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Flood can't slake our flashy thirst

By unknown | Jul 25, 2007 | COMMENTS [ 0 ]

We blacks are crazy.

We blacks are crazy.

Before you unleash your ire, can you explain why it is that we spend odious amounts of money on funerals while in general we are a poor lot?

The late Godfrey Moloi - himself a crazy, larger-than-life character who bought himself an expensive casket long before he died - warned that one of these days we will rate funerals by carats. We will say to the undertaker: "I will take the six-carat package."

Take our weddings, for example. First, we insist that our children are not properly married unless the bride wears a white wedding gown on the day. And we turn around and call it "our'' tradition.

As if that is not expensive and mad enough, the bridal couple and the bridesmaids, pageboys, flowergirls and bestmen, have to change their attire two or three times to parade before ululating crowds.

We claim we do not have money, but we think nothing of spending two grand on a pair of shoes.

In fact, we are so obsessed with status that we think if it is expensive, it must be the real McCoy.

There you go entrepreneurs - if you want to crack it in the black market, forget everything and just be real flashy.

Back to expensive clothes. When I grew up, there was a trick boys liked to use when trying to ensnare a girl who was refusing to take the bait. The plot was simple, but a lot lay in the execution.

The boy would approach the stubborn girl, and while chatting her up, an accomplice would come up to him and say something like: "Heita Charlie. I saw you at Westgate on Saturday."

Charlie: "You lie."

Buddy: "I can tell you what you were wearing . a yellow cardigan, black Dobbshire, an Ashfield shirt and Florsheim Vikings."

Charlie: "Ja well, jy het my genotch. I did not believe you. Where were you going . blah blah blah."

After that, the stubborn girl would be mincemeat. I was told many guys who did not have two cents in their pockets, let alone the fare to Westgate and money to even lay-bye top label clothes, got their girlfriends that way.

I can never understand what goes on in the mind of a fellow who sleeps on the floor under a table in his parents' RDP house, but drives a late-model BMW.

Our latest craze is bottled water. South African water, we are told, ranks among the top three in the world in terms of quality and taste, but we are so crazy we have to buy the stuff when we can get it almost free.

One guy who recently got a job after years of job-hunting, shared his good tidings with a friend: "Jy weet my broer, I was so down and out I was even drinking tap water!"

l Charles Mogale is the editor of Sunday World


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