways. The kid get abused. The kid getting hooked on drugs. The homeless guy down the road. The unclaimed victim of a shooting. The drugs on our streets. These are all little riots happening daily.

The sad truth is that when people feel powerless they do stupid things because they see no alternative. They direct their anger at the wrong people. Not because they want to but because they know no better. No one has told them how to raise their voices. The only people telling them what to do are those same people who use them and abuse them daily. But they are not the answer.

I don’t know the answer.

All I know is that middle class people don’t riot. They have too much to lose. No revolution or riot happens from those who have something. We live in a world where the gap between those who have and those who don’t is increasing every single day. Those who have lost little during the recession. Or at least they see some hope and a way out. Those who were on the outside to start off with knows that getting in just got even harder.

The world is burning. They don’t care about tomorrow anymore. They care about today. The system is broken and no one knows how to fix it. It needs too much to fix it. We need people to buy less stuff. We need people to hire more people. We need people to live with each other and not just amongst each other. We need people to be a community. We need businesses driven by social profit. We need those who have to share in their responsibility as members of our society. We need them to embrace their role and not judge their worth on how much they own or their margins alone. We don’t need to fix the system – we need a new system.

I don’t think we will get there. I just don’t think we have it in us to build anything new anymore. Those who have don’t want to change because they are sucked into a world where they have too much to lose. We’ve been invaded by laziness. We’ve been sucked into a world that we created – flashy cars, latest gadgets, better holidays. These things make us dependent on them and we can’t get rid of the drug called “living the life”. They don’t know that we can lose it all in a flash. They don’t know that they are Mubarak but living in a world of fake freedom and liberty. It’s a fragile house we built around ourselves and we just don’t see it coming. Or we don’t want to see it coming.

We won’t get there. We’ll chip away and try to make it a better place by doing our little bits. And we’ll do it in the system we live in. It’s not the answer but we know no better.

That’s what I’ll do. Keep chipping away at trying to make our broken system a little bit better. Last a little bit longer. It’s not the answer but I have nothing else as an answer. It’s the best I can do with what I know and where I am.

In the meantime they riot because they know no better. They riot because they have not answer. They riot because they know no alternative. They riot because they don’t know what else to do. They will riot because that’s all the system knows.

 

Views on the Weakly News™

Here we go again…

1. The world growing bigger?

The only problem is that not everything else is expanding with it. I know it is disturbing. But don’t worry. We are. Humans. And other planets. And animals. At least until we slaughter them and turn them into burgers and steaks. Even our measurements are expanding. And no, I don’t mean our waistlines. Okay. Not only our waistlines. Also our waste-lines. No idea what that means, but it sounded good when I wrote it. Anyway… I thought the world must be growing while our food and drinks stay the same size. Why? Because everything is getting smaller. Bought a salad the other day and realized that it is smaller than what I remembered from the last time I bought a salad. But then I had a closer look. Damnit. Can you believe it. Even salads are being reduced in size. No – not because of obesity. Rather because of profits. With “raw” materials and overheads going up they had to cut cost somewhere. Why not start with the portions they sell? No problem. Right? Well, I don’t have a problem with it. But it would have been nice of them to tell me. I felt a bit cheated. Dirty. And looking at the smaller packet made me feel all grown up and bigger than what I feel really comfortable with. I felt a bit like Alice for a minute. But, as you might know, I am not a big salad eater. So it didn’t faze me. But I lost it when I realized that they are doing it to beer! Bloody hell people! That’s a line you should never, ever cross. Do what you want with us, but leave our beer alone. You thought President Bush got all pissed at Iraq trying to kill his daddy. Don’t mess with an African and his beer. But they did. Selling us 14 ounce beers but passing it off as a 16 ounce beer! Sacrilege! But the trend continues. Cars are getting smaller. Which is a good thing. My ego can fit into a Mini. But those guys with the big trucks and girls with the big SUV’s. Not sure if their ego can fit into a Ford Focus. I mean really, they only just manage to squeeze into a Hummer. Yeah. The world is shrinking. No, you aren’t getting fat. It’s the clothes shrinking… We’ll all look like Lance Armstrong soon. Tights everywhere. Okay, maybe with two… hum… you know. Oh, I was lying about the salad. It is shrinking, but I am African. We don’t do salad. A good salad is anything not meaty – like chicken.

