Notes from a small city, Tales from a big town - Chapter 7 - South Africa

South Africans.

We’re the kind of people that make you realise that the universe has a sense of humour.

I come from SA… I guess someone has to.

Don’t get me wrong – I love my country. But there are things about this beautiful nation that make absolutely no sense to me.

Take Smileys, Afval, Walkies and Jacob Zuma for example.

I also don’t understand taxi-drivers, mopane worms, Bloemfontein and Woolworths window dressers.

I’ve written about Cape Town before, but this time – I decided to step back and have a look at South Africa from afar: As a South African standing outside and looking in. You may think that I’m writing this to someone who’s visiting for the first time, or to those who’ve been here all their lives, hidden in a deep underground bunker and not knowing what the hell is happening up above – but I’m not.

I write this today though with a heavy heart.

The biggest attraction in SA is SA. The whole shebang.

From vetkoek to Tannie Evita Bezuidenhout. From Dali Thambo’s Poephol from the South to the dirt-lorry guys who run for miles (who I think should enter the Olympics!). From Table Mountain to the having a chat with a random stranger in a Pick n Pay queue.

The whole of the SA economy is based on the supply of braai meat, beer and rugby. In fact, as a South African, you have 3 chromosomes: X, Y and Braai... Your cellular structure is made from biltong.

Right now, I’m sitting in a corner coffee shop drinking a murky muddy Americano enjoying the warmth of a Monday Cape Town morning. Somewhere in the background Brenda Fassie is melodically stressing out that she is someone’s Weekend Special. I am watching cars hurry by while bright yellow-vested Bêrgies try slowing them down by pointing to tiny parking gaps you’d struggle fitting a boiled egg into. There is a smoky braai aroma of sausage on a grill over coals in the air. A seagull hovers close by hoping to pinch my sandwich and I tell myself that one day, this would be 30 years ago.

A Bêrgie gives me a gapped-tooth grin. He’s scored a 2 Rand.

To me, the only true friend you can have is a Cape Town Bêrgie. Cape Town bêrgies love you. They listen to your problems and ask for R2 in return. They will be your friend forever, as long as you have a R2. They will find a parking for you for R2. They will wash your car for a R2. They will warn you of traffic cops in the area for a R2 coin. 

Excluding knowledge of Braai, Rugby and a strong passionate dislike for all things government - my first rule about survival in SA is – always carry a R2 coin.

Talking about rugby - it’s not true that the All Blacks are the best at Rugby. South Africans are. New Zealand being the best is merely an unintended side-effect due to SAs politicians sticking their corrupt noses into things they don’t understand. Have a look at the Blitz-boks for example: of the 5 international tournaments we’ve had this year, we’ve won 4 and came second in the one we didn’t win. That’s because politicians haven’t figured out a way to screw it all over yet… But they will. Eventually.

Politicians in South Africa are a breed unto their own. It’s like having an aging horny rapist uncle you’d sell your left leg to disown, but your mum keeps telling you that he’s family – so it’d be polite to acknowledge his existence.

Take the current drought for example. Some Queenstown political-simpleton councillor stated that “The apartheid regime built the dams too big – that’s why we do not have water”. Then there’s: “We do not know where this lightning thing comes from. We don’t know what it is. We will launch an investigation into it to discover what it is” (said in 2015). My personal favourite is still: “While the honourable Mazibuko may be a person of substantial weight, her stature is questionable.”

Then we have our brilliant sign language interpreter, Thamsanqa Jantjie, who was the official interpreter for the late former President, Nelson Mandela’s Memorial Service.

“I support basic salutations here, salutations. Inside, joining in this week’s cigarette, inside to prove, and on and on, to support. I would please to say from me to you, talking to you so far,”

Incidentally – Afrikaans is the best language ever created to cuss in. “Voetsek!” and “Poephol!” are mild watered-down mayonnaise versions, compared to really vulgar verbal spicy spews that’d make the devil blush and run away.

