Spoiled in Joburg

Sometimes I write blog posts that cast me in a good light and use the blog to give myself a public pat on the back. This is not one of those times. Recently I noticed some things about myself that aren't all that flattering. If you live or have ever lived in South Africa I am hoping you can relate. Part of me can't help but think that what is happening to me is South Africa's fault. At least a little.

I am becoming lazy and spoiled. Not lazy like I don't go to the gym. I do go. Not lazy like I sit around and watch TV all day. I don't. Not spoiled like I don't appreciate how wonderful my life is. I do. It is not lost on me that I have just written about a young woman who is trying her hardest to improve her life by going to university but that in order to do so she has had to go without food or a safe place to live because she has so little money. 

When we first arrived and Christine began coming to clean for us twice a week, I was a little freaked out. Not that I wasn't incredibly excited to have a clean home, as that is all I've ever wanted in life, but I was worried that it would be strange to have someone cleaning while I was home and clearly doing nothing of importance. In the beginning, because I'm American, on the days that she came to clean I would do a little pre-work before she arrived and make our bed. Really, it was just a display (refer to beginning of this post) to reassure her that I was not a useless spoiled brat who couldn't or wouldn't make her own bed. I soon noticed though that Christine was remaking our bed even after I'd made it, so after a few months, I conceded to the power play and stopped. 

It gets worse. For about a year I hurriedly washed the blender containing our morning smoothie and the glasses that we used to drink the smoothie before Christine arrived. Sometimes it would really get down to the wire and security would call to say she had arrived and I would have to use the five minutes that it takes her to walk from the gate to our house to wash these items. I did this because after making a smoothie the blender is gross. It's covered in a thick green pulpy film. While very healthy to drink, it's yucky to clean especially if you didn't make the smoothie and you're not quite sure what the green slime that you are touching actually is. But then I heard from other people that they were leaving their dinner dishes from the NIGHT BEFORE for their cleaning lady to wash upon arrival the next day and while this news shocked and horrified me it did make me think that washing a small freshly used blender and two glasses wasn't so bad and that was the end of my blender washing.

As I write this, Christine is on vacation for several weeks and so I am left to clean my own house and do my own laundry. As the best offense is a good defense, my strategy is to make as little of a mess as possible and try to keep the house looking presentable for as long as I can without really having to clean anything. If I see a smudge or an area that needs to be wiped, I will wipe it, but my goal is not to have to break out any heavily machinery such as the vacuum or a mop. When this inevitably fails I will enter phase two of my plan which is to ensure that no one comes over and sees what a mess we are living in. The first two phases of my plan should get me to within a week or so of when Christine is due to return at which point I will either break down and clean the house from top to bottom myself or stick it out for the duration. 

This is our second holiday season spent in South Africa and I am now realizing why so many people from Joburg go away during the holidays. It's not because they love the beach or viewing the big five but it's because their domestic staff have left town and it's no fun to sit around at home in squalor for three weeks. 

The other task I am handling while Christine is away is our laundry. In the grand scheme of household chores I really don't mind doing the laundry but Christine not only does our laundry...she irons and she irons everything. She irons our sheets, our gym clothes and our t-shirts. She may even iron our underwear. She also perfectly folds every item like they do at The Gap. She stacks the ironed clothing in our drawers and cupboards and the piles look so beautiful that I only want to wear the top article of clothing so as to preserve the perfection of the stack.  

When South Africans visit America the first thing they must notice as they get off the plane is how wrinkled every one's clothes are because in America most people do not iron t-shirts or jeans. When I lived in America I didn't even own an iron. If something was wrinkled I would send it out to the dry cleaners. If I didn't have time for that I would take the wrinkled item with me on a business trip and then use the iron in the hotel. 

So while the festive season is merry and bright, it is also a hard slog as I wait until January when Christine returns. Mr. Deep by the way is completely oblivious to my struggles. He is not trying to maintain our inventory of freshly ironed clothes. He is taking the approach of wearing as many of his clothes as possible in any given day and then after removing them he is throwing them on the floor to quickly wrinkle. I am running after him trying to catch his still presentable and wearable clothing item in mid-air before it hits the floor but I don't always get there in time.  He also doesn't take his clothes from the top of the pile. Instead, he grabs a shirt from the middle painfully disrupting the zen that Christine has created for us. She'll be back on January 9. 

