Notice: This post talks about black South Africans with few resources. Generalization is so fortunate or unfortunate as my own experience. In any case, is the same mistake that I can have on white, after two months of stay here, I think they are, usually, something distant and class. As always, the exception proves the rule invalid.
When you offer something in South Africa ... could be the title of a novel or, such as, three fun history lessons have taught me here eat your words. The problem with being a target in a city surrounded by poor blacks is that you can come with a certain complex insuperioridad (palabro), sometimes being a jerk makes you. No fakes, because when you want to account, you have someone on your shoulders up in the gray soplándote.
The first time I noticed the speed with which you take the word was with Choice, a black woman, more than 40, who comes to clean our house (it costs five euros per person and my roommates maniacs will return to their countries without knowing that I can leave the forgotten toothbrush in the fridge). The first morning Natasa (one of my colleagues) Woman told to arrive at eight, she prepared coffee and eat breakfast with us. He arrived at nine, we made coffee and toast and sat with her. We explained that we're saving to put a clothing store you would buy in Italy; had seen on TV a report by saying it was the best clothes in the world. Literally do not know where Italy (not Europe) or, course, price. When told that a pair can cost, cheap, 1000 Rands (100 EUR) I have stood face to relocate the TV tonight to see if I see a program that praise the cuisine of Mozambique. Arrive an hour later was not enough, also decided to leave half an hour before the stipulated. Then, when I said I did not need to come every week, maybe it was best twice a month, face looked at me "you no good for me" and I said "I'll call Natasa" (the truth is that it was my companion told me he did not need to come every week).
The first time I noticed the speed with which you take the word was with Choice, a black woman, more than 40, who comes to clean our house
End, were to come 15 days, Monday. But, not appeared on Monday and came home on Tuesday (I stayed all morning waiting to open the door). On Tuesday I said please if not coming to call me. I looked at his face "you no good for me", but this time did not call Natasa. Then we went down to the laundry room and told him he could eat breakfast, him to take whatever he wanted. When we returned, after 40 minutes, was sitting in the lounge and had a plate with two fried eggs (as such); several toasts, was drinking juice and soup in a cup we had left the night before (we were dying of laughter, while she looked at us with a face "but not good for me, pass the butter). Of course, after an hour had not cleaned anything. The auction was when just going (also 40 minutes earlier than the pay) bag pulled some papers and told us to buy, it was for homeless people. It is insatiable. (As much as his hunger, probably).
The second time was with Joseph, a young man who worked as a security of my building. The guy was pretty funny and made him good vibes from the beginning. One day we left the gate and told him we were going to buy lottery. I do not remember why we fuss and just telling him that he would play our numbers. Upon returning to the floor I found him and told me directly: What are my numbers? I told him we had not bought (he had a paper and hand Boli) but I was going to give away a t-shirt of a football team (had told me what he liked on several occasions). I did not see in a week, I was on safari, and around the first thing I said is "good-I have to give the shirt- days ". The truth is that I had forgotten and now told you the low. I went home and amused myself, no more than ten minutes, talking about some things we needed with my fellow. (He had caught the shirt in my hand). At that time the doorbell; open and says Joseph, pretty smiling, "I come for the shirt". I gave and I said thanks and disappeared. We descojonábamos. The guy I fell great, but it is unusual for someone up to your house for you to give a gift. Then he said he had wanted to buy, but he would not sell it ever. (if you press a little, after his sentence, gave her entire wardrobe).
The last experience was with a taxi driver in Zimbabwe. I wonder out where it was; I said of Spain. We started talking about Cape Town. I explained that it was very boring that every time people think you're rich and you go giving money; I said I was fed up I tried to cheat in the changes; to have the feeling (is inevitable throughout the trip) from being a mzungu (Swahili white) with dollars in your pocket, not to talk about ... He'd say yes to everything; I said that sometimes people just want the money from tourists; smiling, I understand ... Until we got home and told me they were 70 Rands; I told him the price agreed was 40; I said 60; of the 40 and in an ideal international language of gestures send them to take at ... He looked at me with a face of "bad luck, this mzungu not be ". And I understood that I am a mzungu pretty asshole.
There has also been great moments and contrary: as mobile store, where the owner, an Indian, after a half hour of not understanding a word of how to recharge mobile, gave me his own calling card; or as a restaurant where we went to celebrate a birthday and a waiter and his brother gave us a cake dedicated and several whiskeys after over an hour of friendly chat at the bar; as when people security of our home we stopped one day to thank us always talk to them and smile ... but a reality to be learned quickly is that you are a mzungu always in this part of the globe. The same story in other parts of the world where hunger corners.
