Let’s do the time warp again

On the count of four: do the hip-to-toe swing, swing, swing, then shuffle, shuffle, step to the left, then to the back … two, three, four. And repeat. That’s the Jerusalema in four easy steps.

Everyone is doing it, even me. Maybe not as well as Cristiano Ronaldo or our own money-spinner Tito Mboweni, but I can hold my own with my pap plate in my hand casually eating while making the dance look like pudding. This worldwide phenomenon catapulted SA’s shy Master KG to international stardom.

His video has been watched by more than 130 million people, the song tops all the charts, went platinum in Italy – and if that’s not the Song of the Year, I’ll eat all my pap. So is it the catchy rhythm? His Good Message – the Limpopo-born musician is, after all, a devout Christian? Or is it, God forbid, the power of social media?

I say God forbid because I still battle to find the # on the keyboard. And on Twitter I’m the quiet girl in the corner. But I’m not blind to the power of it.

I can right now pan the conspiracy theorists, laugh in my sleeve at the Trumpists, roll my eyes at the experts who really have no idea about the true meaning of #BlackLivesMatter, sigh at the mainstream media who “are fed lies and perpetuate it”, but I prefer to be the quiet girl.

Never shall I pen any opinion. Not a word or thought will flow onto any page, because the truth is, everyone is an expert nowadays. Everyone sticks their noses in your damn business. And everyone secretly wallows in your misery. Write an uncomfortable story about rape? Maybe eight people like it; two comments. But let your dog be “confiscated” by the SPCA and 90 people love it with at least 130 “oohs” and “aahs”.

So, I’ve learnt the hard way. Nobody really cares what you think. And if they do, you’d better watch your poison pen because the cross is waiting in more ways than one. Nowadays? I twitter at a joke; come up with a clever saying; share a popcorn recipe… And I dance. Because I can’t do the Mexican wave at the cricket anymore.

Thank you, Jerusalema, for putting the spring back in my step.

Carine Hartman.

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