World Cup Woes

Picture, as I often do when there’s nothing on the telly, that you’re a wee Bushman in 19th century Okhahlamba.

You go out for an invigorating eland hunt during the day, admiring the breath-taking mountain landscape. At night, you retire to your cave to paint your exploits and to explore the wonders of the Berg with a nubile maiden or two from Injisuthi. An occasional trip to Didima, for a spot of trading and some brisk traditional dancing, rounds off an idyllic lifestyle for any devoted fan of eland-related comestibles.

However, imagine your surprise one day when out stalking a reedbuck and, suddenly, you spot Shaka approaching at the head of a Zulu impi, with a look in his eye suggesting that he’s unlikely to be fobbed off with tea and biscuits.

Even the most dim-witted of a line of notably stolid cave dwellers would realize it was goodbye eland, hello doom.

A similar dread shivers down my spine when I consider next year’s soccer world cup; the thought of 450 000 fans brings me out in a cold sweat. I am plagued by nightmares of drunken phalanxes of lobster-pink hooligans.

How shall we survive the siege?

We already have the answer: never had I noticed such a prolific talent for forming clubs until I moved here.

Not least of these is the Probus Club. Almost everyone who is a member of any other club is a member of Probus. It is the club of clubs, the sanctum sanctorum, and the hub of the valley’s social scene. I may go so far as to say that you aren’t part of the valley until you join. I never thought that an evening once a month with exceedingly old people could be so much fun, but then I never thought that 50 would whiz by so quickly, either.

Some clubs don’t actively seek members, but you can do what everyone else does: form your own. At last count, book clubs outnumbered people who could actually read. The investment club has lost more shirts than the gambling club has legs.

My favourite is the ‘vegetable club’. On any weekday between 15:30 and 16:00, pay a visit to Hillbillies to buy your fruit and veg. Not only will you pay less, you can catch up on the skinner. (My reference to vegetables is not a personal slight of the members of this club.)

The list goes on. Before you know it, you will be happily occupied every day and night, flitting from one function to another activity, like my dream Bushman – and the yobbos will have gone home.