isiClampi: The new lingo at airport’s pickup zone

Slap my backside and call me Judy, because we have another – up until now unknown – language.

I discovered this on Friday evening around 9pm when I picked up my youngest from OR Tambo International Airport. Because I didn’t want to leave her waiting alone after arriving from Cape Town, I was at the airport a good 30 minutes before her scheduled arrival time.

The pickup zone is situated right outside the arrivals hall, as it should be, but because I knew I had a bit of a wait, I left my car in the parkade. Slipping out for a breath of toxic Joburg air, I heard this most astonishing language for the first time.

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I’m not sure if it has an official name, but I think it should be called isiClampi.

From what I could gather in the short time outside the terminal, it’s spoken only by people who pick up loved ones, family members, in-laws, outlaws, freeloaders and other visitors – but only once they realise their cars in the pickup zone have been clamped.

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Apparently, one cannot stop in the pickup zone for longer than 12 seconds, which makes perfect sense. I mean, how long can it take to greet, kiss and hug, load luggage in the car – and repack the luggage so that there actually is room for mother-in-law and she doesn’t have to uber home.

The parking attendants responsible for clamping cars are absolute experts at following the 12-second rule. The moment a car stops, you can hear them starting their mental clocks: One-isiClampi, two-isiClampi, three-… Come a dozen, and on goes the clamp.

IsiClampi – as a language – involves adding every four-letter power word in the dictionary to every other word – be it a verb, noun, adjective, or whatever. Even whatever, as in whatf***ingever.

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The spoken version is accompanied by a unique but, dare I say, basic sign-language, of which a fist and a raised middle finger seems to be the most common.

IsiClampi also seems to induce red flushes, foaming at the mouth, crying of children and a shake of the head by the mother-in-law.

Me? I’d rather just pay the R30 for the parkade.

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By Danie Toerien
Read more on these topics: Columns