Stupid answers to stupid World Cup Questions

These questions about South Africa were posted on a South African Tourism Website and were answered by the website owner who, one must agree, has a great sense of humour!

Q: Does it ever get windy in South Africa? I have never seen it rain on TV, so how do the plants grow? (UK)
A: We import all plants fully grown and then just sit around watching them die.


Q: Will I be able to see elephants in the street? (USA)
A: Depends how much you've been drinking.

Q: I want to walk from Durban to Cape Town - can I follow the railroad tracks? (Sweden)
A: Sure, it's only two thousand kilometres take lots of water...

Q: Is it safe to run around in the bushes in South Africa? (Sweden)
A: So it's true what they say about Swedes..

Q: Are there any ATMs (cash machines) in South Africa? Can you send me a list of them in JHB, Cape Town, Knysna and Jeffrey's Bay? (UK)
A: What did your last slave die of?

Q: Can you give me some information about Koala Bear racing in South Africa? (USA)
A: Aus-tra-lia is that big island in the middle of the pacific. A-fri-ca is the big triangle shaped continent south of Europe which does not...oh forget it. Sure, the Koala Bear racing is every Tuesday night in Hillbrow. Come naked.

Q: Which direction is north in South Africa? (USA)
A: Face south and then turn 90 degrees. Contact us when you get here and we'll send the rest of the directions.

Q: Can I bring cutlery into South Africa? (UK)
A: Why? Just use your fingers like we do.

Q: Can you send me the Vienna Boys' Choir schedule? (USA)
A: Aus-tri-a is that quaint little country bordering Ger-man-y, which is...oh forget it. Sure, the Vienna Boys Choir plays every Tuesday night in Hillbrow, straight after the Koala Bear races. Come naked.

Q: Do you have perfume in South Africa? (France)
A: No, WE don't stink.

Q: I have developed a new product that is the fountain of youth. Can you tell me where I can sell it in South Africa ? (USA)
A: Anywhere where a significant number of Americans gather.

Q: Can you tell me the regions in South Africa where the female population is smaller than the male population? (Italy)
A: Yes, gay nightclubs.

Q: Do you celebrate Christmas in South Africa? (France)
A: Only at Christmas.

Q: Are there killer bees in South Africa? (Germany)
A: Not yet, but for you, we'll import them.

Q: Are there supermarkets in Cape Town and is milk available all year round?
A: No, we are a peaceful civilisation of vegan hunter-gatherers. Milk is illegal.

Q: Please send a list of all doctors in South Africa who can dispense rattlesnake serum. (USA)
A: Rattlesnakes live in A-meri-ca, which is where YOU come from. All South African snakes are perfectly harmless, can be safely handled and make good pets.

Q: I was in South Africa in 1969 and I want to contact the girl I dated while I was staying in Hillbrow. Can you help? (USA)
A: Yes, but you will probably still have to pay her by the hour... if she is still alive.

Q: Will I be able to speak English most places I go? (USA)
A: Yes, but you'll have to learn it first.

Zimbabwe Monopoly

This one really cracked me up. I hope it will tickle your funny bone as much as it did mine!

Getting lost in Jozi and all the Jazz

So we got lost in Gauteng and I said who wouldn’t. Then some clever dick pointed out to me that he never did. What’s the big deal, I wondered. Then I recalled as I drove from petrol station to petrol station asking for directions, that I must have been barking up the wrong tree. These were ‘pedestrians’ giving directions to a ‘driver.’

There is a world of difference between driving in that maze and riding in a kombi. Never mind the fact that it was already dark and there was a lot of construction and detours everywhere. This was my first time driving in Jozi, the last time I was here we were being chauffeur driven courtesy of Mayor Amos Masondo’s office celebrity style.

Not one of those petrol attendants knew where Hartbeespoort was, let alone the shortest route to Lenasia, from where we could easily get to our destination. Then it struck me; this guy who responded on Facebook boasting that he (it must have been a he) ‘never’ got lost in Joburg was a pedestrian in the best sense of the word. I know, full bloodied men do not admit to such things as losing directions, let alone admit that they take a taxi to work.

But then it was through such peculiar circumstances that we managed to get to reach those places they keep warning you about, albeit unknowingly. It was all because we took a wrong off-ramp and we could have as well ended up in cuckoo land. As we drove around in circles for what seemed like ages (in fact it was about four hours) looking for a way out, it also became a life changing moment for my wife Nomusa.

Joel Osteen described a similar situation in his book Become A Better You. It was as if he was there. Nomusa and I were coming from Emperor’s Palace after a very successful business meeting on our way back to the Dlamini’s our hosts. Osteen takes it from here in his version: “I asked Victoria whether I should turn right or left and she said we need to turn right. I looked up and down the street, and didn’t recognise anything to the right, so I said, no, I think we should turn left. Victoria looked in every direction, and said, No Joel, I know we need to go right.”

