Things to know about traveling in Africa.....

1. There are no such things as tampons in Africa.
Therefore be sure to pack a years supply when traveling. I made the mistake of disregarding this fact and learnt the hard way. Cheap pads are not fun and make a crunching noise when you walk on a hot day. On a cold day too for that matter.

2. No taxi's are road worthy. Therefore do not be alarmed when the boot (which has been cable tied shut) flies open mid-journey and all your belongings disappear

3. Apparently road rules do not apply to anyone with a wheel. I say "a wheel" because we did spot a very drunk looking man on a unicycle who looked to be in no state to be operating a wheel on the road

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4. Goats and chickens also pay to ride the bus
It is completely normal to sit next to a goat on the bus. Don't be alarmed though, he's not there to snack on your pants, he's really just minding his own business and concentrating on getting from A to B. They also ride on the back of bicycles apprently. That was a strange sight indeed!!however, Chickens tend to "rule the roost" on most public forms of transport and you'll more often than not find yourself sitting next to a well groomed chicken as opposed to a human being. Or goat.

5. Cover up in the rural areas. Now this is where I find african customs ironic. Its perfectly fine to have your titties hanging out and about but flash some boys an ankle and you're that "harlot" running around the town giving all the boys ankle dances. So, keep the legs covered.

6. Men dont eat with women. Sexism is pretty rife in Africa, the women slave over the meal for the entire day and then they have to sit on the floor in another room while the men enjoy their meal sitting on very comfortable couches with a painting of jesus hanging up behind them.

7. Wear closed shoes. I didn't, I thought I'd be carefree and wear flip flops for my entire trip. At one point I stubbed my toe very viciously on a stick. Months later I was inspecting my feet like an ape and found the little devil lodged underneath my toenail. Nice. Rather avoid the scenario altogether and wear takkies and jeans like an american.

8. Keep it clean, sweep your dirt. Africans have an innate sense of pride in appearance. They even sweep their front yard which is made up solely of dirt. I don't know where they put the "dirt" which they sweep, but they make it look very clean. Be sure to keep your area clean too, apparently an unswept front yard is about as offensive as exposing yourself to the elderly.

9.Don't drink the beer that comes in a milk box. I believe its called "Chibuku". It's not right for beer to come in a box. That is all.

10. Be sure to take playing cards. You'll need them for a rainy day because there is no electricity.

11. Bus tickets are cheap for a reason. It costs approximately R40 for an 8 hour bus trip, because the buses are crap and guaranteed to break down. They can actually afford to make them so cheap because they manage to cram 200 people, 10 goats and about 30 chickens all onto one 60 seater bus. It's especially pleasant when the baby sitting squashed next to you gets carsick and regurgitates his mother's breast milk onto your lap.

12. Apparently filling up with petrol is irrelevant on a 10 hour bus ride

13. Barter! barter! barter!! Street vendors spot a white person and automatically triple everything to "mzungu prices". Try not to get ripped off, you know the value of things and sometimes it is better value for money if you barter the shirt off of your own back rather than pay a cent for that woven straw hat.

14. Yes, you can bath in the lake. It is not unusual to get your kit off and whip your hair back and forth in the lake whilst singing the latest hit and massaging sunsilk into your hair like you're in an exotic advert.

15. Don't buy those tasty looking critters on the kebabs. A) they are not cooked all the way through and B) they are rats. Vermin. Something that should not be put on a stick and roasted on an open fire and then put in your mouth.

16. When tired, catch a lift on a bike with no gears. It costs about R3.50 for a trip and you get to sit on the back of a bike while the poor man in front gets to pedal away up all the crazy hills with no gears.

17. It's normal for prisoners to get "day passes" where they leave the prison for the day and walk around the town peddling their wares. They just have to be back by bedtime. Good news that is, I'm sure the murderers and rapists will take those rules very seriously. That's not unsettling at all.

18. "Don't smoke the weed in the North, it'll make you go crazy", this is the best advice I received on my trip, coming from a Doctor on the plane ride next to us who had disproportionately large hands and brought up the subject of smoking weed when I made absolutely no reference to it whatsoever....

Cashiers with attitude

Every time I think I'm having a bad day, I just go on and pop into my nearest Dischem. Not only do they have a wide range of products to suit your every need, they also come at very affordable prices. I once went into a Dischem to purchase some Immodium, my favourite lunchtime snack. Not only did they have a special on Immodium (two for the price of one) but I also managed to walk out of there with a recipe book, a pair of ankle weights, (they're weak, ok) a heat pack, and a months supply of free tampons (they came with the heat pack. Bizarre, really). All for the  unbeatable price of R299!!!!! What a fantastic store!!!


But no, it is not for this reason alone that I wonder around the local Dischem on a particularly bad day. It is because, no matter how crap your day has been, you know that the women / man (unlikely) sitting behind the till has had by far a worse day than you. Times your shit day by 500 and, apparently, that is how bad it is to work at Dischem.