Thankful: Part Two

If you missed my last post, Thankful: Part One, you can view it here.

A raw turkey desperately in need of a heat source

At 3:30 p.m., two hours before I had to put my Thanksgiving turkey into the oven, the electricity went out. You may be wondering why. The simple answer is because this is Africa and things like this just happen sometimes. 

For the first 15 minutes, I sat quietly trying to ignore the situation telling myself that it would come back on any minute. When it didn't, I sent Mr. Deep a frantic SMS and then went outside to determine the answer to the big question...is the whole neighborhood out or just us? The hope of course, is that the whole neighborhood is out in which case you can assume that the problem is a known issue, being worked on and hopefully will be fixed soon.

I quickly learned that the whole neighborhood was out. Then, I had to decide to what to do about Thanksgiving dinner. 

I consulted Mr. Deep. Mr. Deep, you will remember, was not going to be present for the Thanksgiving dinner because of his office holiday party being held the same night, but luckily I was able to chat with him while he was still at his office and before his festivities began. 

Mr. Deep suggested I cook the turkey on our charcoal Weber braai (grill.) He tried to walk me through the process via SMS, explaining that I needed to light the coals, then move the coals all to one side to cook the turkey over indirect heat. He also said I'd have to rotate the turkey every so often and monitor the temperature. He suggested I have a second batch of coals ready to go in case I need a heat boost. All of this sounded very daunting. While Mr. Deep is always confident in his opinions, he did write, "keep in mind I have never tried this but what options do we have?" I could only imagine our bird, black and charred on the outside and raw on the inside. 

I considered scrapping Thanksgiving entirely, ordering pizza or taking my guests out for dinner but I really didn't want to disappoint everyone. Thanksgiving dinner is something you look forward to and I knew my visiting American friends were excited about it. Pizza, while great any other day of the year, is not an acceptable substitute. In addition to my American friends, I had also invited Gift. I had been sharing the details of the amazing traditional Thanksgiving meal with him to build up his excitement. He told me he had never eaten turkey before. So for the sake of my guests, I had to give Mr. Deep's idea a try. 

The turkey was not my only challenge. While we do have a gas stove (but not oven) I wasn't sure how I was going to heat up the potatoes, stuffing and green bean casserole on the stove while also making the gravy. But these issues would have to be addressed later, I had to make an attempt to get the turkey cooked. 

While I was appreciative of Mr. Deep's patient guidance and suggestions, I was also becoming extremely annoyed at him for having to go to his party. I was actually wishing we had a kid so that I could have lied and told Mr. Deep. "You have to come home right away, I think little Paulie has a broken arm." Then when he arrived I would have said, "oh he seems fine now, but while you're here can you braai this turkey?" I know Mr. Deep could have pulled it off. But Mr. Deep was leaving the office for his party and I was left with a bag of charcoal, a raw turkey and cold side dishes. 

I had planned to heat up my mashed potatoes in the slow cooker

In addition to being scared that this braai the turkey idea would fail miserably possibly resulting in a ruined meal or worse, salmonella, I also had a logistical challenge. I was supposed to pick my friends up at Lanseria Airport at 5:50 (they had flown to Cape Town for a few days) and then I had to pick Gift up at his house. I wasn't going to be home while the turkey was cooking to rotate it, monitor the temperature and light a second batch of coals. Mr. Deep suggested I get an Uber for Gift which would get me back home quickly after my airport pick up.  

So I frantically got in touch with Jonathan, our favorite Uber driver, and asked him if he could pick up Gift. Because I was in crisis, rather than just calmly requesting his assistance I told Jonathan about the whole drama. I told him that we'd pay him by EFT and I let him know generally where Gift lived. I then had to let Gift know that Jonathan would be fetching him. Once I got all of that straightened out, it was 4:30 and I had to proceed with this absurd plan and light the coals. I only had a 3/4 of a bag of charcoal, not enough for a second set of coals if needed. I also realized in a panic that since the refrigerator wasn't working the beer and wine would not be cold. It's one thing to tell your guests they aren't going to have turkey, but it's another thing to make them drink warm beer, so I decided I also needed to run out and get some ice. I quickly changed my clothes as by now, I was really running out of time. It was 5:00 and I had to leave by 5:30 at the latest to pick up my friends. 