It is at this point that the man totally loses all reason and asserts himself, which regrettably happened in our case as well. We go back to the Olsen case; “Victoria (Nomusa) our house (Hartbeespoort) is that way, I said, pointing to the left. I know we need to go in that direction. I pulled out and drove in that direction. She said, Well that’s fine, but we are going in the wrong way.”

Now at this point after such a wonderful experience at the meeting, networking and getting motivated, this is when the atmosphere in the car changes. We are uptight and on edge, so were Joel and Victoria.

Joel: “We were hardly talking to each other over something so insignificant. If I would have just swallowed my pride and gone her way, what’s ten minutes going to matter?”

But no, Lenox had to show Nomusa who was right. I had to prove my point. So I started driving...and driving...and driving all over Jozi.

“I was trying my best to act as if I knew where I was going, but I might as well have been in Japan! I had no idea where we were,” continues Joel.

Similarly, we could see the freeway but had no clue as to how we would get on it.

“Every time I looked at Victoria, she’d just smile and say, “Well you should have listened to me, maybe we’ll get home by this time tomorrow.’’ The more she rubbed it in, the more aggravated I became.”

It was after wandering around for thirty minutes that Joel gave in and suggested that they go back and starting afresh.

In our case, Nomusa suggested that we go back to OR Tambo International airport and retrace our tracks. You guessed right, she was overruled. If only I had listened to her, it would have taken us exactly forty minutes to find our way home. But not according to this obstinate clever dick.

We ended up at some restaurant called Jimmy’s somewhere around Eastgate where I stopped to ask for directions. Two chaps who had just knocked off work there offered to direct us to the best point from where we could rejoin the bypass. I told them we wanted to get to Lenasia which they said was on their way home and we drove off with our passengers talking animatedly at the back.

Now there are a few golden rules you just don’t break when in Jozi. One of them is to never give lifts to strangers and the other is not to ask for directions from the same. I broke both. Somehow in the worst of situations, one tends to believe in the innate goodness of man. Judging by the accent of the two, I concluded that they were fellow Zimbabweans, breaking another rule to never trust homeboys. Add that to the fact that 99.9 percent of crime in the Inner Johannesburg area is committed by foreigners, that is if you believe in statistics.

They introduced themselves as Moyo and Dube from the Plumtree area of Southern Zimbabwe. If you are the suspicious type, Moyo and Dube are the two most common surnames in that area. As they directed us through unfamiliar territory we casually broached the subject of crime. It seems uCele (Bheki Cele the Police Chief) was a no-nonsense man and on top of the situation as if that was any comfort to us.

“The cops just shoot your nuts off,” Dube said matter-of-factly as he tried to open the bottle of port he must have lifted from his workplace. Apparently, crime had generally gone down in the inner city and hopefully it isn’t just for the World Cup. In spite of our apprehension these two looked like genuinely concerned yet relieved citizens who were glad that something was working in Mzansi.

Lost in our conversation, Moyo suddenly announced that we were entering Berea. We were passing under the shadow of the Hillbrow Tower with its huge soccer ball and the landscape had suddenly changed. Nomusa had gone deathly quiet as we drove through streets swarming with humanity. This was Jozi’s crime capital and here we were in a nice shiny car, displaying foreign number plates, driving smack right through it with two strangers in the back seat!

Were we another crime statistic waiting to be recorded? The men from Plumtree sensed our apprehension as we drove into yet another dark street telling us “we’d find the lights again”. We later dropped them off along the way to the Helen Joseph Hospital where they told us to ‘drive straight and not to turn’. Relieved yet without much to work with, we realised that our situation was no better that we picked up the guys from Plumtree and that we had just given them a free lift. So it was back to square one and it was time to admit defeat.

“Let us drive back to OR Tambo and start again.” As I retrieved my tail from between my legs Nomusa said something to the effect that Hillbrow wasn’t “such a bad place after all.” Of course she could say that because had driven through it and emerged alive with our car intact!

As we philosophised over our involuntary visit to Zimbrow we realised we that as this drama played itself out we had forgotten all about God, the ultimate giver of all directions. It was that thought alone that led to a major miracle. Four hours later and to the minute, a sign pointing to Lenasia stood right there in front of us and we were no longer lost in Jozi... officially.

When queuing became a pastime

ONE thing we Zimbabweans miss about the days when the bottom fell out of our economy are the queues. The country broke every conceivable record even that of the legendary Weimer Republic leading!

We had to queue just about for everything because things were scarce. When one encountered a queue, you never asked what it was for because it was obviously for an item that had disappeared from the shelves. Be it sugar, bread, salt, matches, gas – nothing could be obtained without queuing.

