No one keeps their handbag and laptop in the boot of their car.
There are no petrol attendants. Not a one. In addition to petrol, you have to put your own oil in your engine. And air in your tyres. And water in your tank. You can't pay anyone to do this for you. The forecourt staff will be insulted if you try. I tried. It was awkward. For me.
There are no car guards. The only high-vis vests you see are worn by guys who work on the rail, roads, airports or in construction.
There is no free parking. Anywhere. Even in front of your own house.
Those privileged enough to have a garage don’t use their garage to house their car. Not a chance. A garage is used to store plastic outdoor furniture, paddling pools and abandoned gym equipment. Or it has been converted to house their in-laws or rented out as additional income to someone from Eastern Europe.
If you accidently leave your key in your front door overnight or during the day, you won’t come home to find you have been neatly or not-so-neatly relieved of all your possessions. Most likely someone will politely ring your bell and let you know that your key is in your front door. This has happened to us. Many times.
No one wraps their luggage in cling-film at the airport. And the ones who do are South African headed to South Africa.
You can walk in the nighttime. Along a deserted street. Alone. You will not need pepper spray or a remote panic button. Or to be completely rat-face drunk.
Big dogs are kept in small houses.
There are no grocery packers in the supermarkets. You pack your groceries yourself. You also weigh your own fruit and veg. You can also scan your own groceries and pay at a self-service checkout.
It is often cheaper for mothers not to work. Childcare costs as much or more than the average mortgage or rent.
Even if you rent a property, you still pay rates. It’s called Council Tax.
Items of clothing (gloves, scarves, hats) dropped on to the street will be placed on the nearest wall for the rightful owner to retrieve at their earliest convenience.
No one knows what a jersey is. It’s a jumper. No one says takkies, they’re sneakers. It’s not a pram, it’s a buggy. It’s not a dummy, it’s a pacifier. Chips in a packet are crisps. And chips are still chips. It’s not a robot, it’s a traffic light. It's not a highway, it's a motorway. It's not a cellphone, it's a mobile phone. It's not an sms, it's a text. It's not soccer, it's football.
No one will approach you at a robot with a piece of paper or a rubbish bag for spare change. The intersections are too big and the traffic flows too quickly.
You proceed at a robot when the light turns orange, not green.
You will avoid more cyclists than stray dogs on any road. You will never see a stray dog on any road. You will never see a stray dog full stop.
No vehicle on the road is unroadworthy. Some may be old. Some may be driven by someone old. But each year a vehicle has to undergo a Ministry of Transport (MOT) test for safety and emissions. This is compulsory. You will not get your licence disc unless you’ve passed your MOT.
You can’t drive a drunk mate home. Unless you’re insured to drive their vehicle. It is illegal to drive a vehicle for which you are not insured.
No one drives to a restaurant for a night out. They’ll take a taxi.
Halloween happens here. It’s big. People dress up in skeleton onesies and make crazy costumes. All the kids go trick-or-treating. You have to buy sweets and make an effort. You can’t fight it. So you just go with it.
You can’t buy a knife from a shop if you’re under 18. You have to produce ID. Unless you’re a yob in which case you already wield a knife on the streets at nighttime or at school during the day. *A yob is a juvenile delinquent.
The Royals are a big deal. The Brits speak about them a lot and take them very seriously. And apparently they do have proper jobs.
The Brits don’t like to be called Brits. They say it’s derogatory.
It is illegal to drive a child in a vehicle with no car seat. Even the chavs abide by this. There are chavs here. These are the Council House and Violent types. They’re the most entertaining breed of humanity you’ll ever encounter.
It will soon be illegal to smoke in a car with a child. Even for the chavs.
When unions take strike action 1) It’s planned 2) It’s publicised 3) No one dies 4) Government usually responds.
You can’t buy boerie or biltong from the supermarket. But you can buy a TV or a lounge suite.
Value added tax is 20%, not 14%.
If someone does something bad and goes to court, their sentence and crime is published in the local newspaper for all to see.
When the highways agency is working on the road, you’ll never see anyone sleeping on the side of the road or lying with a piece of grass in their mouth. You will never see anyone lying alongside the road. Ever.
The coppers don’t carry guns. Only big sticks.
There are no toll-roads.
The interest rate has been 0.5% since 2008.
Few houses have alarms. Ours does. We don’t use it. We don’t even know how to turn it on. It's just for show. Houses have no burglar bars. There is no razor wire. There are no electric fences.
A kebab is meat served with salad in a pitta. It’s not meat on a skewer like we know it.
If a delivery arrives and you’re not home, the courier will often leave it on your doorstep. Or with your neighbour. Either way, you will get your parcel.
On the highway, ambulance and emergency services use the emergency lane. This lane is always clear because the
When there's an accident on the highway, emergency crews will close off the road until they’ve attended to the scene. However long it takes. You never drive past and see bodies covered in tinfoil. That never happens.
A new car does not cost the same as a small house or apartment.
There are gypsies here. Real life carnies. Or pikeys. But you’re not allowed to call them that. The PC word is ‘traveller’.
It’s illegal to pack peanuts in your child’s lunch. Or use peanut butter on their sandwiches. You get into big trouble.
You also are not able to simply take your child out of school. You need permission. You can't just do it. They send an inspector. In some instances you will be fined.
Clocks go forward by one hour in March – and back by an hour in October.
Swimming in a public pool is very common here. And not just for common people. Everyone does it. It's perfectly respectable. Unlike in SA, swimming pools are hard to come by. Unless you’re a Beckham or a One Direction band member, you’re not going to have one lurking in your backyard.
Conservatories are big here. They’re what we’d called sunrooms in SA. Rooms made of glass. Except that here there’s little sun, so their purpose is vague. I've worked out that they’re basically a cheap way for people to add additional space on to a tiny house without submitting expensive plans and getting planning permission from the council.
Single level homes are less common than double or triple storey homes.
There’s no load-shedding. Ever. Electricity outages are caused by powerful storms or forces of nature. Not due to cable theft or an overload on the national grid.
People move homes and jobs to be in the appropriate catchment areas for good schools. People also convert to Catholicism and begin going to Church for the same reason. School is a serious business in this country.
The British are not a nation of “come around for a braai”. You never pop around for a kuier and a cuppa or a chardonnay. The Brits don’t entertain at home. Home is too small. The Brits go out. To bars, pubs, restaurants, cafes, bistros – you name it. Only on Come Dine with Me do the dinner parties happen. The majority of lunches or dinners we’ve attended here have been with fellow Saffas. Crammed into the space of the average en suite bathroom in SA, but kuiering nonetheless. It’s just what we do.
No matter how acclimatised I start to become to this foreign little island and figure out the idiosyncrasies of life here, I will always hanker for that country at the southern most tip of the African continent. I miss hearing “yah” and “but like hey bru”. And the flat way we deliver our vowels. I miss the sight of a rust bucket crawling up Fields Hill amidst a plume of black smoke. Children kicking a soccer pool in the street. Pride in the Rainbow Nation from all walks of life. A man on the side of the highway selling golfballs and litchis or a guy in a suit with a Bafana Bafana bumper sticker on the bumper of his car. A nation that clicks its tongue. Laughs with teeth bared, from the depths of its belly. I miss the smell of sugar cane. Of lazy afternoon braais when the air hangs and dogs drape haphazardly around the pool. And most of all, I miss the People of the South. There are no people in the world quite the same.
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| Saffa Humour. |