The reason I know this is because, recently I visited the store with my Cazza because I needed a product for a "friend" who was experiencing some lady problems. Thrush, if you must know. After asking at the till for some cream and hearing an immature snigger, we turned around to spot a very, very old man who was, in fact, laughing at us. Fantastic. How polite. After standing in the 40-man queue for 45 minutes, (You know how popular Dischem is on a Saturday, hot diggity!) we were told to go to till 7, where we were greeted, or, at least, snorted at, by a very sullen looking African woman with a very nicely done weave. I thought about commenting on it, but she didn't look to be in the mood. Now,I'm sure that Dischem values their customers and so, for future reference, I recommend that every till should have the "Dischem commandments" stuck onto it, with rules such as "Smile at the customers and greet them", "Do not be unkind to them when they would like to purchase a packet" or "Do not take your sweet time packaging an embarrassing product such as thrush cream". This would be helpful, I'm sure.
Instead, when we arrived at till 7, there was no smile, there was no kindness, and the lady with the nice weave certainly took her time packaging our product. This is more or less how the conversation went:


Dischem lady with weave: "Do you have a Dischem card?"
Cazza:                              "No"
Dischem lady with weave: *sigh* pulling of face into a grimace * sigh *
                                          "Do you have an ebucks card?"
Cazza:                               "No"
Dischem lady with weave: *sigh* sneer* (scans barcode of thrush cream)
                                        "Would you like a packet?"
Cazza:                              "Um, no thanks, that's ok"
Dischem lady with weave: *sort of smiles and perks up a bit*
(Megan nudges Cazza and reminds her that we are carrying around a box of thrush cream)
Cazza:                              "Um, actually, please may I have a packet?"
Dischem lady with weave: *sigh* mild suicidal look flashing in eyes * 


The Dischem lady then proceeded to find the smallest possible packet behind the counter to try to squash the box of thrush cream into. Obviously it did not work and she had to try a new bag. This bought about more sighing and a kind of vein that was becoming very prominent on her forehead. The box didn't fit into that bag either, eventually, when I started fearing for our lives about 4 bags later, I snatched it from her and said "Never mind", and ran from the store. She probably died after we left from being such a bitch.


See? No matter how shit you think your day may be, just think that, someone out there with a severe attitude (and possible mental health) problem is having a very hard time packing thrush cream into the correctly sized bag, and, as a result, are having by far a worse day than you.

I'm nearly back in the Circus

A couple months ago on I slipped a disc in my back. I know what you're thinking: "How the hell did she do that?!?!" In answer to your question: No I was not doing flick flacks across a slippery surface. And I was not break dancing with my fellow post men on a cardboard box outside the delivery room. I was not doing the tango with a very sexy Latino man and one of my heels broke. I didn't fall down some stairs when I was drunk. Nor did I fall off my bike trying to play the fool and showing off riding backwards. And I certainly wasn't trying to dance like Michael Jackson....well...not this time anyway...


Instead it is a very boring story. I was at work, and I simply bent over, tried to pick up a table, and instead fell to the floor writhing in agony clutching at my poor back. Not only did this happen at work. It also happened on Valentines day- only the busiest day in restaurant history the world over. I was in so much pain I nearly fainted. I strained a smile at my boss, and excused myself to go to the bathroom, where, as I tried to sit down, I experienced so much pain that I passed out. Then I woke up. Ok then I also threw up a little bit. Just a little. Luckily I managed to get off work for the rest of the day and went to the physio, who happened to be a very handsome, strapping young lad, and I cried and cried and cried and snotted all over his bed as well as the sleeve of his T-shirt. Humiliating.


This isn't the first time this has happened to me either. However the first slip of my disc is a far more entertaining story.


I was in Grade 9, an extremely awkward and ugly time for me. Not only had I finally hit puberty, 3 years later than all of my friends. I was quite chubby, I had braces that always seemed to attract very stubborn plant material, (which, by the way I chose to eat, it wasn't like I was bullied into eating grass or similar things, although, that wouldn't be a far cry either) I had mild acne, (due to the late onset of puberty) and it was also around the same time that I was nicknamed "Squirrel". I don't know why really but I think it had something to do with my unmanageable hair. Kids can be so cruel. Anyhoo, as if life wasn't heinous enough for me at that time, I had to make a mockery of myself by breaking my back in front of the entire school. So embarrassing.
 It was break time and I was hanging out at the tuck shop, obviously. (Just in case some poor sucker dropped 50c, or, even better, a nik nak) Break had also just let out, so all the grades were hanging around, and we were right next to the Matric quad. (Where I had my eye on a man with very curly hair whom I dreamt about making my under aged husband. I'm glad I didn't go through with it. Our children would be very ugly and curly.) I was trying to pass the time until I struck it lucky and so, obviously, practised my Michael Jackson dance moves. I did the one where he yells "HeeHee" and jumps up and balances on the tips of his toes. It was ideal for me because I had my good ol' "Toughees" on. Good shoes they are, them Toughees. My moves were getting better and I had almost perfected it, until some dipshit behind me moved backwards and sent me flying across the quad. It was one of those falls where you run faster and faster and get closer and closer to the ground, until you've landed flat on your face, basically running into the floor. However, as my face was about 10cm from the concrete, I hit a slippery spot and suddenly wrenched backwards and fell in the gutter. As if it wasn't embarrassing enough that the whole school and all of the matrics witnessed this "accident", what made it worse was that I couldn't get up. I was stuck and momentarily paralysed. Lovely. I think my back had also already been weakened when, a couple of weeks before, I was practising popping wheelies in a wheelchair and I came short. Down a flight of stairs.


