I am fairly new to this blogging thing.

Don’t get me wrong- I have opinions, many many opinions, so when I was told I could contribute to this platform, I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

Then the problems began.

What do you write about?

I asked The Blog Master, and it said; “Write about anything you like”.

Worst answer ever…

My cousin is a copy writer for a large advertising agency in Australia. He always said, when starting to write something, write down everything that comes into your mind, then when you have gotten all the obvious stuff out the way, crumple the piece of paper up and throw it away. Now anything you come up with will be original.

So here goes:

“Smurf bird yellow cake preposition….”

This is not going so well.

Someone else once suggested that all good writers write about what they know. So, what do I know that you all may be interested in hearing about?

Then it hit me!

I know about being an African.

More specifically, a white African.

Now I realise that at this point there will be those of you who are choking on a mouthful of coffee, or staring at the screen in disbelief, so I’m going to give you a moment before I continue, because if that side-swiped you, what comes next may cause you to actually, physically, explode.

A moment passes…

I am a Proud White African.

I know much has been done by “The white man” which was wrong. Calling it evil, I feel, would not be over stating it.

But it wasn’t me.

Sure, I benefited from one of the best education systems in the world. I think South Africa’s schooling system was second only to the UK pre ’94. So when I matriculated in 1992, the world was my oyster! That was the theory anyways…

I need to change tack at this point, just for a sec.

My dad, bless his soul, was a racist pig. I loved the man, but there is no other way of putting it. It’s not like I’m saying this behind his back, I told him many, many times when he was alive. As a child, I remember realising that my dad, and a good portion of my family, knew every single person of colour. They had to have known them to be able to say those things about them, and being a child, you just kind of trust that your dad knows best. As I got older, however, doubt began to creep in, maybe he didn’t know all of “Them”, maybe he was making assumptions, and if this was true, maybe his assumptions were wrong…

Roll around high school, and I was hanging out with my “black” friends in Morning Star, a township in the middle of Durbanville, the town I live in. Ironically, this township is now some of the most valuable property in Durbanville.

Anyway, hanging out with my “black” friends in Morning Star, smoking weed and buying Black Label quarts from the shebeen.

Then the inevitable happened- the cops raided the place, and I was too legless to get away. So there I was, in the back of the “Babylon Wagon”, being carted off to Durbanville police station in my school uniform. I was convinced that I was going to be, at best, expelled, at worst, hung outside the town hall as an example for all wayward children.

My punishment was 6 “cuts” from the Sergeant on duty, with my principal, my mom, and a doctor present. The doctor was there just in case I went into shock from the pain, not something you want to hear just before the festivities begin. Being as inebriated as I was helped me get through the “event”, but no amount of alcohol could prepare me for what happened next.

When they put down the reason for the punishment on paper for me to sign, it wasn’t for being hammered during school time in my uniform. It was for violating the Group Areas Act. Apparently, hanging out with black people was more dangerous than alcohol and dagga at the age of 16.

I eventually finished school in 1992, at the age of 18.

Right.

Back to the main thing.

It wasn’t me.

My first opportunity to vote was the biggie. 1994!

Again, to be honest, my decision to vote ANC was 50% because I knew it was the only answer, but 50% because I knew my dad was going to go postal when he found out.

The joke is, I voted myself right out of a job, so to speak. I had this amazing education, but was totally unemployable. White. Male. The devil.

Oh well, we live and we learn. I haven’t voted ANC again. Personally, I think they are as bad as the Apartheid government, but that is a blog for another day.

My wife and I had dinner with friends of ours who are emigrating. Not to the Socialist Republic of Australia, or America, home of the fat, land of those once free, but to Japan!

How awesome is that? Japan! The country responsible for more weird stuff than any other!

He suggested I send my CV in. The company he is going to work for is looking for people, the pay is good, and it’s Japan! I asked him why they were leaving and he said that there is no future for white people here. He is just tired of being made to feel guilty all the time for being white. ┬áLeave Africa to the Africans.

black and white SA flag

My wife and I discussed this, and we both came to the conclusion, we could have left ages ago. We have family all over the world, and any one of them would have helped us get over there, but we ARE Africans!

This is our home, we have Amarula flowing through our veins, and we are just as African as anyone with the surname Zuma or Malema.

As for feeling guilty? I realised most of white Africa does feel guilty. I guess I did too for a while, but you know what? I don’t anymore.

Not at all.

As a Christian, I don’t believe the children should pay for the sins of the fathers.

As a citizen, I don’t see us being able to contribute in any meaningful way if we let guilt castrate us. White South Africa has a lot to offer. We ALL need to realise this. By letting ourselves be marginalised, we contribute nothing.

We are all African

Apathy is a growing cancer among white South Africa. This belief that fighting the system is futile has to stop.

Resistance is never futile.

When we hear of something that is obviously wrong, not just in a white African context, but in a general human context, we need to do something. We need to make a noise. We need to let this country know that we have an opinion and a voice that is just as valid as anyone else’s.

I don’t mean we should burn and break things. Peaceful resistance always accomplishes more than violence.

Section 9 of the bill of rights states “…freedom from discrimination based on RACE, gender…”

I’d like to see that become more than a nice sentiment.

If that did become more than just a nice thought on paper, we would no longer be talking about White Africa and Black Africa. It would just be Africa.

The next super power of the world!

 

If you made it this far without spontaneously combusting – well done. And please understand the heart that this is coming from.

 

Proud White African.

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