My reason for sitting here and writing this with a heavy heart is because I’ve decided to leave. 

Permanently.

As mentioned, I really Love my country. I fear for the lives of my children and wife however.

I chatted to the café owner a few minutes ago and he mentioned that he was robbed at gun-point yesterday. My neighbour’s home was burgled last week. Every day newspapers deliver stories of rape, farm killings, murders and hijackings. Unemployment is at a record high with no help in sight. These negative influences on this country have become a mental norm in our collective psyche- and that concerns me. 

It took me some time to decide - a few years in fact. The significant reasoning in my decision to leave is that I have lost hope.

I live in the most beautiful country in the world, with the most delicious foods and most amazing…well…everything. However, alongside this heaven lives the world’s highest crime, the most corrupt government, the highest stats in rape and murder, etc.

Heaven and Hell.

South Africa.

The universe has a sense of humour.

…but no-one’s laughing.

little guys versus ComputerShare

I’m going to write this slowly.



Institutions like ComputerShare may read this and I am now aware people employed at companies like ComputerShare can not read very fast.



I will also try and refrain from using large words as the average IQ of individuals employed here, in my opinion, is not very far from a garden fork.



Yes.



Now! - I am angry.



So angry, I could scold a horse.



You see, ComputerShare owes me money.



Alot of it.



They paid it into an incorrect account – apparently – on the 31st March 2016. I called in and Brenda, who has the telephonic etiquette of a squashed mango – apologised and promised it would be in my account the following day (Apology and promise #1).



Nice one Brenda. April Fools.



I called in again and was told by two call centre agents that the company has no money. “You mean Bankrupt?” I asked? – and both times the agent dropped the call.



I mailed in and spoke to Todani Ndanduleni– a delightful chap who realised ComputerShare’s error and assured me via e-mail that I would receive my money within 48 hours (Apology and promise #2).



Two days later – nothing.



I mailed Tondani again and was told that ComputerShare had created yet another problem (Apology and promise #3). He asked for me to contact a banking institution they paid the funds into and try and sort out their problem. I tried this and after several hours both the Bank and I gave up. We could find no trace of any money.



I contacted their Head Office and was told that the matter would be investigated (Apology and promise #4) by Marie Steyn and Edna Lebeko.



I contacted their Social Media websites and was told that they would investigate the matter (Apology and promise #5).



I contacted ComputerShare again on Day 6 of not receiving my funds. I asked to speak directly to a manager. I had taken off from work, tackled banks on ComputerShare agent requests, spent hours on the phone trying to help them resolve their error (I called in at my own expense because they stated that they could not return my call)– and now wanted to speak to someone who could actually do something about paying me my money.



I spoke to Mtho (Mthokozisi Mkhize). Mtho promised to return my call after investigating the matter – and did. He emailed confirmation that my money would be paid in on Day 8 (Apology and promise #6).



And so here we are – a few minutes away from Day 9.



Mtho has gone silent and isn’t responding to my calls or e-mails. Edna and Marie have decided to have an extra long lunch. Tondani is missing in action. In fact, everyone’s gone awol.



I went as far as calling and e-mailing ComputerShare’s African regional office in the UK – and even they are silent.



Now – I know this isn’t the United States of America where one could sue willy-nilly for anything. But, man o man – there must be some law or something that prohibits a financial institution from providing you with your own money? I know for a fact that if I owed them money, they’d surgically remove it from your left underarm pit if they could.



Perhaps I shouldn’t look at them as Bankers though.



But it is a financial institution for Pete’s sake... Perhaps Wankers would be more appropriate.



...oh wait! I just received an e-mail from Mtho: ‘if not today, tomorrow’.



Yep.



Welcome to South Africa where corporations are allowed to say F*ck You! to a customer and get away with it.

Notes from a small city, Tales from a big town - Chapter 6 - Design Flaws

I have to write this quickly. You see, my wife has just dished an Amazing lunch. If I don’t get to the table quickly, my 6 year old son will just about scoff everything in sight and leave me with only some disfigured grey –beige cartilage thingy left behind after the chicken carcass has been absolutely vandalised and decimated to a pulp of gooey skeletal remains.


