There are some benefits about sticking around in South Africa except for biltong, Mrs Balls and braaivleis. Photo: iStock
While the grass may be greener in places like the Emerald Isles, there are some benefits about sticking around in South Africa except for biltong, Mrs Balls and braaivleis.
South Africa is a bit like Springbok rugby. After a mighty victory one week, a dismal failure the next. And yet, after a few grumbles and rumbles, the green and gold pick themselves up from the floor again and, well, try again.
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Every South African is a zama zama, a try-and-try-again kind of resilience that has been tested to its limits over the past decade or so.
Yet here we are. We might have swapped picket fences for the electric kind and pay private security companies for the failures of the South African Police (notice Service is dropped from the brand). But many South Africans have not jumped ship with their tails between their legs, looking for greener pastures elsewhere.
And while the grass may be greener in places like the Emerald Isles or the United Kingdom, or hobbits may inhabit the hills of New Zealand, there are some benefits about sticking around except for biltong, Mrs Balls and braaivleis.
A friend of mine lives in a first world country that claims a world-class medical service. And it’s universal healthcare, the kind an NHI promises to provide. Yet, to get an appointment for his daughter, whose reading difficulties had its genesis in lockdown, with an occupational therapist, is not as easy as simply picking up the phone, making it so, and hoping that medical aid would cover the bill.
Nope. His daughter had to slide into place at the back end of a three-year long waiting list just to get a first assessment done. After that, who knows when, what or how treatment would occur, comprise or, whether it would even happen before she is a teenager and already several years behind her classmates.
Instead, my friend has had to spend months looking for anyone in private practice, of which there were none. Instead, he managed to find a non-profit organisation that was able to accommodate his daughter in six months.
And this, in a first world country, where South Africans are flocking to.
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I compared this with the privilege we have in South Africa. My son, a bit younger, was also referred to an occupational therapist. It took a single call to make an appointment, and three days to wait, to consult. Medical aid covered the entire bill, and within three weeks he was well on his way into therapy.
This, while in a first world country, a friend’s daughter is still waiting to get to the front of a six-month queue at a non-profit.
And yes, the queues we face at home affairs are worse than watching paint dry, taxis drive like every Parisian I have ever seen behind the wheel and All Gold Tomato Sauce is now almost R40 a bottle.
But land in London and you will lose your appetite and thirst for a cold one quickly. A small beer will set you back the equivalent of three bottles of All Gold; a toasted sandwich, about the same. Your credit card will charge you with abuse after a few days.
The cost of living is rocketing everywhere, but we’ve still got it damn good. Restaurants are full and it’s still possible to buy the odd treat for yourself and your offspring. Medical attention, well, for now, is still easily accessible and relatively affordable. And some state health facilities may look rotten, but the doctors and nurses still patch you up with a smile.
We have a lot to be thankful for in this country, and while it’s tempting to get the hell outta here, it feels like a chihuahua chasing a Ferrari, it’s a fun pursuit, but what will the little mutt do when it finally catches the racer. Immigration may well be the same notion.
Appreciate what we have because the abundance we see elsewhere might just be a mirage.
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