I love being South African. What’s more, I love being black.
Black people are a very colourful bunch, but years of being oppressed by the Apartheid regime has made us forget who we are.
We are not the type of people who live quietly in the suburbs, because there are noise restrictions and white neighbours who cry animal cruelty whenever we slaughter a cow to appease OUR gods.
Saturdays for black people are not for going to the movies, that is reserved for half- price Tuesdays.
No, Saturdays are for funerals, weddings, unveilings of tombstones and any other celebration that might require a marquee.
At our funerals, do not expect to find sandwiches, tea and biscuits and soft classical music playing in the background while we swap stories about the deceased.
We slaughter an animal or two, much to the annoyance of our white neighbours in Rich-people Golf Estate, the church choir will sing loudly at the graveyard and there will be an “After Tears” after the funeral where the whole neighbourhood will converge.
Our weddings are also a spectacle to behold.
We close the street and the wedding is usually a two-day affair or even a two-week affair, with at least six dress changes.
The wedding party will march up and down the street and rest assured, there will be bridesmaids hanging out of cars.
Animals will also be slaughtered and if it is a real wedding, there will be a brass band performing in between the DJ’s mixes.
We are not a soft spoken people either and we dance at every opportunity we can get. Just look at our strikes.
Going on holiday means visiting relatives in rural areas, where every day will be a celebration.
Our culinary expertise is limited to the Sunday seven colours, which is quite literally that, a Sunday lunch that is made up of brightly coloured food items.
Checkers is the name given to plastic bags, toothpaste is called Colgate, all bleach products are Jik, a lunch box is called a skaftin, all chips are Simba, gum is chappies and all colddrinks are Coke except when they are in a can, then it’s a groovy.
Being black is an identity that is reflected in our clothes, our music and even the way we speak.
So the next time you hear a black person say “eish”, they might not be frustrated, but just at a loss for words or surprised.