Our subject today is about modern convenience and about how more the ‘convenient’ things get, the more inconvenient it becomes.


A mouthful huh?


I was pondering about things this morning. I’m always pondering about stuff. I ponder, therefore I am. It’s just about the only thing I’m good at.


I took my kids to the KFC Drive-through (or thru, as it’s spelled) – and noticed something. Drive-thrus were originally created and designed for quick hit-and-grab takeaways: Order – Pay – Collect, without ever leaving the car. Now, as amazing as this sounds, in reality, as we’re all aware – one ends stuck up behind Koos and the Koekemoer family for ages. There are usually 10 cars ahead of you (the Thabo Tshabalala family in car #3 will order half the store as well) and when you do eventually place your order, you’re asked to park elsewhere for half an hour while your waiter, Amy Adams from Athlone, and the staff cook up something that somehow slightly resembles the thing you requested. During the wait, while everyone else is munching their grub, you’ll notice Piet Pompies and his Crocs wearing clan go into the shop, order and receive their goodies, eat and leave long before your parcel arrives.


My point is, we have all become so attached to the concept of convenience that we completely miss what the term ‘convenience’ actually is. We will endure just about any inconvenience to achieve this new version of convenience we’re all programmed and hot-wired to believe is beneficial to our lives.


Take IVR systems (that I wrote about previously). It’s created to help and aid the customer and the company, but very rarely does. Or 3G cellular Network speeds – modems offer up to a billion Gigabits per nanosecond – but, let’s be honest – is slower than a snail high on Prozac and Castle Lager. There’s also Metrorail (a public transport system so inefficient, locals in Cape Town started dubbing the train service operator MetroFail). Or how about Internet marketing services! “Apply for your new automatic toilet roll bum wiper and have it delivered to your doorstep in 24 hours”; “Russian brides only a click away”; “Apply for the Newspaper Editor post at StrontPraat Publications by filling in the following five thousand questions about why we need to even have this role in our company and why you feel you can do something as easy as it”.


Our home and car is filled with gadgets and gizmos that sounded so cool when I bought it. Aerosol toilet spray for example: Stay very far away from that Ylang-Ylang crap. As cool and funky as the spray can looks, the content just enhances stinky smells. It should be marketed as a tile remover and paint stripper.


We also have automatic cereal dispensers (standing empty for months). The car has a cup holder that’s been designed to hold anything but any cup made here on planet Earth. When I put on the TV using the hundred button remote control (I only use 5 buttons: The volume control, On / off and channel selection) – I’m usually greeted with a ton of infomercials promising me a fabulous life if I purchase their all new automatic coffee cup stirrer.


Things that were initially created to speed up and simplify our lives end up doing completely the opposite.


Game and Makro offer Fridges with automatic ice dispensers: It looks uber cool from the outside, but the ice machine gizmo-thingy takes up half the space on the inside of the fridge! Microwaves now offer grilling, baking, cooking – everything but microwaving. I have a portable vacuum cleaner that merely relocates dirt to another section of the room. Everywhere I go, every direction I turn – I’m offered with items promising me freedom from the oppression of lifting my arse up and doing it the old way. And these products, I can only imagine, were designed in a laboratory filled with large chubby idiotic couch potatoes who ponder stuff... much like me, I’m guessing. The only difference is, they get paid to do this sh*t.


Maybe I, the great ponderer, should invent something too. Something that would be flawless in design. A celestial grand masterpiece of orgasmic quality that would go viral and change the world forever... like peanut butter flavoured bubblegum. Or Spur-ribs scented cologne. Or a call centre that actually focuses on customer service. Or a political party that actually cares for the country's need. Or a fly-thru for Boeing Jet passengers wanting Nandos.


