Capetonians strive to be different. When the Hipster virus spread through the streets of Cape Town it was like a scene from Contagion. Hipsterism is the key to being set apart, to being cool first and to having the freedom to finally wear that mangy jersey you’ve been two minded about for 11 years. But more than anything, being a hipster means not having to be common*
It was on that *oxymoron of note that we jetted off to another country in December desperate to avoid the dreaded what-are-you-guys-doing-for-New-Year-scene. The question activates the pressure to come up with unique and Instagram-worthy moments on New Year’s Eve. But instead of competing with your neighbour and that girl you stalk from Pilates, you now have to compete with Kim Kardashian and Rihanna for Iger dominance.
I couldn’t wait to escape this.
My husband and I landed on foreign soil revelling in the idea of being completely unrecognisable for a couple of days.
And then a funny thing happened.
The search began.
What search you ask?
Well for familiarity of course. For something to call home. For a smiling South African face. A picture of Nelson Mandela in a Parisian bookstore. A wispy South African flag against a dreary London sky. A rooibos tea bag. A prized packet of Woolies ostrich biltong to be rationed with brute force.
Me and my Madiba in Paris
Upon seeing a group of women in traditional African attire I stupidly assumed they were what Capetonians would affectionately call mamas and I made a point of squeezing in next to them on a jam-packed tube. To my disappointment they were a bunch of locals. No unique accent. No shared history. No instant connection.
Imagine my sheer delight the day I found a South African Muslim woman in a tiny Islamic centre in Switzerland. She was small, brown and she came complete with a set of gold teeth. Unmistakably Capetonian! Mind blown. After living in Switzerland for 36 years, she still had that Cape flats swag and was still fluent in Kombuis Afrikaans.
On a continent that is so starkly different from our own, there was enough dissimilarity to contend with. And with it becoming increasingly difficult to miss someone due to social media, it makes me wonder: is this what being Homesick in the time of Skype feels like?
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