Like millions of South Africans, most of my interactions stem from WhatsApp.

There are groups for everything – family, school, work, friends, extramurals, hobbies, upcoming events, security – and, oh, my personal favourite, the service delivery group. You have certain administrators who clearly understand the purpose of a group of this nature.

The group is closed to comments, and admins post information relating to power outages or upcoming service interruptions.

These groups get to the point with reliable information free from being spammed by opinions and observations.

I, too, am a member of our suburb’s service delivery group, proudly administrated by our esteemed ward councillor as well as three well-meaning residents who pick up the reins when he is unavailable.

I siphon information that is relevant to me and move on with my day – despite the muted group lighting my phone up like a Christmas tree every five minutes.

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During a recent area-wide power outage, I kept an eye out for updates but soon became consumed by the various characters that have turned WhatsApp groups into a deeply diverse virtual community.

As in life, different personalities form the puzzle pieces of community.

However, on WhatsApp groups, these become caricatures, masked by perceived anonymity, which often transforms these platforms into episodes of cartoonish mayhem, with characters communicating with impunity.

I classify myself as a spectator. As the name suggests, I harvest information, occasionally ‘gooi’ a thumbs-up and switch to the next notification.

Assuming the role of a well-camouflaged ‘people watcher’, I have identified and named some of the fluttering participants in the tree of our group.

My observations are:
• The red-breasted superintendents. These magnificent creatures are easily identified by the circled word ‘admin’ next to their names on the list of members. They are the gatekeepers of initial twitterings. With their plumage puffed, they spread the word of incidents as well as updates.
• The roll callers. In the event of service interruptions, these branch sitters burst into song, feverishly posting what street or house number is affected. With the announcement of services returning to normal, they will again sing their addresses with gusto.
• The gloomy nay-sayers. Characterised by drooped mouth corners and grey plumage, these birdies usually occupy the group branches in small groups. Upon the appearance of restoration times or updates, their chirps erupt with melodies such as ‘typical incompetence,’ ‘lies, lies all they do is lie’ or ‘that’s what they say but it’s just another excuse.’
• The frantic titted flutterers. These small, brightly coloured participants have varying colours of rosy pink to fiery red. These magnificent creatures will screech into action, demanding answers to an issue, two minutes after it occurs and will ruffle their feathers if services are not restored immediately.
• Lastly, you will find the loons who sustain their insatiable appetite through fishing. They will peck away at their screens detailing their day’s catch, often making reference to their newly installed back-up generation capabilities or water storage systems, humbly asking that they be notified when services return to normal, as their off-grid solutions makes it difficult to ascertain when the matter has been resolved.

These are the flocks that nest in a single community.

Love it or hate it, WhatsApp community groups have become integral to how we access service delivery-related information.

However, the in-between chirps of these groups are sometimes enough to make me fly the coop.

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