I have a pair of takkies that were designed by a former NASA spaceship wizard. It contains cushioning for running, high dynamic rubber non-slip soles, strips of pleated leather to allow your feet to breathe and is ergonomically engineered for comfort, double stitched and triple laced and aerodynamic and super cool to look at... But I prefer my crocs - now that I’m on to Piet Pompies and his efficient way of approaching the world... regardless of what Glamour magazine says about it.


And my wife just popped her head into the doorway, glanced at the computer screen and asked: “Bitching again?” Sigh... Let me go and see if I can find any chicken left on the grey-beige bony lunch remains my kid left me.

Notes from a small city, tales from a big town - Chapter 4

Yesterday, I had an experience that startled me so much that I accidentally coughed up the beetroot salad I was glumly chewing and spewed it over the white shirt my wife bought me... though, in retrospect, it doesn’t really require a special event to achieve this. I usually, absent-mindedly end up messing on my clothes anyway.

What startled me and caused the dark purplish reddish ejection to dribble down my only designer labelled shirt was when I called Telkom AND SOMEBODY ANSWERED THE LINE!

Now, being a South African, I consider myself a veteran and legendary war hero of the tinny voiced IVR system most companies use these days. We all know the drill:

Your call is important to us, so please hold while we play some horrible tune on loop and find

the most atrocious, most unreasonable and insanely unhelpful Call Centre Advisor for you

Press 1 for any account related query

Press 2 if you wish to sign up to play for Bafana Bafana

Press 3 if your electricity bill has shocked you

Press 4 if you can’t believe you’ve reached this far in this IVR system

Press 5 if you want to hear more about cheese

If you don’t select any of the mentioned options, we will send out a Bloemfontein librarian to strangle you.

Press Star if you want to hear all that mumbo jumbo again

Or if you’d like, please hold for an hour while we play Justin Bieber singing Baby Baby on a 2 second loop

Nothing however, has ever prepared me for what followed that momentous day when after a mere 400 rings, a real live human being answered the line.

Her name was Jamie. She asked me for my ID number and I asked her for hers. She asked me for my personal address and I asked her for hers. Though I was very forthcoming providing my personal details, she was very reluctant to offer hers. I didn’t mind though. I just wanted to find out about my account. Jamie then did something so remarkable, I still get goosebumps thinking about it. She said: “hmmmm... hold on a moment for me Dave. Let me see what I can do.”

You missed it, didn’t you?

“Hold on a moment for me Dave. Let me see what I can do.”

Firstly – she called me Dave! Not Sir. Not my Royal Majestic Bill Payer Extraordinaire. Not my Super Intergalactic Highness with great shoulder blades and a fondness for all things cheesy. Just Dave! I liked it! It became personal. She also said “Let me see what I can do”. Immediately, I felt at ease. Jamie was tackling my query. She was fighting my fight. She was my Lone Ranger and B.A. Barracus and my Bud Spencer and Airwolf all rolled up into one. She was going skop, skiet and Don the dragon my problems away!

Often, I hear of people who end up in tears after speaking to foreign call centres. Stories often conjure visions of smoky Mumbai sweatshops filled with stressed looking folk donning headsets and smelling of incense, dropping calls to make target. Or stern looking Polish people who look like Olympic shot-put throwers, all trapped inside bleak decaying buildings saying “Ja, Ja, Ja” alot. Or cold Canadian campers chattering profound apologies for everything that ever went wrong in your life... And the stories I hear never end well.

So I am quite happy that companies like Teleperformance, CAPITA, Serco, WNS, etc – have all opened up call centres right here in Sunny South Africa. The visuals my mind fashion of SA Call Centres are very different. I picture Advisors offering Bunny Chows to British Gas customers as compensation for some poor service rendered, or Worsrolletjies to American customers as bribes to steer clear from our Sunfower Oil deposits at Pick n Pay.

Jamie came back on the line with news I expected: “Dave. I see this line has been disconnected since February last year?”

“Why yes Jamie. That’s what I’m calling about. I’m still being charged”

“Did you pay the bill in February last year?”