2. Getting ready to be arrested

I am off to China this weekend. But I’ll tell you about that later. Once I am back. Still waiting for my visa, but hopefully that will be sorted today. There is a reason why I use the name Angry African you know… Anyway. I have been talking to my IT guy about staying connected while I am over there. Apparently it won’t be a good idea to blog from there. Not only do they sometimes “relieve” you of the burden carrying your laptop around, but don’t like bloggers speaking out that much. Not much at all. You see, China, Burma, Iran and Egypt heads the list of countries arresting people because they blog about their political views. I am safe then I guess. I don’t do political views… What I write is nothing but an impartial view of the world and what is happening around us. So I should be safe. But many bloggers are not. 334 got arrested in Burma alone. But thanks to their “somewhat” restrictive government, these could not be verified. When you drop of the face of the earth… 

3. No workers, no problem

Biofuels are held up as either the answer to all our problems or the next disaster to hit us. I don’t have much of a view on this one. I think biofuels could be part of the solution (not the solution), but the current approach sucks. Using corn and sugar just don’t make sense. it pushes food prices right up and we cut down forests meant to protect us from emissions. Sounds like stupid economics to me. And Brazil has a huge problem. They are cutting down the Amazon rainforest faster than you can say “Hummer”. I mean really. 1,123 square kilometers were cut down in April alone… So Unica, the Brazilian ethanol lobby decided to go on the charm offensive. They invited a few journalist around to show them all the good stuff they are doing. Apart from the cutting down of trees that they forgot to mention, most of their ideas are just fine. Like going all mechanical in the cutting of the cane. Less pollution because they don’t have to burn them anymore. But there was something else that caught my eye. The reporter only mentions it as a “by the way”. But it struck me that Unico might still need some more PR training. Unico said that companies are going all mechanical on us because it addresses two challenges. One, the pollution. Check. Secondly, it will get rid of the cane-cutters and therefore also get rid of any labor problems and labor critics. Hum. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned that one. Keep spinning the “we chop down trees to be green” line. It’s not only more believable, it also makes the “little people” go away.

4. The two stooges

Tweedledum and Tweedledee are meeting as we speak. I mean Mbeki and Mugabe are meeting. In Zimbabwe. Not sure why. Maybe to discuss the weather. Or the latest fashion. Or what curtains to pick for their new houses. Or fining new and more spouses. Bloody idiots. Look. I have supported Mbeki through thick and thin. Defended him wherever I could. I even defended his initial position on HIV/Aids in South Africa. And justified his initial approach to the Zimbabwean crisis. But it has gone too far. People are dying in South Africa because of his idiotic HIV/Aids policies and lack of action. And people are dying in Zimbabwe because of a tyrant that has gone bonkers. Mbeki and his “quiet diplomacy” just sounds like “staying quiet”. Sorry you two idiots. Time’s up. You are not welcome anymore. Just take your stuff and go sit in the corner. And be quiet. We have a name for people like you. It starts with an “m”. “Moer-something” in Afrikaans and “Mother-something” in English. Just go. Don’t hang your curtains. Hang your heads in shame. Or just hang your heads.

5. McCain inspiring old white men in Europe

I don’t think so. Okay, maybe he does if you include the arms dealers. But other than that, McCain inspires people outside the US about as much as Osama Bin Laden inspires tolerance. yes, there might be one or two out there who would fall for them. But they are loonies and at the fringe. But Obama. Now that is another story. He isn’t even President (yet) and he is already inspiring people across the world. telling them to break out of their racial stereotype and that anything is possible. That you can do it – no matter where you come from. France is going through some tough times right now. Race is at the forefront of so many debates. And they have violence on the streets of Paris. Because people feel hopeless. That in the land of Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité. Well educated blacks have to compete with 15-year old white kids for a job at McDonald’s. Nothing wrong with working at McDonald’s. But when the color of your skin stoops you from aiming higher, then you have a problem. But all of a sudden Obama is making people talk about race in France. And what it means. And how it can be overcome. And how it can inspire people to continue to fight the good fight for equality. Real equality. Not just a French word. That is inspiring. That is Obama. McSame? Well, apparently the old people in France likes his comb-over. It is so provincial.

See ya later.

 

Terror in South Africa and the end of a dream…

I am ashamed. Ashamed of being a South African. Ashamed of the behaviour of my countrymen. Ashamed of South Africans. Ashamed of South Africa. And every South African should be. Be ashamed.

