After a few days in Mpumalanga, including a visit to the Kruger National Park, I was again struck by how many tourists to our shores dress for the occasion. All geared for the lions and the wild that symbolise darkest Africa, they don their Hollywood designed outfits as they descend on Kruger and every other conceivable game ranch or lodge.
The irony, of course, is that most of these establishments are everything but wild. They are mostly expensive, super luxurious, air-conditioned, lawned and paved hide-outs for the rich and famous. Here they laze about, sipping their cocktails and Blue Label while watching the Kardashians on curved big-screen TVs – exactly like they would have done at home - oblivious to the calls of the Fish Eagle or the indignant snort of hippo at the waterhole right before their eyes.
But my issue is with their clothing for the visit “to Africa”: in the worst of heat they wear their camouflage jackets - sporting with more pockets than the suit of a Zupta minister. These go with stuff hanging from them such as pocket knives, Leatherman gadgets, mobile phone sheaths, wallets and hip flasks.
They brave the scorching heat of the African sun with their broad-rimmed leather hats and pith helmets. Pith helmets, I mean: really! I always thought their odd design was the result of what they ought to be used for: for pithing in when no toilets were to be found.
The irony, of course, is that most of these establishments are everything but wild. They are mostly expensive, super luxurious, air-conditioned, lawned and paved hide-outs for the rich and famous. Here they laze about, sipping their cocktails and Blue Label while watching the Kardashians on curved big-screen TVs – exactly like they would have done at home - oblivious to the calls of the Fish Eagle or the indignant snort of hippo at the waterhole right before their eyes.
But my issue is with their clothing for the visit “to Africa”: in the worst of heat they wear their camouflage jackets - sporting with more pockets than the suit of a Zupta minister. These go with stuff hanging from them such as pocket knives, Leatherman gadgets, mobile phone sheaths, wallets and hip flasks.
They brave the scorching heat of the African sun with their broad-rimmed leather hats and pith helmets. Pith helmets, I mean: really! I always thought their odd design was the result of what they ought to be used for: for pithing in when no toilets were to be found.
This goes with matching khaki shirts, skirts and blouses (blice?); long pants that can be (but never are) zipped off at the knee; leather wrist bands and boots designed to reduce elephant dung to novelty paper with each mighty step. All of this is beautifully complemented with scarfs sporting leopard spots or completely misplaced tiger stripes. Even their Armani shades now come in giraffe spotted or zebra striped styles.
We saw them at the coffee shop at Lower Sabie: the massive binoculars around their necks dangling in their coffee while they scan Facebook on their mobiles to see what’s going on with Trump and Hillary.
We Seffricans don’t do these things when we go abroad on holiday, do we? Or do we?
Do we step off the plane in Mexico City complete with poncho and sombrero; screaming "Ay Arriba y arriba!" at airport staff and taxi drivers? Or arrive in Salzburg complete with Lederhosen and Dirndl; yodelling like Julie Andrews did for her Lonely Goatherd in The Sound of Music? Do our girls dress up in Kimonos and shrink our feet to fit tiny pine planks before we depart for Tokyo or exchange our precious Crocs for wooden clogs and red and white chequered table cloth shirts as we get off KLM at Schiphol? I bet we don’t. Or do we?
And why is it that so many seem to view Africa as a country and Zanzibar as a quaint spicy town in the Sahara? Do we also get our countries and continents all muddled up, mistaking Austria for Australia and Nepal for Peru or see the West Indies as a province in India? But then again; if our president doesn’t quite understand the geography of Africa, how can we expect the rest of the world to understand us?
But then again: it’s all for fun. Perhaps next time I visit the US I’ll sport my own Trump wig and punch a Mexican in the face to make them like me more.
We saw them at the coffee shop at Lower Sabie: the massive binoculars around their necks dangling in their coffee while they scan Facebook on their mobiles to see what’s going on with Trump and Hillary.
We Seffricans don’t do these things when we go abroad on holiday, do we? Or do we?
Do we step off the plane in Mexico City complete with poncho and sombrero; screaming "Ay Arriba y arriba!" at airport staff and taxi drivers? Or arrive in Salzburg complete with Lederhosen and Dirndl; yodelling like Julie Andrews did for her Lonely Goatherd in The Sound of Music? Do our girls dress up in Kimonos and shrink our feet to fit tiny pine planks before we depart for Tokyo or exchange our precious Crocs for wooden clogs and red and white chequered table cloth shirts as we get off KLM at Schiphol? I bet we don’t. Or do we?
And why is it that so many seem to view Africa as a country and Zanzibar as a quaint spicy town in the Sahara? Do we also get our countries and continents all muddled up, mistaking Austria for Australia and Nepal for Peru or see the West Indies as a province in India? But then again; if our president doesn’t quite understand the geography of Africa, how can we expect the rest of the world to understand us?
But then again: it’s all for fun. Perhaps next time I visit the US I’ll sport my own Trump wig and punch a Mexican in the face to make them like me more.
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