“Yes, I did”

“Did you keep the slip?”

“Jamie, it’s more than a year ago. I can’t even keep beetroot in my mouth for more than a few seconds... I have a pet hamster. He stores paper a lot. I can ask him if he has it?”

“I would need that slip, Sir, so I may forward it to our Accounts division who will fax it to the division who escalates it to the department that misplaces things and end up issuing final written warnings to customers who do not keep their slips in a vault for very long periods”.... well, that’s what I understood anyway.

At this point, I realised that she no longer called me ‘Dave’. Her tone changed from friendly to contempt. I wanted to keep her happy. She was fighting my battle! So I mumbled an apology and said I’ll have a look-see on my bank statements, which would cost me a few Rand to recover. I also realise that she was very good! She controlled that call. She made me do all the leg work. I’d even forgotten all the other questions I had planned to ask.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Dave?” (I was Dave again! Our relationship was back!)

“Uhm... Do you perhaps know how to get rid of a Beetroot stain?”

“Yes, that’s easy. Soak it in a product called Vanish”.

I thanked her and we parted ways. I would’ve liked her to have rectified Telkom’s mistake as well as answer the questions I had about opening a new account, but at least I made a friend who called me Dave. And she was right about that Vanish detergent.

My shirt looks bloody new!

For The Christians - Part 1

Let There Be Light!

Let's be honest. Regardless of race, creed, financial backgrounds etc - living life is Hard. It's like The Sims - but on impossible mode.

Understanding your computer - Easy Peazy : Part 1

This is for Old People. Young People. Challenged People. Normal folk. People who hate going to IT and nerdy folk who smell like cheese.

This is Windows made easy.

Let's look at your normal everyday problems and take it from there? How's that?

Ok first up - speeding up Windows.

Over the months and years, your Operating System (Windows) has started running sllloooowwwwly. Ain't nobody got time for that. It takes forever to start up (Boot). You've tried EVERYTHING. Some kid told you to Format (completely erase everything) the drive and start afresh... But that's like burning down the house to get rid of a pesky cockroach. You lose valuable information; you'll need to re-install software (with serial numbers you've lost eons ago) and once everything is up and running again, you live with the darkening thought that you'll need to do this again.

Bull Sherbert.

So let's start with the following: Decrease Boot up time (once you hit the Power button, it should start quicker). I'm using Windows 7 - but the same applies to other versions of Windoze...

MSCONFIG:

That little blue windows globe (or Start tab) in the left corner of your screen →→ scroll to it and Left click.

A Window will pop up.

In Windows 7 and Vista -  on te bottom of the Window, it should read - Search programs and files

Type: MSCONFIG

Press the Enter button on your keyboard

A Window will pop up that reads System Configuration.

Left-click on the :Startup" tab

You'll find a list of all the junk that was installed on your computer over the years.

This crap loads everytime you press the start button. Let's be honest: Most of it is garbage. Things you've probably only ever used once or twice.

This can get a little tricky - so be careful of what you untick. Rule of thumb → don't untick anything that says MicroSoft under the Manufacturer list in the 2nd column.

Also, keep your Internet Security / Anti Virus ticked. You need this.

Personally, I don't see the reason Adobe, iTunes, Lightscribe, Skype, Vodafone, or any other third party program should be in use when I don't need it. If I want it - I can just go to the shortcut or the program and double click on it to start it.

All this Hogs system resources and slows the PC down.

So untick the unnecessary rubbish. And only use it when you want to use it.

This is what our forefathers fought for. Freedom.


So bugger those pesky flashy Ads on nearly every website offering to boost your PC speed. Or fix your problem.

Do it yourself.

Like things were done in the old days... Think Noah had IT support?

Obviously not.

They didn't have cheese back then.

Notes from a small city, tales from a big town - Chapter 3

I LOVE Cape Town Winters.

It’s cold, big fat drops of water fall from murky grey skies and dreams of duvets and heaters and warm snuggles and cuddles flood your mind.