I have never been ashamed of being a South African. Well, not since 1994 anyway. Before that – I was very ashamed. But for all the right reasons. We were fighting against the most corrupt and violent system in the world. Against Apartheid. Against oppression. Against discrimination. Against the violence they committed against our people. Against murdering the innocent. Against killing those who can’t protect themselves.

But now I am ashamed. For the first time since 1994. I am deeply ashamed. Because we are doing to others what the Apartheid regime did to our people. To us. And we are doing this to those who already suffer the most. Who have already suffered at the hands of their own people. Their corrupt and violent regimes. Their Apartheid regimes. And now we do it to them here in our own country. Against those who have been hunted down in their own country. And tried to find a bit of safety in the townships. In the streets. And you turned on them.

Like cowards. In numbers. Because you think you are so tough with your tyres and your matches. And your pangas and machetes. But you are cowards. Cowards. Because you kill from behind the safety of your numbers. Killing their dream. And killing my dream.

The dream is being shattered by a group of cowards. Bastards. Traitors. You don’t deserve to be called South African. You are not worth the dirt on our streets. You are not worth the spit on my shoes. You are dead to me. Dead to me.

You don’t do that. You don’t kill other people. You don’t murder them because you hate foreigners. Don’t blame the immigrants. You don’t blame them for being without a job. You don’t blame them for being without a house. You don’t blame them. You just don’t blame them. And you don’t take it out on them. Never.

Look in the mirror you bastards. Look in the mirror and ask yourself if you are worth it. Worth the breath that I take. Worth the words on this page. Because you are not. You are nothing. You are animals. Not even. You are nothing.

How you forget. How you forget how these same people housed our people when they were hunted down in South Africa. Zimbabwe. They housed you. They housed your people. Our people. When we were in exile. When we were hunted down like animals. And now you do it. Like Mugabe did it to them in their own home. You are no better than Mugabe. The mad one. You are no better.

You are no better than the perpetrators of Apartheid. You are no better than them. You are no better than the animals that did this to our people. Look at this picture and ask yourself. How are you better than the people that did this to our people? I tell you how. You are no better. You are no better than Craig Williamson. No better than Ferdi Barnard. You are Eugene de Kock.

You spit on our people who died at Sharpeville. You spit on the killing of the Guguleto 7. You spit on the deaths at the Bisho Massacre. You spit on the 27 years Madiba spent in jail for people like you. You spit on the murder of Biko. You spit on the memories of Braam Fischer. The memory of each and every South African who died and suffered for you to have freedom. Every mother. Every father. Every wife. Every husband. Every sisters. Every brother. Every child. You spit on their suffering.

No. You are not just as bad as those perpetrators of Apartheid. You are worse. Because you should know better. This has happened to you. How could you? How the hell could you?

You are dead to me. You are not South African. You are animals. You deserve nothing. You fight for your country. You don’t fight the oppressed. You don’t fight those who have suffered like our people have suffered. You comfort them and protect them. You don’t hunt them down and kill them. You are bastards. And you deserve nothing. Not a crumb of bread. Not a drop of water. Not an ounce of sympathy. Not an inch of understanding. Not a second of analysis. Nothing. Because you mean nothing.

You bastards. You traitors. You animals. The blood is on your hands. You are dead to me.

And my dreams are dead.

____________________________

Note to my government: Mbeki. Be the leader we need. Be the strong and just leader we need. Be a President in action and not only in name. Lead us. Right now. I have always stood up for you. Defended you. No more. Now is the time to show me why I believed in you. show me it wasn’t just empty words. Time to show what you are made of. The burden is on you right now. This is your hour. A defining moment in your Presidency. Will you fail or will you succeed? Show no mercy to these murderers. Be a leader. Lead. Zuma. Shut up and be the leader we need to know you are. Show us what we can expect. Have no sympathy. Because these dogs deserve no sympathy. None. But most of all. Protect those who are being hunted down. Hold them tight and tell them it will be okay. And make it okay. Because they are our flesh and blood. Not the bastards who are traitors to our country. Those who try and call themselves South Africans. They are dead to us. Show them they don’t deserve our great country. They are not South African.

If you enjoyed this post, get free updates by RSS

 

Views on the Weakly News™

Hey, April is almost over. But the madness not. Let’s look at the weak as it happened.