Oh well, that is my sad story of my broken back. Not that you care, but it is slowly getting better and my dreams of joining the Moscow Circus and being with my trapeze partner, Roul, once again are within reach. For now I will just have to stick with Boswell Wilkie, polishing the clown's shoes and pursuing an affair with the stable hand who has one eye and a very suspicious looking kneecap..

Flying next to a pervert, behind a wrestler, and in front of a baby. With a hangover.

This blog is dedicated to all of those who have, like me, had a series of very unfortunate flights. It is flights like these that force us to resort to rather take a 24 hour bus drive, break down three times and spend the night in a seedy motel that has smells you cant quite put your finger on.We've all been there. We've all been hungover on a flight. We've all sat next to, behind or in front of a wailing baby. We've all sat next to some kind of sexual predator who tried to slip their phone number into your pocket whilst sniffing at your hair. I'm going to enlighten you on the top 3 best flights I have ever had. By best, I mean the worst, most uncomfortable flights. These are ranked from the least offensive, to the most. I'd love to hear your stories too.

3. Flight from Johannesburg to Manchester

Ok so this was my first international flight without my family. I was 17 years old and travelling with a friend to the UK for a 6week holiday. In some ways it was the best flight of my life, but it is in the top 5 of worst flights mainly due to the aftermath of the flight. About 5 minutes before I boarded the plane I took 3 sleeping pills. By Jove those things are serious! I barely made it to my seat before I passed out! I was woken up by my travelling companion who was shaking me vigorously, thinking I was dead. I awoke with my face squashed against a freezing cold window, which, on closer inspection, actually had icicles on the outside. Then I had no idea where we were. Then I was told that it was 9 am in Manchester and that I had been asleep for 11 hours. I was so confused! I didn't even remember boarding the plane! I have absolutely no recollection of the flight whatsoever, which, for some, would be considered a Godsend, but for others who sat next to a man who removed his pants at some point during those 11 hours, it's a bit frightening. I also suffered from jet lag for the rest of the holiday, as well as from paranoia that the man with no pants was out there somewhere, watching me, with no pants on.

2.Flight from Johannesburg to Atlanta

Now this is a long flight. 20 hours to be exact. With no stops. Now picture this, you board the plane and find your seat. Make yourself comfortable and look forward to your time in the states with much excitement and anticipation.  Since I had already had my fare share of sleeping pills in my last international flight, I chose to remain lucid for the entire 20 hours to avoid any suspicious awakenings. Then you meet the person who will be your travel companion. You don't want things to be awkward for the next 20 hours, so you introduce yourself and get chatting. He is a nice African man who turns out to be a priest who is travelling to the states to "spread the word". He has 4 wives and 16 children. Then he says he has never married a white woman, and he asks you for your number and if you would consider being his fifth wife. You say no. Great, now things are awkward for the next 20 hours. To make matters worse, the grotesquely built man sitting in front of me reached back for a stretch and punched the lights out of my TV screen with his monstrosity of a fist, so it stopped working in the first hour. And no, I couldn't switch to another seat because the flight was full, and I wasn't about to ask the Hulk in front of me if he could swap with me. He might just punch my lights out too. So I sat there, too afraid to stir in case the priest thought I was awake and tried to make conversation again, but too afraid to fall asleep in case the Priest married me while I was out. It was a very, very long flight. The priest also managed at some point to sneakily put a note in my jacket pocket saying that, should I change my mind about marriage, I should give him a call. I've decided that, if I'm not married by the time I'm 35, I might just do that.

Wouldn't you?

1. Flight from Cape Town to Durban

Some of you may think, "Hey, that's only a two hour flight, how much can go wrong?" Clearly you have never endured a two hour flight with a hangover from red wine and a shamed ego, wearing a dressing gown because your room mate couldn't manage to find anything more decent to dress you in. Hardy har har.

