The wonders of SA in 1981

[Amarula]

Copied from an old thread posted a few years ago from an old forum of mine - the source link was to www.suntimes.co.za - but is no longer operational

David Bullard
Columnist

'There were large letters in the road saying SLEGS ONLY. I assumed that this was some racial classification, and the last thing I needed as a newcomer was to have the police discover me in a sleg township. So I drove on, desperately looking for a WHITES ONLY turnoff'

I FIRST visited South Africa in January 1981. I had been head-hunted in London by a Johannesburg company which offered to fly me over for three weeks in the hope that I would like what I saw and, at the end of those three weeks, sign a contract.

It was an offer I couldn't refuse. London in January is icy cold, wet and miserable, and in those days of constant strikes, every winter became a winter of discontent. Anywhere had to be better, and, what the hell, if I didn't like the country I could at least go back to London with a decent tan.

Flying out of a British winter into a South African summer had such a positive effect on me that I was ready to sign the contract after the first few days. I returned as a permanent resident four months later, once my chest had been x-rayed and it had been established by South Africa House that I was not a communist.

There was too much to absorb on the first short visit, but the one thing that made a clear impression was the traditional South African braai. I went to two or three, and the formula seemed the same. Guests are invited to arrive at 1pm and turn up clutching packs of meat. The salads are normally provided, as are the drinks, although nobody ever objects if guests turn up with more booze. The hosts greet their guests, and then a uniquely South African thing happens. The men and women separate. The men stand at the end of the garden drinking beer and pouring charcoal briquettes on a fire. The women sit around the pool or under a tree drinking white wine and trying to stop the children from nibbling the salads. Only when the food is served are the sexes briefly allowed to mingle.

After about three hours of messing about with the fire, the men announce they are ready for the meat. At this point, the women bring succulent lamb chops, pieces of thick juicy steak and deliciously marinated kebabs, which the men proceed to render inedible in the ritualistic burning of meat. At 4.30, just as everybody is about to eat, tradition has it that the sky darkens and great spots of rain plop into the pool so everyone has to eat in the kitchen. It must be fun, though, because they do it all again the next weekend. lol:

It was only when I arrived to live in South Africa that I learnt about the nuances and subtleties of South African culture. It's often the little, seemingly unimportant things that confuse the newcomer. For example, in England it's usual for a restaurant or pub to have the name of the licensee above the door. I noticed that South Africa had a similar practice and that every pub and restaurant seemed to be owned by a man called Reg van Toegang. It took me two years to discover the truth about the ubiquitous Reg.

Then there was my first experience of South African motorways. I knew I was travelling in the right direction, but when I arrived at the turnoff there were large letters in the road saying SLEGS ONLY. I assumed that this was some racial classification, and the last thing I needed as a newcomer was to have the police discover me in a sleg township. So I drove on, desperately looking for a WHITES ONLY turnoff. Two hundred kilometres later, I turned back to Johannesburg, vowing to buy an English-Afrikaans dictionary.

It was my discovery of the safari suit, though, that finally convinced me I had moved to a strange and wondrous land. Although I had never seen one, I associated safari suits with district commissioners and David Attenborough. It wasn't until I first visited Pretoria that I realised the safari suit was regarded as a peak of sartorial elegance. I was driving out of Pretoria at four one afternoon when suddenly the streets were full of moustached civil servants in shorts clutching identical briefcases. The briefcases were standard issue, but the safari suits made an unmistakable statement of personal individuality. Not only did they come in a choice of colours but you also had the option of long trousers. This presented a problem when it came to where to keep a comb (down the sock, naturally), so most men opted for shorts in both summer and winter.

As well as cotton, safari suits came in something called Crimplene. In fact, quite a lot of clothes were made of Crimplene, a sort of spontaneous combustion, man-made fabric hugely popular in South Africa but nowhere else in the world. When the house lights went down at the State Opera House in Pretoria, you could hear the crackle of static and watch flashes of firefly light as Crimplene-clad operagoers fidgeted in their seats.

Best of all, though, were the TV programmes. There was only one station, and the programme buyers at the SABC had a relatively easy job because of the limited choice imposed by the British actor's union, Equity, which refused to have anything to do with South Africa. Consequently, the best of British television was unavailable. For some reason they managed to buy a cops and robbers programme called The Sweeney, but instead of showing it in the original English they went to all the trouble of dubbing it into Afrikaans so the poms wouldn't understand a word. The cultural high point of the week was Dallas on a Tuesday night.

The real purpose of the SABC in those days was to present the "facts" about the communist threat and to allow the State President of the day unlimited air time whenever he felt the urge to wag his finger at us.

My abiding memory of those days, though, was travelling overseas and finding myself becoming increasingly embarrassed to tell people I lived in South Africa. Thankfully, the opposite is true today, and I hope that maybe we can leave some of our baggage behind us as we enter the new millennium. If that baggage could include Crimplene safari suits then so much the better.

[piglet]

Interesting thread . Nats . Thanks !!



Perspective is such a strange thing . I'm third generation south african . My grandparents arrived from holland on my maternal side ( my father is greek ........... no contact with him )


But anyway in the apartheid days my family did what they could to oppose the system but embrace the people . My one uncle was in exile for 20 years becuase he was branded a communist . My family is still there opposing the system yet embracing the people . Even though the system has changed .

[shriramnawase]

Rich in fossils, riddled with caves, it's one of the world's most significant halfway stations on the road to our evolution as a species. The near-perfect skull of Mrs Ples, the area's most famous pre-human relic, is now believed to be the skull of Mr Ples. These sites have produced abundant scientific information on the evolution of the human being over the past 3.5 million years, his way of life, and the animals with which he lived and on which he fed. The landscape also preserves many features of that prehistoric period.

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