I’m often asked where I’m from because my accent has become a hybrid of all the places I’ve lived. I sound British but still say ja instead of yes and use words like braai (pronounced bry, like fry) instead of BBQ.
It’s made me think of all the weird nuances from each place I’ve lived. Let’s start at the beginning: South Africa. South Africans are called Saffas, for short.
TIME:
Africa-time is a thing and there are units of measurement specific to South Africa, which make NO sense outside of the borders. The 3 most common units of time are now now, just now and later.
Now now can be anywhere between a minute and a month. If you’re busy on a quick phone call and someone is trying to attract your attention, you’ll be with them now now.
On the other hand, if you’re busy cooking dinner and your friend wants to meet up afterwards, you’ll be with them just now. Just now is longer than now now but not as long as later. Later is later, just now is before then, but not as immediate as now now. All Saffas understand exactly what someone means depending on the context of the situation. In one situation now now means immediately. In another situation, it’s ‘give me 20 minutes.’ They just know and there’s very rarely confusion.
BBQ’s:
Saffas don’t barbecue. We braai. No, they’re not even close to the same thing. A braai takes hours. There’s wood to burn, coals to stoke, beers to drink and a whole bunch of conversation before any kind of cooking can happen.
A bring-&-braai is part of the social fabric of South African life. You take your meat and booze to someone else’s house and slap it on their braai. When some Saffa friends of mine in England suggested a bring & braai, their English friends reacted as if England had just run out of tea. Total shock and horror. ‘Bring our own food?!’ Yes, bring your own food. Booze too, thanks!
The host provides the rolls, salads and sodas; everything else is every man for himself. Everyone’s booze gets parked in the kitchen and becomes a communal stash. The unspoken rule is you don’t drink someone else’s booze unless you contributed some of your own to the collective pile because that’s just rude. You also drink down, meaning if you bought in cheap booze, you only drink on the same level of booze you contributed. Don’t bring in a cheap bottle of scotch, then sail into the 18yr old Glenfiddich. You won’t be invited back.
You cook and then sit around the fire with your food on paper plates and a drink in hand. It works completely differently in US & UK. Saffas eat their braai with their hands, cutlery is only for salads. It’s not a sit-at-the-dining-table affair.
HOMES:
Saffas generally have rather high walls around their homes. It’s mostly a security thing, with many houses looking like fortified military compounds surrounded by 6 ft walls topped with razor wire. A fence in the UK is usually a hedge about a foot high than you can step over and in the US there are frequently no fences between properties. It’s all just open, which continues to blow my mind 6 years later.
There are no barred windows in the US or UK that I’ve seen. SA has everything barred; windows and doors.
POPPING IN & TALKING TO EVERYONE:
People rarely make arrangements in advance to meet up. If you’re in someone’s neighbourhood, you pop in for coffee. Sometimes you ring them a few minutes ahead and it’s ‘Are you home? I’m popping in for coffee.’ Done. No worries.
The Brits don’t pop in. Ever. Arrangements are made way in advance and under great duress. An unscheduled knock at the door has everyone crouching out of sight, silently not breathing until the person has gone away. Then wait an extra 20 minutes just to be sure they’ve left. NEVER pop in unannounced.
Muricans can conduct entire conversations on their front doorstep. Unless you’re family, don’t assume because they know you, they will invite you in. It’s the weirdest thing. Popping in is also not encouraged. It’s very hard as a Saffa to grasp this concept because we’ve been popping in all over the place since birth.
If a friend is sick, you visit and take food. So what if they’re contagious, you go. Win, lose, shit or bust, you visit. UK, not so much. Germs, you say? Get well soon mate and see you much later! Stateside, people don’t offer to visit, you have to ask, and in my opinion, if I have to ask you to check up on me, you can keep it. That was something that really bothered me after surgery. I couldn’t get around and not a single friend stopped by to visit. ‘Why didn’t you ask?’ Uh… I’m not going to beg you to come and visit. While it’s very much a cultural thing, it changed my opinion on friendships here and I’m more guarded around people.
Saffas will also strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere, especially with another Saffa outside of South Africa. Instant friends. There’s nothing more awkward than trying that in England. If you ever want half a train car to yourself, or even a full bench seat on the bus, start randomly talking to the person next to you. They’ll probably get off at the next stop even if it isn’t the one they wanted. Brits can be crammed like cattle into the Tube, with their noses crammed into someone else’s armpits for the duration of their commute, but unsolicited conversation? Dear God, no! Americans are generally game for a chat, especially if you have an accent. They LOVE accents so talk to everyone, they’ll mostly think it’s great. The conversation will likely center around where you’re from, but they’re super friendly so it’s cool.
Rice is a regular accompaniment at mealtimes in SA. Sunday roasts will include roast potatoes, rice and gravy. We never need an excuse to eat rice and gravy. In the UK, rice is eaten with curry. Stateside, it’s with Chinese food. Curry isn’t a huge thing here.
THE BEACH:
Saffas will drive all the way to a perfectly good sandy beach and park. Then sit in their car the entire time watching the sea. Brits will drive to a beach covered in pebbles, set up their tents and towels and feign comfort. I tried this once and even making gaps in the pebbles to put my boobs into, I couldn’t get comfy. The Brits have mastered discomfort and it’s pretty damn impressive. Stateside, there’s no coastline within 800 miles of where I live so I have no idea what beach etiquette is here.
If we’re spending the day at the beach, it looks like we’re moving house. We pack everything. Coolers, braai, enough food to feed a small village, a radio *for if you can’t park close enough to the beach to hear your car radio*, gazebo/tent/umbrella, lots of towels, spare clothes and water for the dog.
Saffas tend to swim in t-shirts a lot of the time. It keeps your shoulders from being incinerated by the sun when you forget to top up your sunscreen. In the US, swimming in clothing is often on the Prohibited List of swimming pool rules. No swimming in clothes allowed. I haven’t quite figured out why. Maybe it’s something to do with the colours running in the water? Who knows…… If the Brits are swimming, then it’s balls to the wall, no t-shirts! Summer is 5 minutes long so if it’s warm enough to swim, NO CLOTHES REQUIRED!
We also call swimwear either a cozzie or a costume. I was talking to some colleagues stateside and mentioned I’d packed a costume for my trip to South Carolina and it was met with ‘Are you going to a themed party?’ No, a swimming costume. ‘Like you’re dressing up as a swimmer?’ Huh? No, the thing you swim in. ‘Oh, you mean a swimsuit?’ Yes, one of those. Costume does not translate to anything other than a Halloween outfit here. They were rolled up laughing at me while I was laughing at them. Immigrant problems 🙂
Welcome to South Africa!
