Unlocking the cuffs of Suffaring

There is little more frustrating than being held hostage by a group of whingers (to steal a phrase from erstwhile safety and security minister Charles Nqakula). I'm with Nqakula. Get on that plane (preferably an Air France jet) Forgo the green grass in favour of the concrete. Denounce your Saffanism. You probably don' t deserve the title of Saffa anyway.

The thing that really gets my goat is that the loudest proponents of emigration have never been out of the country. My Number One Whingers have been out of the country once. They went to Thailand on their honeymoan. When they got back those who dared to ask how it was were treated to an earful about how awful it was and how shitty the food was - couldn't find a decent steak, apparently. Anyway, Number One Whingers are on their way to a country which shall not be named, which is made up of lyre-playing angels and white fluffy clouds. They've been on their way to country which shall not be named ever since I first had the pleasure of making their acquaintance five years ago. What they don't realise is that out of clouds comes snow. Cold snow. Your world becomes grey. And damp.

There are Saffas who have left and lived (and Suffared), and have returned to the Saffervescence. It is the appreciative side of the population that will hopefully participate in Saffaring, and leave the Suffaring to those who are far better suited to such mindsets.