A lot of production time was lost in hunting for scarce goods or simply queuing. Did I say production time? There was hardly any economic activity taking place in the country anyway. So bad was the situation that the government even announced that it would crack down on professional ‘queuers.’ These were blamed for the emergence of a black market in scant grocery items and were labelled economic saboteurs by a subservient state media which was never short of nasty titles for perceived enemies of progress.

As queuing became part of the culture, some unwritten ground rules emerged. This ‘queue-tiquette’ was a form of survival guide that one had to follow if they had hope of ever getting anything, let alone surviving. One’s chances ranged from slim to none unless one was a member of the uniformed forces (for obvious reasons), or you dutifully stuck to the ‘rules.’ In case your own country fell into the same cesspit we dug ourselves from, here are tips on surviving a queue referred to below as the Q. Let us call it the psychology of the Q.

It was mandatory that you be friendly. It was always advisable to greet the person at the end of the Q. One had to resist the urge to immediately ask what the Q was for. The advice was to catch your breath first, and then say, “So when is the supply of sugar coming?” This is called fishing. They will look at you and if you were lucky, give you two liners to your question. “This is the bread Q. They said they will begin selling at 10 o’clock”. If it’s 7 o’clock, you decide whether it will be worth it to stay in the bread queue or maybe you do not have the three hours to kill, or alternatively you starved.

Drinking lots of water before joining a Q was not advisable. You would lose your place when you left temporarily to answer the call of nature, worse still if you happened to have bladder problems. Often, chaos would reign when you tried to reclaim your place and the Q had to be re-ordered, usually with brute force by overzealous riot police. It is advisable that you eat a couple bananas (which were abundant then at Z$20,000 each!) instead. That way, there would be no urge to go either for the number 1 or number 2 calls of nature.

Never discuss politics in a Q. These are strangers, and you dared not divulge your political opinions by complaining. Talk was in general terms about “our government”, so never, ever mention names for any reason. Talk about the coming rains, the harsh winter, anything else. We went by the motto: “If you have you have nothing to say, please do not say it here!”

Being aware of toxic emissions (bad breath) from the guy behind you in the Q was critical, since toothpaste and expensive mouthwashes had fallen from the “essentials” list in those days. When one’s priority was fending for a hungry brood, issues of oral hygiene became blasé. People no longer used toothpaste because it simply wasn’t there! The solution was to angle one’s head sideways and downwards, so as not to be in the line of fire of any of the halitosis.

If one would rather not talk in a Q, clutching the jaw to indicate a tooth ache or sore gums or mouth sores or better still a sore throat would do the trick.

If the person in front of you in the Q happened to be a lady, it was wise for the sake of one’s health and welfare to leave a discreet gap between the two of you. You are advised not to get too animated in any conversation with her, lest her husband is not the least jealous person in the world. Showing public respect and, depending on her age, addressing her as “granny”, would probably prevent the following from happening:

a. She could look at you accusingly and speak loud enough for all to hear that you are, eh, standing too close to her. That could be a death sentence with any hungry and angry crowd particularly in a Q.

b. The husband could be a few places behind you in the same Q and would be none too pleased to see you sneaking some precious warmth from his wife … especially if he were the bodybuilding kind.

c. Before you knew it, you would be walking away from the Q with your precious loaf of bread plus an unplanned for “small house” (read girlfriend). Some of our sisters really got desperate in those days.

Pushing and shoving in the Q would not lead to a reduction in waiting time by any measure. It would only serve to annoy the person in front of you and create the inevitable chaos that could lead to the queue being dispersed. And this happened very often when members of the uniformed forces felt that order worked against them getting the extra loaf.

If you were a student, carrying voluminous literature or text books would ensure that one used the time in a Q productively. This also discouraged nosy people from starting pointless conversations with you. A simple, “I am writing my O’ Level exams this year and I don’t have time to waste” would sure fob them off.

Always approaching the Q from the rear, not midway or the front, is another handy tip. Or else all those bored individuals would suddenly find a welcome subject of verbal abuse since your move could be misconstrued for ‘cutting in’. In fact, since entertainment was scarce, you ran the danger of being the talk of the town, for the wrong reasons too.

Once you got what you were so agonisingly waiting for in a Q, walking away briskly and with purpose would ensure you did not become a crime statistic. Muggings for food were common as desperados took a seemingly easy way out of hunger, or so they thought.

One should also acknowledge that queues became venues where people could socialise short of the barbecues and shebeens that previously were a sign of the good times. Conversations would begin with the phrase; “While I was at the fuel queue …” as a way of showing off that one could afford to purchase whatever was scarce. Indeed some had become veritable show-offs as a result.

One cannot deny the fact that many a relationship developed out of the queue. Some found future wives, business acquaintances, friends or victims. And in case you thought such things could only happen in Zimbabwe, take my advice. You could well be next!