I have had quite a few “I know I’m home because” moments. Most of them are amazing; like walking down to the almost empty beach this morning with my mom, swimming around in ice cold, crystal clear water, watching penguins cleaning themselves on the rocks. Or crossing the road without bothering to see if it’s legal. Or going to buy fruit at the market on the beach – spending $15 for a box of 24 peaches, a bucket of lychees, and a bag of plums and apricots. Oh and a huge sack of potatoes. Or being able to buy a lamb curry pie at a petrol station. Or order a rock shandy and actually get a rock shandy. Best of all has been a real sense of religious freedom. I pulled my scarf over my head after the beach today to ward off the sun, without wondering if anyone would give me a dirty look. I don’t have to listen to some vibrating mental case singing “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” every time I turn on the radio. Yes, not everybody in this world is Christian. And I like that.
But then there was the trip to the movies – the side of the second world that’s not so awesome, at all.
Just cause Malema is worse, doesn’t make the kind of patriachal when-we junk Steve Hofmeyr talks okay. And I certainly don’t want to do kinky German sex stuff with him. Apparently all Ster Kinekor cinema toilets have this awful MTN advertising in them now.
On the plus side, I don’t think liberal or left wing feminists are likely to struggle with their bowel movements when they have this to look at when they go. If I sold laxatives, I’d sue.