What's in a name?

Two years ago, I had colleagues with names such as Patrik, Birger, Jenny, Janna and Maria. Now my colleagues are Palesa, Dineo, Zani, Khanyisile and Nadeema.

Yesterday was Heritage Day in South Africa where we celebrate the diversity of this country and the wealth is amazing in terms of culture, traditions, religions and names.

My name is considered very strange and hardly pronouncable by many. I am usually called Kaiser, Keyser or Khanyisa (which means light in Zulu). I sometimes say, when introducing myself, that my name is like Kaiser Chiefs without the Chiefs! It makes it easier to pronounce but also causes confusion since Kaiser is a man's name. (To my non-South African readers: Kaiser Chiefs is one of two very succcessful football teams in Soweto, the other being Orlando Pirates.)

But what's in a name?

Touch - Pause - Engage!

"He is a jockey-size player, but his heart is much bigger than that", was what the rugby commentator said about a Japanese player in the match against France on Saturday morning.

It's all happening. The Rugby World Cup started in New Zealand on 9 September and the temperature is HIGH in South Africa. Every newspaper has full-on specials about the game and I have found my source of information in the Mail & Guardian's "Rugby for dummies". And of course my mates who are all very happy to share their knowledge. I am learning all about the difference between a scrum a ruck and a maul. On paper at least, because they all look similar and very messy.

Today was South Africa's first match in the Cup, against Wales, and I can't say much about it other than it was a very tight win for South Africa, 17-16 to RSA and many dropped balls.

One of South Africa's key players, Bakkies Botha, wasn't playing today due to injuries and my all-time favourite Os du Randt ("born when meat was cheap") left professional rugby years ago. But after today, I think my new favourite is Francois Hougaard. More to follow.

I love SARS!

A Swedish friend of mine, living in Johannesburg, once compared South Africa and Sweden by saying:
" In Sweden, everything works and nothing is possible. In South Africa nothing works and everything is possible." And I have always thought that it kind of describes the South African attitude to things: even if it doesn't work we'll make it work!

This morning I went to the South African Revenue Services to present supporting documents for my tax return. I was expecting a Home Affairs experience, but was pleasantly surprised.

There were long queues of people every where and the service was somewhat both manual and automatic. On arrival I received an orange note that said "General" and was asked to wait in a queue that only led to the toilet. We went through to a large hall with rows of benches and were asked to take a seat. A man approached me and exchanged my orange General note with a number. High up on the wall there was an electronic board ticking the numbers and an automated voice calling them out as well. In addition, a lady, standing in front of the rows of benches, simultaneously called out the numbers, which created a kind of echo or stereo effect.

Anyway, not more that 30 minutes later, I was called to Desk 02 to present my supporting tax documents to a somewhat serious looking woman. The whole procedure only took three minutes and now I just have to wait and see. Just like anywhere else.

Driving to work

Traffic was hectically busy as always and a Toyota driver was annoying the hell out of everyone on the M1 north. He was driving slalom between cars in all three lanes without indicating and without paying any attention to the hooting and the upset waving from drivers around him.

As he almost drove into the car in front of me, a very small Citi Golf driven by a very large man, the traffic stopped so the Toyota and the Golf ended up right next to each other in the fast lane, right in front of me.

The large man unfolded himself out of the Golf, walked slowly over to the Toyota and with the palm of his right hand slammed hard in to the window on the side of the driver. The window didn't break, but the driver wound his window down (Why? Oh, why?) and Bam! the large man punched the driver in the face! Much commotion from the other Toyota passengers.

Then, the large man turned around, put the palms of his hands together in front of him and slowly bowed towards me, like a Martial artist after a fight, got in his car and drove off. The Toyota moved over to the slow lane and twenty minutes later I arrived at the office.

What I love about Johannesburg 1

"Johannesburg is like an ugly person with a great personality. Cape Town is like a beautiful person with a kak personality."

No, Joburg isn't pretty in the conventional meaning of the word but I find it both beautiful and fascinating. The people here are open yet private, stressed yet relaxed, helpful yet distant and always hustling.
I'm starting to sound like Alanis Morisette.

Joburg is more than anything full of stories. A couple of days ago, me and Nick were in a taxi cab with a Zulu driver named Themba, who told us all about the tradition of staying in close touch with your ancestors. He wore a goat skin bracelet, to show that when he bought a new house, he slaughtered a goat and talked to his ancestors about moving with him and his family to the new place. When you share the meal with your ancestors it's also important how you dress, you can't wear "British t-shirts", but short pants and a vest is okay. "Shoes would be disrespectful, you have to be bare feet."