1. Dude, I just smoked the house

Those bloody Aussies. They are taking us all for a ride. No wait. More like a riiiideeee, dude. And sometimes just taking the piss. But good for them. See, they are always trying to find new ways to pull a fast one – those damn Aussies. Give them half a chance… And now they are using the “green” debate out there to create new “eco-friendly” ways of living their lives. I always knew they were a bunch of pot smoking Irish convicts entrepreneurs. But the latest one take the cake. Or should I say “brownie” (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). The Aussies are now claiming that they are building “green” houses by using hemp. Yep. That’s pretty green hey. I think it is because they first have to dry out the leaves. What better way than build a house of dope leaves and leave it to the Australian sun to dry it out nicely. And when it is nice and dry? “Sorry officer, I have no idea how the fire started. The house just went off in flames…” Dude. What a plan, maaan. That’s dope man. And I mean it. But they didn’t stop there. The other question they faced? What to do with all that… hum… pee that comes from drinking too much XXXX. Just recycle it brother. Yes. Recycled water. I guess they can use that when they burn the house. Or burn the house when they drink the water. I would. Just to get the taste out my mouth. I think the Aussies are taking the piss.

2. Just bomb Global Warming

Okay, we are now officially… hum… you know… stuffed. Global Warming is going to wipe us out. Or maybe not. It seems as if we might now have two ways to die as Global Warming creeps up as bites us in the more delicate places. We can either fry in the heat or be bombed to smithereens. At least we have a choice now. All thanks to the Royal United Services Institute. And no, that isn’t some think-tank about Prince Charles and his bevy of servants – it’s the “leading forum in the UK for national and international Defence and Security”. Founded in 1831 by the Duke of Wellington, RUSI is the oldest institute of its kind in the world. Yes, the same guy who gave us those nice rubber boots to walk with in British crap rainy weather also gave us a think-tank to come up with new ways of justifying war. Thanks Duke. Anyway, the RUSI says that Global Warming will get so bad that we will go into wars that will last for centuries and will be worse than the previous two World Wars. So I guess we need more military funding then hey? Nice one – not even Dick could think of a better way to keep Halliburton in the black for a hundred years or more. I do see a little flaw in their argument though. If Global Warming will fry us all – how come we can still be alive to fight wars for a few hundred years? Hum… that’s the thinking part. You concentrated a little bit too much on the tank part buddy. DO YOU HEAR ME SOLDIER! OOH-RAH! (Sorry Marines.) Never mind, at least I will have those Wellington boots when the sea levels start rising.

3. ZZ Top

Yes, it is the battle of the Z’s. Zambia against Zimbabwe. And I am cheering for Zambia. I love Zambia. The most peaceful nation on earth. Never been in a war – internal or external. And you have to know Zambians to know why. The nicest people on earth. And they didn’t even have to build those Aussie “green” houses to be laid back. Okay, also one of the poorest nations on earth. But that didn’t stop them from standing up to the tyrant of the South – Mad Bob Mugabe. You see, China is trying to deliver some weapons to Zimbabwe. Yes, war and instability pays – just Halli and Burton. Back to the South. First the trade unions in South Africa refused to unload the weapons (well done comrades – what we call them back home). And they called Mad Bob out for the coward that he is. You don’t mess with a unionist in South Africa. The Teamsters are as tough as accountants compared to the South African version. If they say the ship won’t be unloaded… then the ship won’t be unloaded. Ever. Even the rats were to scared to make a move on the ship or dare get off the ship. Anyway, Zambia decided to show some political leadership sadly lacking from my own beloved government. President Mwanawasa from Zambia stood up and stood strong. Saying that any weapons delivered to Mad Bob’s puppets can and will undermine any possibility of breaking the violence and intimidation in Zimbabwe. And the Great Chinese ship turned around and headed back home. Head hanging down in shame and tail between their legs. I love Zambia even more. Now. If we can only get Mwanawasa to target a few other warmongers out there. Dick, you beter watch out. You might just piss off anger a Zambian. And as Mad Bob just realized, that ain’t no pretty thing to face.

