South Africanisms: There Will Be Signs

If you’re looking for a sign, South Africa is the best place for you. We don’t always fix problems. We label them.

High-jacking hotspot?
No extra police visibility.
No cameras.

Just a sign saying “HIJACKING ZONE”

Potholes?
We don’t repair those.
We warn you.

A cone appears one day.
By week two, it’s gone.

Week 3? There’s a guy pretending to repair it with a wheelbarrow filled with sand and a cup filled with coins.
By month three, there’s a message saying “ANC” spray-painted by someone’s retired oom.

Eventually, the pothole becomes a landmark.
“Turn left after the second pothole. Yes, the one after you turn at KFC.”

And the thing is, we don’t even question it anymore.

We slow down.
We dodge.
We accept.

Which is funny, because for a country with so many signs, we somehow never see them when it comes to family.

I wish family had signs like,
“CAUTION: UNCLE WILL ASK FOR A LIFT, SAY THEY ARE GETTING OFF BY THE OFFRAMP. BUT YOU’LL END UP DRIVING THEM TO THEIR GATE, MAKE A TURN BY BRA SOLLY SO THEY CAN FETCH THE KEY, YET THEY NEVER CONTRIBUTED TO THE PETROL. YOU’RE PROBABLY GONNA GET A ‘THANK YOU MCHANA, AREN’T YOU GONNA LEAVE ME WITH TWO KLIPA NYANA FOR A FEW COLD ONES?’ ”

Too many words for a sign, but absolutely necessary.

For potholes?
Clear warnings.

For hijacking zones?
Big boards.

But for relatives?
Nothing.

I guess some things don’t need signs. They just need prayer, coarse salt, Jeyes Fluid, Ntsu Snuff, white candles and impepho.