By Ryan Knapton
Deep within the belly of the city the darkness looms and the clouds wrap their coolness around city’s personnel. The dampness seems never-ending, almost unbearable. It is dark, cold, wet, miserable; London during summer time. No, not really, that’s all a bit dramatic, but that’s how it feels to this Eastern Cape boytjie. Non-smiling, newspaper reading, granny ignoring bad weather. Whether the sun shines or not, the attitudes don’t change - cultures take centuries to become this stubborn. No outward showing of happiness. No outward showing of friendliness. No breaking of the mould. That just would not go with my tea love. Digestives are just too comforting.
On some level it sounds lovely and actually, it is. I love London. It is a fantastic place that offers so much. Grumpy Brits are par for the course and it wouldn’t be fish and chips without them. Take it on the chin and this treasure chest offers so much to anyone willing to plunge their hand deep into its depths. South Africans must take from it what it offers, a respite from the weak Rand and a ‘closer’ base from which to travel the world. It should not be a permanent base mind you, South Africa is far too precious for that. She has given us London Saffas too much for us to just brush her aside. South Africa has been bruised, disjointed, stubbed and broken throughout her history. We all owe her. Unfortunately not many are willing. They find themselves stuck in what I like to call the ‘out of Africa fever’. Only negative things are picked up upon. Her glass is considered bone dry, never mind half empty. That track of thinking is well oiled and to free oneself from those thoughts is tough. Very tough. And what makes me sad is that we all know better. We come from the land of pap and vleis; the land of smiles and vitamin D; the land of freedom. It is freedom that people have died for.
The United Kingdom is great, but limited. Walk down a road and count the number of video cameras recording your every step. Structure is key to our dear Brits, control is everything. To even stand on the left is enough to get one in an immense amount of trouble. Try it, I dare you. We South Africans are not used to this whole Big Brother idea. And that is not even the worst part of it. It just really feels like one is forced into being someone like everyone else. Stuck in the serpent’s tracks. No deviation from the tube or overland routes. “You go where we want you to go”. No change. Do not disturb. No freedom. And what I am talking about is not reckless freedom. It is not unlawfulness, something that annihilates our dear land. It is simply freedom in its purest form. True, unadulterated freedom. The ability to get into a car and drive into the bushveld. The blessing of standing on an unoccupied beach and taking in the mixture of sea-salt, crashing waves and seaweed. The joy of looking upon a mountain range and hearing one’s voice echo. The simple things really. Like a barefoot hippie running through Camden. Like a curry in Tooting. Like a kebab at one in the morning. Things that make you smile. But not a wide smile. Not a Mama Afrika smile. No, no those smiles are reserved for African soil. The southern variety in particular.
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