Carol’s Column

My ‘ubuntu braai’ idea sadly went down in flames

There's definitely an element of schizophrenia if you live in this South Africa of ours. For instance, have you noticed the extraordinary obsession everyone has about home security?

Walls are high, getting higher. Razor wire rolls across walls while wiring designed to shock and turn aspirant burglars into instant french fries completes the package. Heavy security gates which can only be accessed through remote control are no longer ornate but instead have formidable spearlike points.

This week I walked my dog Dumpling - the all-South African dog, a miniature maltese of 17 years - along the suburban sidewalks. From behind barricaded iron gates, large and fearsome-looking hounds barked menacingly. Their message was clear. Come near and we'll eat you for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Stay outside, or we'll rip you to shreds.

What's happened to ubuntu, to the spirit of togetherness, to happy community living? To kids playing in the streets, to the easy, relaxed atmosphere?

I can remember attempting to lift the engine out of the first car I ever owned, winching it to a garage rafter - which broke - and being helped by at least 14 interested neighbours. That was in the days of ubuntu.

"This neighbourhood needs a little ubuntu," I confided to Dumpling as she deftly leapt from the jaws of a snarling rottweiler trying to swallow her.

"I can't stand living like this," I said to Dumpling. "It's like being in a self-imposed prison." That evening, I decided to visit everyone in the two blocks adjacent to my house, introduce myself and suggest a few communal events such as a Sunday street braai.

I started at the beginning of the street ringing the bell set in the concrete pillar supporting the security gate.

"Go away," a voice growled.

"Hello, my name is Carol and I'm your neighbour from a few houses along. I thought it would be nice if we all got to know each other," I said undeterred by the less than welcoming reception.

"F-- off," responded the disembodied voice.

I obviously hadn't heard correctly. "Hello, my name is Carol ..."

"If you don't f-- off I'll blast you away," he said.

"Nice," I muttered to myself, my nostrils flaring with indignation as I trotted to the house next door. Foul-mouthed, low-life noxious sludge, I labelled him. He can stay away from the street braai.

I visited house after house, ringing remote-control bells and speaking into little black boxes.

Finally, somebody opened the security gate and I felt as if I'd won a jackpot. At the end of the garden path a door stood open, warm light streaming outwards. "Hello, my name is Carol ..."

"Hello Carol," said the tall young man standing inside. "So what have you got for us tonight?"

"Ubuntu!" I replied enthusiastically.

"Ubuntu? That's a new one," he muttered. "Is it good?"

"Absolutely," I said, "and what's more, it will change your life. In fact it will change all our lives."

"I hope ubuntu comes with plenty of garlic," he smiled. A humorist, I thought to myself. "Yes, and chillis and a dash of pepper sauce," I giggled.

"So where is it and how much do I owe you?" he asked. He observed my blank expression. "Aren't you from Mr Delivery?" he said in horror.

So what the hell, they can all eat their miserable pieces of wors in their own backyards surrounded by barbed wire and electric fences, their guns cocked, their watchdogs on the ready.

I was thoroughly depressed. Until I read yesterday morning about the new gun control legislation which perked me up no end. Up, down, down, up – just an another day in South Africa.

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