We are the crime capital of the world, right?

Around the world there is a time-honoured tradition that whenever a South African émigré is dining with foreigners, he will be called upon to regale his dinner companions with talk of his crime-ridden homeland. When the candle has burnt low and the dinner is all but eat and the soul fortified with a suitable red, it is then that the table draws in close to hear tales of the crime capital of the world.

As a man who likes to do his bit, I’ve told my fair share of stories, always comfortable in the knowledge that the media will back me up. That if anyone doubts my far-fetched tales (and Lord knows, I do like a stretch) I can always point in the direction of the Macintosh Apple and say: Google that shit, biatch!

That was until today. That was until someone decided to stick a pin in my lovely bubble. Now you’re probably thinking it was some crazy militant who called me out. Some bleeding-heart liberal who jumped up from the table and said, “I will not dine with you, you pigdog mouthpiece of imperialism! You are nothing but alarmist petit-bourgeois scum! I wish that happened. Unfortunately, none of the people I dine with are that cool. Well, there was that one chap who almost cut off my toe with a carving knife … but that’s another story. No, my bubble was popped by a seemingly innocent note sent to me by a nice young Swedish girl who sits downstairs from me. She wrote:

You’re always writing about what’s going on in SA and stuff, so I thought it’s about time that I give you a little update on Sweden.

Attached to the mail was a link. I expected it to be about meatballs, pickled herring, midsummer or those skinny jeans Swedes are so partial to. But instead it was Time Magazine’s list of the top ten heists of all time. I was a little surprised. What does that have to do with Sweden? Surely it has to do with South Africa. I scrolled through the list waiting for the joke. Number ten, number nine, number eight. With each number I expected to find some South African crime that reads like the script to Jerusalema. But we weren’t there. Nothing. Not a single mention. Finally I got to number one and there was Sweden. Sweden! What the hell is that all about? I mean this isn’t Eurovision. This isn’t Top of the Pops. We’re not talking about Abba here. We’re talking about crime! That’s our gig. I was flabbergasted. Shocked to the core. Sweden is now officially considered more badass than us. When did this happen? Have I been out of the country too long? Did the Hawks solve all the crime? What has happened to the dark underbelly of South African society? Has it gone all soft and flabby?

I sat at my desk, feeling a little cold. Clammy, sweaty palms. I really don’t like sweaty palms, makes the pages of my notebook go funny. Suddenly my little dinner party act seemed so trivial. My talk of men blowing up ATMs, crazy hijackers, flame-thrower cars and policemen on the take all looked a little small. These Swedes had stolen so much money their country was in danger of not having enough cash to fill the ATMs. Never mind blowing the things up, they tried to blow up the whole economy! I had this awful image in my mind of some nice Swede telling the story at a dinner party, while I sat by, trying to blurt out, “But we’re the murder capi … tal … ” But no one is listening. No one gives a damn for my stories any more. All they can hear is that little sing-song accent saying words like bombs, helicopter and lots and lots of money. How am I going to compete with that? They had a helicopter and three bombs!

So tonight, on this cold Amsterdam night, I am putting the call out to all our honest hoodlums, if you are a true patriot, you need to man up and get out there. I need something big. I want the Italian job turned into the South African Job. I want the Rambo version of the Thomas Crown Affair. I need gold bullion, diamonds, art works, RPGs, scud missiles. Hell, blow up the Reserve Bank if you have to. I don’t know, just make it real big, I’m not the criminal mastermind, you are. If you’re bang out of ideas, I suggest the video store. Anything from Tony Scott, Michael Mann or Francis Ford Coppola will do. But whatever you do to get your inspiration, you need to do something fast, I’ve got a dinner on Saturday and an audience to please.