The world's dumbest tourist visits South Africa

I caught a radio news story about a Canadian who has to be the dumbest tourist ever to visit South Africa -- or anywhere in the world for that matter!
To save him further embarrassment I won't mention his name but I am sure, if you really want to find it, a quick internet search will turn it up.
Let me just say, it is not the same Campbell who set land-speed records in a specially-built car.
This particular tourist came to South Africa to party, visit interesting places and meet and interact with interesting locals.
It seems the not-the-sharpest-knife-in-the-kitchen-drawer visitor hooked up with five men and women from a Bloemfontein squatter camp (or to use it's more politically-acceptable designation, informal settlement).
With expensive camera and lenses draped over his shoulder, iPod dangling from his neck, cellphone in his hand and...wait for it...this is the kicker...R67 000 (about US$8 000) in his pocket, he asked his new-found chums to show him around the quaint little tin cottages of the squatter camp...er...informal settlement. He also asked them to take him to the local nightclubs and taverns.
Though I have no evidence to support my conjecture, I would hazard a guess that he looked forward to swapping names, telephone numbers and email addresses with the friendly, dusky beauties of the squat...er...village.
I am going to assume my readers are way smarter than the Canuck in question and, as such will refrain from stating the obvious details and outcome. Suffice it to say, it did not end happily for the man who makes a maple leaf look smart, involved a stabbing and a much poorer but hopefully wiser (don't hold your breath on that) tourist.
A man was quickly arrested for the crime, tried and sentenced.

Screwing like bunnies

Justice in South Africa is swift and efficient. For World Cup visitors that is. For the rest of us perhaps not so.
Take the recent case of the Benoni businessman who made many desperate calls to the Ekhurhuleni Metro Police calling on them to save him from being drowned when his car was trapped on a flooded road.
In all fairness, the cops who ignored the calls had good reasons for doing so -- they were busy in the operations room, fucking each other like bunnies and, let's be honest, stopping sex, trying to find a tissue and pulling up your pants so you can go save a civilian you don't even know, is not fun. So let's cut 'em a bit of slack. It's not like they were having lunch or anything!
In an interview with the Star newspaper the businessman said: "At the time, I ended up trapped in my car in Benoni when heavy rains caused havoc. I realised I was not going to make it. My car's battery failed and water started pouring in."
According to the report: the dead battery prevented the man from operating the electric windows or opening the doors of his Chrysler. He then used his cellphone to attempt to contact his family, lawyer and the metro police.
"By the time I had finished making the calls, the water level in the car had already reached my neck. I managed to open the sunroof and pulled myself out of the car."
The businessman, now stuck on the roof of his vehicle, contacted ANC ward councillor, Valerie Taylor, asking her to organise to have the metro police sent to assist him.
Taylor and a Community Policing Forum member then walked into the metro police offices, allegedly catching the two officers having sex. The businessman's lawyer later said that the officers "were caught having sexual intercourse in their office by an ANC councillor and a CPF member, after they failed to respond to my client's numerous emergency calls".
Meanwhile, the businessman went about helping another victim of the flooded road just a few metres away.
"I was saying my prayers, crying and shaking," said the second motorist, who was identified as Tanki Rabela.
"God sent this man to help save me," Rabela said, adding that the water had rendered his cellphone unusable.
Metro police and paramedics reportedly only arrived after the pair had made their way to safety.
I contend, when he called he should have said he was a soccer fan in the process of being mugged. That would have brought the cops...fast.

Fast cars

Some may even have raced to his aid as fast as the Limpopo traffic officer who was this week arrested after he was caught driving at 274km/h in his personal vehicle.
Officer Joe Munyai, from Louis Trichardt, reportedly took his Mercedes-Benz C200 Kompressor (I'm not even going to guess how a traffic cop is able to afford that car) to well over double the speed limit of 120km/h on the N1 near Bandelierkop, where two provincial officials recorded his speed.
The section of the N1 where Munyai was caught has only one lane in each direction.
Munyai, who according to a Makhado municipality spokesperson has not been suspended, has since appeared in court and was released on bail of R1000.
It is no doubt purely coincidence that the Ekhurhuleni Metro was, until two years ago, commanded by restaurant-bomber, killer and maimer of ordinary citizens and alleged drunk driver, Robert McBride.
But maybe we shouldn't judge him too harshly, after all, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission let him off but not before they harshly slapped him on the wrist with the stinging admonition that the bombing that killed three women and injured 69 others was a "gross violation of human rights."
Not that it made a jot of difference to the SA Government, as Robbie was awarded the Merit Medal in Silver and the Conspicuous Leadership Star from the South African National Defence Force for his "service and combat leadership in Umkhonto We Sizwe."
(Read Ben Trovato's hilarious open letter to Robert McBride here.)
It sure is a strange and sometimes fucked up country that we live in!