It all began with a res dance, a drinking competition where white wine changed to red wine, then red wine changed to brandy and coke, then brandy and coke changed to just brandy. Then I went to sleep in the men's bathroom with my head in the toilet and a near twisted ankle. This doesn't really deviate from my average Friday night, however, try doing that and then flying for two hours at 6 am the following morning. My good friend showered me, dressed me in my robe and took me to the airport, Oh how I wanted her to stay and hold my hair back for the rest of the trip! I threw up twice on the way to the airport. I was in no state of mind to be in an airport or near children. Despite my shower and clean looking bathrobe, I smelt like the floor of a pub after St Paddy's day and looked like a ghost. I checked in, threw up, went and sat in the departure lounge, threw up again, and fell asleep for a little bit. (I just hope that my robe stayed secure for those 2 or 3 minutes I was passed out...) At least there are bathrooms everywhere so throwing up and disgracing myself could be done in private. That changed, however, in the 50 or so metres from the boarding gate to the air plane. There was no cover, it was an open tarmac and there were passengers milling all around me making their way to the plane. Then I got sick. I couldn't help it, I threw up right there on the tarmac, about 5 metres from a Mango air plane. It was heinous. I had no where to hide. So I did what every normal person would do: Wipe their face on their robe, flap their arms to try stop perspiring, get back on their shaky feet and get on that plane! I thought that I was safe once I was sitting down, but alas, I was not. The prepubescent pervert sitting next to me thought I would like to chat and perhaps share his chicken mayo sandwhich. I did not want to. I was too afraid to talk in case more than words came out of my mouth. I was really too afraid to even breathe. And I hate mayo. So I politely asked to be excused and went and writhed in the bathroom for the remainder of the flight, slipping in and out of a painful sleep. It was a very low moment for me.

That was, and is, the worst flight I have ever had, hands down.

Tell me your stories!!

I like to win competitions

I am addicted to entering competitions. Almost to the point where it is unhealthy. But that is not my downfall. My downfall appears when I have to cancel my flight and the celebratory champagne which I had booked, thinking that I had won that ten day holiday in the Seychelles with the island hopping, the dolphin riding and the romantic candlelight dinner. Sometimes I get a bit too far ahead of myself...

My unhealthy fixation for entering competitions began in junior primary school, where there was a termly raffle for a chocolate hamper. I sold countless amounts of raffle tickets, mainly to my own immediate family to increase my chances of winning. Yet I never won. Not ever. Instead, the termly raffle was nearly always awarded to my friend Alice and her family. It was devastating. Every term I'd get my hopes up and spend countless sleepless nights leading up to the draw, making plans for all the chocolate I was going to win and barely being able to contain myself. All to be left empty handed and deflated that I had not won, and Alice had. Again. 

I didn't give up though. I have never won a single thing in my sad life, save for a couple months ago when I received a very exciting phone call whilst I was in the university computer room:

  

Me:  "Hello Megan speaking" 

Caller:  "Hello Megan, This is Nerisha calling from Tops SPAR in Merrivale, I am pleased to inform you that      you have won our Brutal Fruit lucky draw prize" , 

Me: "Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God. Really?! I've never won anything in my life!!"

Caller: "Well then, today is your lucky day! You have also been entered into the draw for a trip to New York. You may come and collect your prize at the closest convenient time. Enjoy the rest of your day"

Me: "Thank you Thank you Thank you!!!"

So that was, and remains to be, the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. I collected my prize but was mildly disappointed. Its contents were:

• a foot spa (sponsored by Brutal Fruit??)
• a wide variety of distasteful nail polish colours
• a tiny handbag with a chain handle which I suppose I could use in the event of an emergency
• clown eye shadow
• a hideous "corsage", or something of the like
• And not one bottle of Brutal Fruit!!! Pish Tosh! Ludacris!

So that was my first prize! I had my eyes on bigger things though- such as this trip to New York which I was entered into. Now, in my mind, I had already won this competition. In my mind I was already in New York, the Big Apple, Times Square, filthy pavements and surrounded by annorexic girls who made me feel inferior.

I had already invited my four girlfriends whom were allowed to come with, told them to cancel their engagements for July and informed them that they should pack a suitcase of very stylish clothes so as to make an impression on New York when we were driven around in our free Limo. I'd even made arrangements with my new friend and travel agent "Call-me-Tanya" about flights and visa's etc.

I didn't win though. It was like a punch in the mammaries. And "Call-me-Tanya" did call me, and told me not to contact her again unless I wanted to get serious about travelling. Needless to say my new ex-friend "Call-me-Tanya" was struck from the list of "girlfriends" to come on my next competition getaway.

I will never give up though. Someday I will win an amazing trip, be it a cruise through the Caribbean, a week-long stay at Euro Disney, or a 50% discount at a truck stop motel. It'll happen. I'm sure of it. I'll show "Call-me-Tanya". I'll show her.