Katlego was tuned in to the 7 pm news when he heard the invitation for Afrikaans-speaking people to take refuge in America. He thought to himself, “This is South Africa! Surely as a light-skinned guy, with an Afrikaans-speaking wife, and a brown envelope… I could probably make it too.”
He immediately sent his application through his cousin who works in the Afro-Forum division at Home Affairs, along with an eWallet to “cover the costs” to grease a few palms. And, in true Mzansi style, he was approved.
“Baby, we’re officially Amerikaaners. Pack your bags! We’re going to the USA.” It wasn’t long until he realised he had “Trumped” a few toes. Katlego and his family sported matching T-shirts written, “The Three MUSK-ateers,” written in the SpaceX font.
Though he tried to use Step One hair relaxer to make his hair straight, he stuck out like a sore thumb in the queue.
He had just one thing going for him. He shared the same skin tone as Kobus from Pretoria CBD, Marius from Warmbad, and Tina from Roodepoort.
As soon as Katlego’s plane landed at JFK Airport, he knew he had made a terrible mistake. Everything was just… too organized. The roads were smooth, the traffic lights actually worked, and not a single street vendor was selling fake Gucci belts or pirated DVDs.
“Yoh, where do people get Fast & Furious 27 if there’s no uncle at the robot?” he muttered.
He tried to embrace the Amerikaaner dream, but the culture shock hit him like a high petrol price. First, he met American black people. He was excited at first, but then he realized something was off. They didn’t say “Sharp, fed!” or “Awe, ma se kind!” Instead, they hit him with a “Yo, what’s good, my nyigga?” and a weird handshake that was too complicated.
He missed home.
One morning, he walked to the nearest corner store, hoping to buy a Gatsby or, at least, some slap chips. The menu had no polony, no russians, not even a single reference to “slap.” The closest thing he found was “French fries,” which arrived thin, crispy, and disrespectfully unsalted.
“Yoh, where’s the vinegar?” he asked the cashier.
She stared at him. “Sir, we don’t put vinegar on fries.”
He knew at that moment that he had made a mistake.
To make things worse, the American cops were unbribable. He got pulled over for speeding, and out of pure reflex, he pulled out a crisp $20 bill.
“Sir, are you trying to bribe me?” the officer asked, hand hovering over his taser.
Katlego’s heart nearly stopped. “Uhm… no, I thought you looked thirsty, my guy. You know, cold drink?”
That’s when he realized that “cold drink” diplomacy only worked in Mzansi.
Then came the homesickness. He missed taxis causing chaos in the streets. He missed the thrilling gamble of whether Eskom would switch off the lights mid-shower. He even missed Mavis, his domestic worker, who would judge him silently while cleaning up after him.
Worst of all, he missed the South African education system. In America, kids need an 80% average to be considered “smart.” In South Africa, if you got 30%, they told you, “Well done, champion!”
One day, Katlego sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through videos of Joburg taxi drivers breaking all known traffic laws. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
“Nah, I can’t do this,” he said.
And so, after two months in the land of the free and the overpriced, Katlego packed his bags and booked a flight home.
When he landed at OR Tambo and saw a taxi stopping in the middle of the road to pick up passengers, his heart swelled with pride.
“Ahhh, home sweet home,” he whispered, as a pothole swallowed the Uber he had just ordered.
[The End]
Welcome to South Africa – Jou Ma Se Boek
Welcome to South Africa – Jou Ma se Boek includes an A4 book, with an enamel cup, packaged in a premium box. It’s a coffee table book that details the extraordinary life of an ordinary South African. Personal deliveries (JHB, PTA, Midrand) will include the shopping bag.
326 in stock (can be backordered)