South Africa's World Cup folly

A few nights ago I engaged in a heated internet discussion about the merits or otherwise of staging the World Cup in South Africa.
I was called unpatriotic because I feel this is one of the most stupid things this country has ever done. A well-known motivational speaker asked why I simply didn't pack up and leave but then he would -- he makes a living peddling bullshit and getting people to hug each other and pretend all is well in the land of candy and rose-coloured glasses.
Make no mistake, the scenes of South Africans of all races and persuasions hugging in an orgy of glee are real -- for the moment. But what happens after FIFA, the current de-facto government of this country, packs up their R25 billion tax-free windfall and leaves us with the bill and the hangover?

Emporer's clothes

This is a classic case of "the Emporer's clothes" only, this time, it is "only true patriots who can see the finery." Anyone who does not buy into FIFA and government spin-doctoring is automatically labeled as negative and unpatriotic.
But let's consider the facts.
Visitors come to our country and find the picture painted by the media and we "white ous" is completely false. The reactionaries are lying!
There is almost no crime. The airport is quick and efficient, roads into the city are beautiful, with little traffic and the countryside they see from their tour-bus windows is as clean and litter-free as a Swiss chocolate box picture.
Well yeah! That's because hundreds of police officials suddenly miraculously appeared from God knows where they've been hiding since 1994. Those foreigners who became crime-victims saw the suspects arrested, tried in special courts and packed off to jail within a couple of days. (Begs the question of allowing enough time to mount a proper defence -- but let's forget about that.) It's quick, efficient justice, run with Swiss-German precision. It's good pr..."...and you sceptics and afro-pessimists believed all that stuff written about the South African Police and legal system. Shame on you!"
But the truth is, it's all bullshit, a carefully choreographed facade there while the eyes of the world are upon us. The reality, for we ordinary ous of all colours and persuasions, is a lot different.
Farmers, now numbering in the thousands, continue to be murdered. My mate, who was shot in a hijacking attempt seven years ago, still waits for the police to interview him. Next month, after seven and a half years, I finally get my day in court for a Road Accident Fund claim that the government-run body has delayed in every way possible, no doubt hoping I will die in the interim. I am not holding my breath that the matter will be settled.
According to some newspaper reports fewer than 10% of murderers are caught and sentenced. The list goes on and on. The truth is, justice experienced by ordinary South Africans is a whole lot different to that being displayed to the world.

Not our normal experience

There is no doubt the airport experience for football fans is wonderful. That's because access roads in the complex are closed to South African citizens so visitors can be whisked through with a minimum of fuss.
The main routes have been cleaned up and are pristine but again that's not our normal experience.
It's all a carefully-created facade. The Adidas infomercial flighted on the afternoon of the opening World Cup ceremony is a good example. In the programme, a giant truck drives around the country, getting people to sign a giant Bafana Bafana journey. It was wonderful viewing but not the country we see. There were no plastic bags hooked on barbed-wire fences, no empty beer-cans lying around, no mangy dogs or shitty squatter camps and no dirty kids with snotty noses and grimy, outstretched begging hands. There was no raw sewage floating in the streams, just shiny, happy, freshly-washed people in beautiful, pristine surroundings, all happily part of the Rainbow Nation.
But beyond all of this lies the irrefutable fact that this country simply cannot afford to run this event. The roads that so impress the fans now, will be tolled by next year and it will reportedly cost motorists 50c per kilometre to use them.
The stadiums, according to a number of news reports, will each cost in excess of R10 million per month to maintain, a cost that undoubtedly will be passed on to the rate-payers of the municipal areas in which they are located. Whether these, admittedly world-class, facilities will become white elephants or not remains to be seen.

