#surfers corner

[lauradreyfussmusic]

Love in the time of Corona

[sofiaungdom]

Blog to Sofia - December

Carl Bradshaw, South Africa.

The following text is written as fiction. None of the characters therefore represent real people. Instead they represent a mixture of individuals I have met during my first months in South Africa. The people I have met here have generally been friendly, generous and easy going. Even so, I have struggled with the reality of two negative issues that are very much present on a structural level within South African society. These are the macho-culture and the post-apartheid tensions generating in racism. The latter is not solemnly an issue among South Africans but also within the white expat community. The following text is therefore an attempt to portray the reality of machoism and racism within South Africa.

Surfers Corner

Waves like you could not believe. The gulls would not even dare to strike down on potential prey. The water was relatively empty. Just the two of them and a few other reckless adrenaline junkies decided to play games with the ocean. Tyler was already far out, struggling to get even further. The red flag indicating high shark alert did not seem to bother him and if it did he did not let it show. But on the other hand what did? Tyler and Crispy had come out to Muizenberg a lot lately, mostly before the shark watchers arrived at 9AM. The absence of shark watchers meant that the water was relatively empty and if you had to choose from amateurs and sharks you definitely chose the latter.

Cape Town was a good spot for surfing and even if Durban provided better conditions they had decided to stay here a couple of weeks longer. Rusty had been bored and left for Durban a month ago. "Patience is a virtue", he used to say, but he did no live by it. They had not heard from him since he left. Rotten bastard. Funny that a guy, permanently stoned, could be bored with anything at all.

The only problem here at Muizenberg was the cold water. He hated wearing a wetsuit. Crispy was used to the Gold Coast and Fiji. There you could surf naked if you felt like it. Here you had to keep up with the cold and even if you did not bother about that, you would roast like a braai sausage if you did not keep your wetsuit on. The sun was hectic. Crispy was white as an Irish schoolgirl and he knew that if he was not careful with the sun his skin would burn and crack like on a dead lizard. Tyler used to call him his favorite albino. "Do not go further up in Africa bro" he had told him a few days ago. "I care about you and they consider your kind a delicacy for their witchcraft shit. They would suck out the marrow from your bones cause they think it will cure their damned AIDS. The blacks, they all have it but there are not many albinos around, especially not anymore". Tyler was a good guy but his views of blacks, as he called them, were not that great. His parents had lost all their land in Zimbabwe in the 90s and most of their capital assets. Mentioning Mugabe in the presence of Tyler was like celebrating Hitler­ in front of a Jew. Even Ellis, who was Malay and one of their boyz did not get much respect from Tyler. Crispy had never understood this. The color of skin had never bothered him. Once, when he was drunk, Tyler had actually slashed a car tire belonging to a rich black South African dude. "That guy was wearing a fair bit of bling-bling hey? Probably made some dirty shit to earn that money". Crispy was laughing thinking about the guy having to take a taxi back home from the club. His final destination would have been his own bed, for sure. That incident, getting your car messed up, was a definite cock-blocker. Cape Town was alright if you had a car. If not, you had some issues. Enjoying Cape Town without a car was as likely to be successful as if you provided free condoms in the Vatican. Then there was the juice. The beer here tasted like sap. Apparently the wine was supposed to be good but Crispy had never fancied it. He was born and raised in Cork and enjoyed his beer dark and rich. Here he preferred a soda to a Castle. Honestly, it was a joke he thought to himself as he swam beneath the wave approaching him.

He had gotten a job a few months ago, just when he figured he would have to move back. He had spent most of the money he had earned in Fiji. The job was nothing fancy. He had not even made an effort. Things turned out alright if you just kept cool and trusted that good things would come to you. His back-up plan would have been to find a rich girl and drain her of some Rands. He was convinced it would have worked. He sat up on the end of the board. It sank deeper into the water. It was a good board. A six-footer with one fin instead of three. It made the board a little wobbly at first but somehow it caught even the smaller waves excellently. Tyler preferred the eight-footer because of his weight. Going to gym everyday was not for Crispy. He kept ripped but carrying weights for the sake of it seemed like a waste of time. Further out, the wave broke and Tyler was on it. Then he fell over. Probably a result of last night. That party had been hectic. Tyler did not care much for taste in general but would drink anything that had alcohol in it. There was another wave. It came perfectly. Tyler was already on it. A bit further out on the left a kid, not older than ten, did an even better job. Crispy turned around, paddled like a madman and rode the wave all the way back to shore.