Poor SA immigrants volunteer for Kiwi earthquake clean-up

Dear Right Honourable John Key

I was taking a lovely walk through your beautiful suburban countryside here in Auckland, contemplating the massive earthquake that struck Christchurch yesterday, which registered at least 7 on the Richter scale. Whenever I have the balls to think I am in a bad situation, not belonging to a country (more than six years now), wonderfully rootless as I roam the globe, some disaster like this comes along that teaches me gratitude and compassion for others: in Christchurch many homes have been destroyed. There’s rife looting of pharmacies for drugs and then there’s the potential spread of swine flu as medical care has been severely disrupted.

Honourable sir, forgive me for what then happened on that walk. It had been a very long, early morning hike and my tummy started working. I mean, really working. We had an awesome braai the night before and maybe the boereworscould have been done a bit longer (I will explain those two South African words to you one day when we meet, if you don’t know them). Fortunately I was deep in the woods not far from Spinella Drive and in sheer desperation I just had to squat deep under cover. The leaves on the bushes which I still can’t name are softer and more absorbent than anything we have in South Africa, I’ll give you that. Whereas in SA, knowing my luck, I would be surrounded only by khakibos and blackjack stalks. But those solemn moments communing with nature deep in the bush in a way that came so naturally to our ancestors got me to thinking: your country is also in the pooh now — apparently it’s going to cost one or two billion NZ dollars to restore Christchurch and environs. And unfortunately New Zealand is a small country, a stunning country, but it wasn’t so long ago the country nearly closed down most of its air force due to limited funds. So both you and I are in the pooh. Metaphorically speaking. Which is where, of course, we can help each other.

You see, according to your immigrations rules you want to see family united and my partner (wife, whatever) is a mother and a gran here with her family thriving in New Zealand with permanent residence and making their contribution to the NZ economy with their IT skills, which BEE would not allow them to do in SA. Your immigrations website charitably states you don’t want to keep loved ones apart. Just wait three years and then through sponsorship two of those loved ones outside New Zealand can also apply and be reunited. So that suited our sense of adventure: we lived in China for quite a long time and I acquired my third language, Mandarin. We’ve done our bit, sent NZ immigrations all the documents, paid the fee (like everyone else you blokes snapped that up), but now we still have to wait for maybe two months. Maybe two years. No one can tell us how long. Of course we can’t just carry on staying in your country not able to legally work (though I have some online work initiatives not related to NZ). Altogether, with the paperwork, it has been a five-year “wait”. Hell, it’s your country, your rules, I can’t complain. But soon-ish we may have to leave and go work, say, in China again, waiting for that lovely letter to come which says we can come get a rubber stamp in our passports saying Permanent Residence. So Marion can have a Christmas with her family for the first time in about seven years. But, hey, I love China, crazy bunch of marvelous people, so that part’s okay and I have fans who say they miss Cracking China.

But Christchurch can’t wait and I think you see the point I am getting to. We poor immigrants will volunteer to help out, run soup kitchens, clean and arrange portable toilets, administration for food handouts, whatever you want. All we want in exchange is that beautiful little stamp in our passports. Okay, so it’s a bit of a gatkruip. The term is a bit like “licking arse”. But arse-licking has nowhere near the sticky, visceral and even claustrophobic connotations of our precious gatkruip. One day I will explain that word to you, thought this gorgeous picture will give you more than a hint as to the rich meaning of gatkruip, which is our current situation and yours: up an especially smelly creek without a paddle.

(Acknowledgments for use of photo due to Werner at www.slackers.co.za)

Honourable sir, we are more than happy to remove our heads from that tightening orifice with what seems like a fair deal. We volunteer, and we will do it for months for free, and you just give us a rubber stamp. Hope you can discuss it seriously with your ministers. Now another thing or two before I go.

If they haven’t already, SOME Saffers are probably itching to comment that, like all those who migrate, we are just cowards, no-goods, traitors, whatever, because we have “deserted” South Africa and we deserve to rot in the hell of a Chinese jail, so why bother writing on an SA webzine, yada yada. That rebuff seems to be unique to South Africa. So let me go into it that peculiarity some of us Saffers have as you need to know more about us because we are busy colonising your beautiful islands (I will get to that later).

Shanghai has to be one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world and many of us fellow ex-pats would get together for our chinwags in local pubs, just like you Kiwis. Let me draw this out a bit: they all came from Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the UK, Ireland, America, Zimbabwe, all over Europe, you name it … but NONE could understand this proclivity among SOME Saffers to disparage those who leave South Africa, but who nevertheless are taking the country with them. National borders are illusions and are a rather recent arrival in the evolution of human consciousness. I have been told to “fuck off already” on my blogs by some Saffers and all sorts of other pejorative tidbits because I left. When the citizens or ex-pats in Shanghai (and oh, in Paris, Auckland, Dublin and Southampton, England) heard of the surly reaction of some Saffers to emigrants, they would just shake their heads at me in astonishment. That’s because they don’t have that jingoist, parochial insecurity, the unexamined notion that there could not be an attainable identity, or simply a worthwhile life, away from their “home soil”. Do Kiwis feel that other Kiwis who move to England and other parts of the world have betrayed them? Of course not. You instead, feel secure within yourselves, and instead, have strong self-esteems. The peripatetic nature of the human race is archetypal.

But the reverse side of that fanatical ultra-nationalism some South Africans evince is fierce loyalty and a proud work ethic. We South Africans know how to put our shoulder to the wheel and that’s why so many of us have successfully integrated with Kiwi society. That includes our food culture. Even the Chinese butchers in New Zealand now make biltong and boerewors properly (and not from cats). Bunny chow is a popular part of the Kiwi takeaway business. (Next time you’ve been partying till 2am and you could eat a horse with saddle and stirrups, try a bunny chow. A genuine regmaker.) Nando’s is absolutely on the map here in Auckland and you Kiwis just love that advert where the buxom lass can’t see her Nando’s chicken breasts because her own glistening, bra-popping jugs are in the way. Then the waitress kindly moves the plate of food far forward so the blonde can see what she’s eating.

Then there’s the rugby. Enjoy your moment of glee, but you Kiwis never seem to get the “performance peak” right. You guys peaked this year; the Springboks will peak next year. It’s going to be one helluva clash in 2011, and I look forward to seeing the All Blacks vs Springboks in the final, a momentous mirror of that historical win of ours back in South Africa in 1995. And after that game, our colonisation of your lovely country will continue as you mournfully turn to us to learn how to play rugby properly … when it counts. Come on, you all want to learn, though it’s not easy to admit. Really, we have so much to offer. Including free volunteer work. But you already knew that.

You Kiwi blokes have a great down-to-earth sense of humour. I trust you will not be offended by my light-hearted letter, and the constructive way we can both go forward.

Your humble immigrant in waiting

Roderick Graeme MacKenzie