4. Drive-thru shooting

“You talking to me? You talking to me?” Some of the last words heard at the McDonald’s drive-thru before the shoot-out at the OK Corral Golden Arches. You see, Makyala Hall went for her standard quality dinner at McDonalds and knew that you have to wait to get quality. I mean really, Le McDonald’s isn’t just some fast-food take-out joint. It’s the premier dinner destination in Tulsa. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve been to Tulsa. So Makyala waited patiently for her food at the rathole restaurant that inspired Gordon Ramsay. But after an hour she thought this might be taking a tad longer than what she expected. It is a crappy joint gourmet restaurant, but she ordered drive-thru. And she couldn’t idle her car waiting for her bag of fat handmade burger the whole evening – not with gas prices being the way they are. So she marched up to the manager and told him where to stick his fries where the burgers don’t fit. A super-sized verbal fight broke out and he flipped her faster than those patties. And then good old Madman Thurman showed up. The Cola dude from behind the counter. But he was off duty and stuffed with either beer or Quarter Pounders. In other words – he was drunk with power. I mean, he is the Spongebob of Tulsa. And he was faster on the draw than on the service. And shot the guy in the car behind Makayla when he interrupted their little argument about whether the King can take out Ronald. And all he wanted was some ketchup with his fries. He made it though. Still alive. But just. See the health nuts were right – McDonald’s can kill you.

5. A Bush I can get to like

And I am talking about the one on the left. Not the smiling paw-paw in the middle or the smiling papa on the right. They are so not cool. It’s drool, not cool. But Jenna. If you take the two pees peas puh-lease P’s away and she might just look like she is at a Metallica concert. Okay, not a fan of Metallica, but you get my drift. Anyway, it seems as if she might actually think before she decides who to vote for. Now stay with me people. Yes, a Bush that can think before they take an action. Any action. I know, this is revolutionary. Or maybe evolutionary, but it is happening. I actually don’t care who she votes for. I just like the fact that she refused to be put in a little box when asked who she will vote for. Remember, her mother was sitting next to her and just said that she will vote for “the Republican”. And when Larry asked Jenna? She said she wasn’t sure as she hasn’t made up her mind yet – and then followed this up with, “I mean, who isn’t open to learning about the candidates and I’m sure that everybody is like that“. Huh-duh, like half the US isn’t open to learn sweetheart. Okay Larry, you actually got someone to not agree with their mother in public. I hope you feel proud. You should. Great work Jenna. Now, if only I can talk to you about a little war thing going on.

That’s all folks. Have a good one and speak to you later.

If you enjoyed this post, get free updates by RSS

 

I am a traitor…™

I am a traitor. A traitor to my country. To my countrymen. To South Africa. To my beloved South Africa. And to every South African out there in my home country. I hang my head in shame.

It started off innocently. Like all sins. Like all traitors. I did it once. It was easy. I did it in South Africa. When no one was looking. I actually felt good about it the first time. My wife didn’t notice. My daughter was to young. They trusted me. But I just wanted to give them everything they wanted. I did it for them. And I did it again. And again. And again.

Some of my friends started noticing. They looked at me with new eyes. They knew I was wrong. That I am going to a dark place. And that it can never be forgiven. But they were my friends. And friends stand together. Stand together even in the difficult and impossible times. In those dark days when you know you should say something. But you don’t. Because the shame would be too much. So I moved away from South Africa. Because of this dark past of mine. I just couldn’t look my friends and countrymen in the eyes anymore. Because I know they knew. And those who didn’t will find out sooner or later. And they wouldn’t react the same way as my friends did. No. For them it would be too much. For them I would be nobody. Nothing. They would disown me. I could lose my citizenship for this. And that could well be the least horrid thing that could happen to me. I know of people who disappeared and never showed up again. For South Africans it is the sin of all sins. Treason…

And now. Now I have gone down the deep end. I stayed away from it in England. I did the little things. You know. Just to stay afloat. Just to take the easy road. But never the big sin. I thought I was at least strong enough not to cave in to that. No one will forgive that. No friend will look the other way. Not this. Not this. I am ashamed. Because… Because…

 I bought a gas barbecue…

Yes. Yes. I did. I bought the Perfect Flame Three Burner Gas Grill. And she is powerful – 42,000 BTU’s. A full 640 square inches cooking area. Push and turn ignition. Can you believe that? Push and turn ignition. Porcelain heat tent AND porcelain cast-iron cooking surface. And here is the big one… 28 burger capacity! This baby sings. Whooo-oo!

You might think this is funny. But it isn’t. Not for any South African man reading this. I can just see them reading this. Shaking their heads, winching as if hit by a sucker-punch and saying either “Eish“, “Donner“, or “Jislaaik boet. That’s no joke man“. For them I am not a man anymore. Not a true man. I have gone soft. But more than that. I have denied my heritage. My blood. My South African roots. The fire. The braai.