Summers are so Hot, it’s not uncommon to see flies laying down in the shade gasping for Coca Cola with lots of ice.

Radio stations like Goodhope FM play music that sounds like a rusty robot trying to fart.

I also don’t have to compete with the sun for being the hottest around... when I’m alone... and nowhere near those Clifton Beach guys with the 8 pack tummies and muscles ripped so neatly, one could use it as a cheese grater... cheese heads, the lot of them.

Also, I’m lying about being the hottest guy around... I once went to a colleague’s office and saw a hideous portrait on the wall.

"Is that picture yours? It's rubbish!"

"It's a mirror"

So you can imagine my appreciation for all things winter. Neck scarves that cover 40% of my face and thick woolly beanies that cover the rest. Additionally, the Gouda Guys are also covered up so it’s fair game on all chicks.

Winter works out well for women too. Boys will understand. Doesn't matter how hot she is - dirty, ugly feet are a deal breaker. Winter allows them to hide those digits away in fancy boots or pointy stilettos.

 The cool air also rids Cape Town from Benoni Holiday summer trippers with dialects so foreign, even Zimbabwean immigrants frown.

I once met a fella from Hillbrow and the conversation went something like this:

“Nooit Broe. Ah like fully miss ver words lank and kief my ou. Ah missit!  Ever since ver chinas went dubstep, ver broes gnarleyed a differnt tchoon. But that’s the Kaap for yous hey?” ...and all I’m left with for a reply is nodding viciously like one of those bobbing head dolls at the back of their Ford Cortina back windows on a gravel road.

Incidentally, People who suffer from halitosis should not say "hhhhoooowwzitt”. There should be a law. Please.

I tried dodging him thereafter and nearly bumped into him at a local pub, but a reflective window, my ninja reflexes and cat-like dexterity saved me from his incomprehensible verbal- diarrhea onslaught and a sore neck.

When those first grey clouds appear on the North western horizon and the cool skeletal fingers of winter gently poke its bony pointers down one’s spine, my mind automatically goes into Olivia Newton John mode and ♪♫Xanaduuuuu, Xanaduuuuu♫♪  bounces from the walls of my inner scalp.

I’ve never had a horrible Winter in Cape Town. History may tell us that Freddie Mercury died because of his fondness for ..... , but it also teaches us valuable lessons. Things like Bad Things always happen in Summer. I firmly support the belief (that I just made up) that Apartheid, Floods and Aids were created in Summer. Some twat was way too hot and it fizzled his brain up. I’m sure the oke invented CFCs, burnt chicken at KFCs and Eminem wannabes too.

In Winter, Trees are bare so one can plan ahead for cool tree houses. No Bieber songs blare from Soccer moms taxis. Mosquitoes diabolic plans for destroying humankind one bite at a time are put on hold. Julius Malema is quiet. Hell – Jacob Zuma is quiet. Salads are traded in for thick creamy stews. Cinemas aren’t as full. Malls aren’t as full. T-shirts are cheaper. Eating 1Kg Spur Ribs is pardonable. Everything is better.

Everything.

EVERYTHING.

...Except maybe for Cellphone companies.

I once overheard this at a MTN store on a phone that had liquid damage: "Humidity caused this rust? I'm not a Superhero or God! I can’t stop mist from entering the phone!"

...Except for the SABC as well. TV always have those Dali Thambo "Poephol of the South" repeats in July.

...and maybe the fact that it’s so cold and wet and miserable outside and you’re confined indoors because it’s just too freaking cold to go anywhere...

...maybe surrendering to those cheddar heads’ sex appeal isn’t too bad. And maybe relenting to the Sun for being the centre of the Solar system isn’t too horrible a task. I’m sure I’ll be able to tolerate Goodhope FM’s tinny music and chicks with ugly feet.

Ok – I surrender. Cape Town Summers are Awesome. Nooit Broe!

So who’s up for helping me start a ”Let’s feed a fly Coca Cola” campaign next Summer?