No money for power-stations

But what really sticks in my craw is the fact that the stadiums cost well in excess of R12 billion and the newly-commissioned Gautrain will end up costing over R20 billion yet government tells us there is no money to build power-stations. Few will forget the rolling-blackouts and the writing is on the wall that in the near future we can expect more of the same. So consumers will have to pay annual electricity price increases of around 40% p.a. for many years to come.
Then there is the small matter of closing the country's schools for five weeks, to allow a bunch of overpaid primadonnas to kick a modern pig's bladder around a field. Even in normal years South Africa's matric results can at best be described as "dismal".
Somehow the priorities have gotten screwed up and the final cost of "putting South Africa on the world map" will bankrupt us.
But what the hell. Don't worry about the future. Eat drink and be merry. Enjoy the fantasy love-fest and show your support and patriotism by buying official supporter-clothing. Be patriotic and forget that by doing so, you make FIFA, the Local Organising Committee, elite government cronies and global companies like Adidas even richer.
Heck let's replace the Blue Crane with the ostrich as our national bird. After all we are currently a nation with its head in the sand and backside in the air, ready to be bum-raped.

Read Mandy de Waal's brilliant Daily Maverick article on Sepp Blatter's Twitter debut and what many people think of him.

Police dealings

Around three weeks ago my small pick-up truck -- the vehicle I use to earn my living -- was stolen.
It was parked behind a pallisade fence with a locked gate that can only be opened with a remote gate-opener. In addition a gear-lock was attached, as was an AA-approved steering lock.
That apparently meant jack-shit to the sleazeballs who stole it. They were obviously pros. It was as though the car had never been there. There was no sign of glass from a broken window, no marks on the gate...nothing!
Welcome to South Africa! I became just another crime statistic.
The theft was reported to the police but the fact is, in this country, you do not make a statement to the cops to give them details they need to investigate and recover your stolen property, you do it so they can give you a case number to fill in on the insurance claim-form.
The only way my bakkie will ever be found is if it miraculously gets pulled over in a random roadblock.
The detective has not yet visited the crime scene, but I hardly expected him to, if past police performance is anything to go by. Seven years ago, a friend was shot in the face, neck and arms, in what appeared to be a carjacking attempt. He spent over a month in hospital and is still waiting for a detective to take his statement.
But we haven't yet given up hope. The wheels of justice turn slowly in South Africa and I am confident, as soon as they have taken his statement, they'll turn their attention to recovering my car.

Being unfair

Perhaps I'm being unfair. In the nightmare that is getting all the documentation needed by the insurance company and having the stolen car removed from the provincial vehicle-register, I had to obtain a copy of the police statement.
I first accompanied an officer to the docket-storage room, where, together, we searched through the files of crimes listed during the month of May. My case was reported at around 08h30 on 1 May and was logged as "case number 16 of May 2010".
Now to put this in perspective, it was 10 days later that I was at the police station searching for my case docket and I was then already sifting through May cases numbered in the 600s. We had no luck finding the docket there, so next step was to see the detective assigned to the case. He was out -- hopefully investigating -- but we rifled through around 20 piles of dockets, each containing about 20 files that were piled on his desk as well as on the floor.
A quick mental calculation showed the man is investigating at least 400 cases!
Maybe the cops at the coal-face aren't completely inept. Perhaps the reason so few crimes are solved in South Africa is the investigators are drowning under a tidal-wave of crime and an avalanche of dockets.
And the situation is never going to improve, no matter what the smarmy Minister of Police and his equally slippery cronies say, or how vigourously they massage the crime figures they issue once a year.

Gravy Train

There appears to be no support from the upper levels of the police food-chain. The Gravy Train has left the station and the workers behind!
A case in point (that is absolutely true) is an incident where a friend, a few months ago, went to report a case of theft at a police station on the West Rand.
"The officers in the charge office were actually quite helpful and sympathetic," he says. "But they told me they were unable to take my statement, as nobody had a pen.
"There are no pens in the charge office at all? How do you take a statement then?"
"We borrow the complainant's pen -- if he has one."
"I couldn't believe what I heard," my friend says.
"In the end I went to a nearby stationary shop and bought a box of pens that I donated to the charge office. It was the only way I could get them to take my statement."
To some, that may appear a drastic course of action but in the scheme of things, the effort was worth it. He got his case number, listed it on the claim form and the insurance paid out.
So what that spiralling crime is causing insurance premiums to sky-rocket? That's the way it works in this fucked up country. Thinking about it will just make our heads hurt and cause our eyeballs to pop out. Much better we should continue to jam our heads up our butts and pretend the Soccer World Cup will benefit anyone other than the cronies and the chumwallies!
I won't be attending any World Cup games. I will be home, waiting for a call from the detective. I have it on good authority he's working on case 289 of June 2003 and plans to call me soon.