I Hate the Fact

I hate the fact that the guy at the intersection trying to clean my windscreen irritates me after a long day at work. In my BMW. Which I had never earned. After a “long” day. I have no idea what a long day is, while this man begs and pleads on his knees for a coin. I hate the fact that I think it’s a scam.


I hate the fact that I can’t remember the last intersection in Jozi without a homeless person at my window. I hate the fact that people think that the homeless should get up and get a job. I hate the fact that I sometimes feel that too. I hate the fact that I didn’t give away the R600 spent at a bar that night, trying to impress people I don’t want to impress, when people are suffering everywhere.

I hate the fact that white kids born into wealth have some false sense of achievement to their name in Parade town. The infamous Generation Y (if you believe that rubbish) that cruises around town with some sense of entitlement. Who rely on their parents to solve their problems. I hate the fact that as we grow older it’s become a race to wealth. At all costs. I hate the fact that I want to be a part of it.

I hate the fact that the longer our people strike, the more jobs we lose. I hate the fact that executive directors go home to their mansions to light up a cigar, while their employees are out cold, forced to strike for a measly R1000 increase. I hate the fact that the mining industry is filled with filth and corruption and nepotism and filth.

I hate the fact that as I land at Cape Town airport for the 6th time this year, I am chauffeured through rundown streets of shanty towns sprawled across the street. I hate the fact that if I got out there and handed out sandwiches it might cure my insanity and give me hope. I hate the fact that it helps me cure my guilt.

I hate the fact that if I sponsor one child’s education, it fills me with some sort of achievement. One is better than none, right. But two is better than one. I hate the fact that people congratulate me for it. I hate the fact that people assume I have an ulterior motive for doing it.

I hate the fact that Africa is filled with unbinding corruption and that neighbouring countries flee to South Africa in desperation. I hate the fact that Mugabe is alive. I hate the fact that we all look back in wonder at “how far we’ve come” in our Rainbow Nation. I hate the fact that Apartheid existed.

I hate the fact that there is an Afrikaans boy out there wanting to lose his heritage and change his name so that he is better sought after in the working world. I hate the fact that hard work is lost in some of us, because we have grown into wealth. I hate the fact that hard work is lost in us because a law guides us to entitlement. I hate the fact that our Gini coefficient has widened. I hate the fact that BEE exists. But I understand it. Or do I.

I hate the fact that what I say is hypocritical. I hate the fact that I can’t help save South Africa. We need saving. I hate the fact that you think my glass is half empty, when my glass is full.

I’m going to go to bed now, in my warm bed and sleep in peace. Then tomorrow, after I drive past the same man who wants to clean my window, I am hopping on a plane and going to Rocking the Daisies, a concert filled with thousands of me, spending thousands of rand, on impressing people we don’t want to impress.

By Just Kicking It Brether Peter van Doesburgh