I drove to the Spar grabbed three bags of ice and a bag of charcoal. As always happens when you are in a major rush, there was a delay as the person in front of me at the check out line had apparently had never used a credit card before. Finally I made it back home. I rushed in, slammed the bags ice onto the floor to break up the chunks and emptied all three bags into the sink. I threw some beer into the ice and ran outside. I moved the hot coals to one side, added a few pieces of firewood (at this point why the hell not) and put the grate on. I placed the stuffed turkey, in the pan and covered with foil, onto the grill. I put the lid on. The braai was really hot (400 F) and smoke was everywhere from the wood. Of course I also left the big sliding glass doors open so the house was now filled with smoke. I was not feeling confident in this plan but I had to hope for the best and leave the house to collect my friends. 

I grabbed my purse and shut off the kitchen lights. Wait? The kitchen lights were on. The power was back! I have no idea if it came back on while I was at the store and I was so busy dealing with the ice and the charcoal that I just didn't notice? Or maybe it had only come back on that very second. I ran outside and grabbed the turkey off the braai. I came back inside, threw the turkey in the oven, turned the oven on and ran out the door. 

Three hours later we enjoying our delicious turkey with all the trimmings.  

Success!

My pan shall forever serve as a reminder of what I endured.

Thankful: Part One

This year Thanksgiving was a little challenging. Maybe it was because I was short on time and saved the grocery shopping and start of the food prep until Wednesday afternoon. Or maybe I was feeling extra pressure because we had friends visiting from America and I wanted to be sure they didn't miss out on a proper holiday meal. Or maybe it was because of a few curve balls that South Africa threw at me along the way.

I had a good reason for getting a late start on my shopping. It was because of Starbucks. Within the past six months a new mall, called the Mall of Africa, opened nearby and it contains many nice stores and a Starbucks. I didn't visit the mall or Starbucks for the first few months they were open because I heard there were huge lines and massive traffic and I wanted to wait for the excitement to die down. But a friend had organized a get together at the mall for Wednesday morning and I wanted to go.

I had already purchased my turkey last week. I didn't want to miss out because turkeys are not always easy to find. I got the largest turkey in the store which equated to just over seven pounds.  Fortunately, Mr. Deep's holiday party was scheduled for Thanksgiving evening and he was not going to be home for dinner. Otherwise we likely would not have had enough turkey.  Meanwhile, I noticed during my Wednesday shopping trip that there were much larger turkeys now in stock but what was done was done and I have a small oven anyway. The turkey was so small that none of the websites I looked at provided cooking time for a turkey under ten pounds. Finally I found a Canadian website with a turkey cooking calculator and determined that stuffed my little turkey would take about 2 hours and 45 minutes to cook. Since we were going to eat our dinner in the evening, I would need to put my turkey into the oven at 5:30 p.m.

I had the turkey but I needed to get everything else. And that's where I ran into a few snafus during my Wednesday shop.  First, I couldn't find celery. I think all of the other Americans living in the area got a jump on me and snatched up all the celery. No big deal, I was able to find it at another store but instead of being able to buy a big bunch I had to buy the pre cut crudites type. Not a train smash as the South Africans would say.

I also planned to make green bean casserole. I am not really a fan but my friend mentioned it and I know some people feel Thanksgiving is not complete without it. So I bought a non Campbells brand of cream of mushroom soup thinking cream of mushroom is cream of mushroom and then quickly learned that this is not the case. This cream of mushroom was actually like soup you would get if you ordered cream of mushroom in a restaurant. It wasn't a gelatinous white substance that maintains the shape of the can after you pour it out. Instead it was brown and kind of watery which is honestly how cream of mushroom soup should be. At first, my casserole was kind of runny but luckily I cooked it a day in advance and it seemed to firm up overnight. 