We don’t call it a barbeque. No. We call it a braai. But a barbecue isn’t a braai. No way dude. There are very strict rules that apply to a braai. Break any of these rules and you might just as well start running. Away from South Africa. And as far as possible and as fast as possible. Because the braai police (Fierce Braai Inspectors – FBI) will come and hunt you don’t. And they won’t stop until you denounce your citizenship. Oh, they have their ways and means to get you to do that. It involves fire…

These are serious things we are talking about. South African men and the braai. You can talk about politics. But the Democrats and Republicans are like two lovers on a first date compared to South Africans and messing with their braai. And you can talk about sport. But the Yankees and Red Sox? Puh-lease. Kids stuff. Mess with the braai and you mess with the most primitive parts of the South African soul.

We can argue politics in South Africa. It doesn’t matter. As long as we can sit around the fire and have our braai together. We can support Chiefs or Pirates, Province or Bulls, argue about rugby or cricket or soccer being the best – but we are united around a braai. But there are rules. And if you break those rules… You are an ex-South African. You are so outta there. Faster than you can say “light me”.

I won’t go into the culture or rules of a braai. That needs a blog on it’s own. It makes chess look like Tic Tac Toe. I’ll just give you a quick insight to the BOERIE Hardware Section – the first two rules. (BOERIE stands for Braai Official Executive Rules In English – not to be confused with the Boerie which is a South African braai sausage).

Rule 1: Get wood

Always, but always braai with wood. And I mean always. No really. Always.

The biggest braai debate in South Africa is not whether to use wood or not. That is a given. The biggest argument is about what wood to use. Rooikrans or Wingerdstompies? Two different types of wood. One from a specific tree and the other from the vineyards. I won’t even go into what I used when I was still straight. But, you see, gas is out completely. My original sin was to use charcoal. And that is bordering on treason. It can tear families apart. We even call it donkey.. hum… droppings… (Donkiedrolle.) Charcoal… That was my first step into the dark side of the braai.

Rule 2: Bricks and mortar

You can’t just use anything to braai in either. No sirree. You need to have an area that is build with the same stuff you build your house with – bricks and mortar. Designs vary. Some have a small little squad braai a few inches off the ground. Others have a whole room developed just around this braai with with multiple braai areas and storage sections. There is one exception to this rule (or First Amendment) – the oil drum rule. You are allowed to braai in an empty oil drum cut in half. You can modify this, but it must always be clearly defined and recognized as an oil drum. I mean really. Even a Weber is seen as going over the edge. I used a Weber AND charcoal back in South Africa. That wasn’t edgy. That was just plain stupid. Denying my people. Denying who I was. People frowned. So you can imagine what my gas griller will do to South Africans – especially South African men.

There are other BOERIE Hardware Rules, but these are the first two. And the foundation of any braai. It’s like free speech and gun ownership in the USA. Without those two there can be no America. Without wood and a bricks and mortar braai you can not call it a braai. And without a braai you can’t call yourself South African. You’re just a guy burning some meat. And if you were born in South Africa? You’re a burned guy and a piece of meat.

So you see. I am a traitor. The people in South Africa is ashamed of me. They will deny knowing me. They will call me names. They will tell their children and the children of their children what happens to people when they leave the hallowed shores of South Africa. The softening of African men. The shame it brings to families. The weakening of the bloodline. The acts of a traitor…

I am sorry my fellow South Africans. I am truly sorry. I beg you for forgiveness. I am but a weak man. Who gave in to temptation. A man who knows to little. A pathetic excuse of a man.

And don’t forget lazy. The gas griller is just so much easier. No firelighters needed – or as we call it blitz. Just push and turn baby. And bam! I got fire. No smokey eyes. No flicking matches. No burned fingers. No wet wood. No spark flying. No waiting for the wood to turn to coal and ash. No ash blowing in the wind. No burned meat. Or ash tasting meat. No bricks cracking and popping in the heat. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Just push and turn baby. Just push and turn.

Note: Can someone tell the guys at Lowe’s to please tell South Africans that the gas tank (liquid propane tank) they buy with the gas grill is actually empty? It took me an hour of connecting and disconnecting, pushing and turning, checking and wiggling, before I realized that the tank they gave me was empty. I went to Home Depot to get a full one… And yes, we ate hours later. It would have been faster just using wood I guess.

If you enjoyed this post, get free updates by RSS