Not surprisingly I also couldn't find the french fried onion rings that go on the top of the casserole but I was able to find a substitute...funyuns. If you don't know what funyuns are then you didn't eat lunch in an American school cafeteria in the 80's. They have the consistency of styrofoam and are sprinkled with an onion flavored seasoning. I bought them because I had no choice. AND I know I am not the only American in Joburg that went this route because I got the last bag of South Africa's version of funyuns that they had in the store! Side note as I write this I am munching down what remains of the bag of funyuns. Clearly I have lost all self control. 

The third challenge was the pie. In South Africa you can't find canned pumpkin or a pre-made pie shell and you definitely can't find a pre-made pumpkin pie. Because I'm too scared to make my own pie crust I decided to make a graham cracker crust instead. 

Just to go off on a tangent for a moment the reason I am too scared to make my own pie crust is because of my mom. I know every adult likes to blame his or her mom for everything but I rarely blame my mom for my problems. If you've been reading my blog you'll notice that I haven't blamed my mom in any of my posts over the course of almost two years and 140 posts, but my fear of making pie crust is definitely my mom's fault because she always told me it was very difficult and I never once saw her make her own. I think I had a good plan with the graham cracker crust but then I couldn't find graham crackers so instead I purchased ginger snaps and made a ginger snap crust. 

For the pumpkin filling I bought cut chunks of pumpkin and roasted them with coconut oil and sugar in the oven. I then immersion blended them into a puree. All was going well until I realized the pumpkin volume had reduced a lot during cooking and I needed another cup of pumpkin. I could have gone back to the store and repeated the whole process but instead I threw two bananas into the mix and blended it all together. I then proceeded as if I was using canned pumpkin adding eggs, evaporated milk, etc. By this time you can imagine that I was feeling pretty proud of myself for my extraordinary ability to find creative solutions to problems. 

The crust was looking good, the raw filling was looking and tasting good (I'm not scared to consume raw egg.) So I put the pie in the oven and got to work on another project, completing the South African census. Yes, somehow the South African version of the census tracked us down and I agreed to fill out a huge booklet of information. No one seemed to care that we aren't South African and there were no questions in the booklet about nationality. The census form contained a lot of interesting questions and was a strong reminder about the difficulties faced by many people in this country. Maybe I'll write a post about it in the future.

One of the census questions was "has any member of the household suffered from diarrhea in the past three months?" Because I wanted to make sure that I answered all questions as accurately as possible, I went upstairs to ask Mr. Deep if he had diarrhea at any time during the past three months. While we were discussing his answer, I remembered the pie and ran down the stairs to get it out of the oven. It was a little well done but nothing too severe that couldn't be camouflaged with whipped cream.   

Despite my late start and other issues everything was on track. Thanksgiving day I made the stuffing, the salad, and cut and peeled the potatoes. Amazingly I had time to spare and I sat down to relax and work on my blog until it was time to put the turkey into the oven. And then, at 3:30, the electricity went out. 

To be continued....Read Part 2 now. 

Things That Make You Go WTH

"I'm taking what they giving cause I'm working for a living."
     -Huey Lewis

I hope you are not too disappointed to find that this post isn't about our trip. I will continue to share our amazing adventures in Botswana and Zambia shortly. 

I once read that one of the hardest parts of expat life is being a "fish out of water." This means that when you live in your home country, you are used to your surroundings. You may not like everything that you see and experience but it's the way it's always been so much goes unnoticed.

When you move to a new country the water that surrounds you (remember you're pretending to be a fish) is different and you notice everything. Living in South Africa a lot of what I notice is sad and puzzling. I often see things and think that I understand the situation but I also doubt my conclusions because I'm not from here and what do I know? 

This week, we are having the exterior of our house painted. As it is the outside that is being painted the workers are not in my way but I do feel inconvenienced as I feel I need to be home while they are here working. The reason is the bathroom. I am worried that these guys will need to use the bathroom and I can't leave the house unlocked if I am not here because of the millions of horror stories I have heard about theft and crime. As head of Ops I am responsible for keeping the house safe and secure. Mr. Deep does not want to come home and find that his computer has been stolen because I found it necessary to run out to get my nails done.

It is awkward to have people working at the house and to behave in such a manner that clearly illustrates that I don't trust them. When I want to leave the house I go outside and tell the workers that I am leaving and that I have to lock the door and ask them if any of them want to use the bathroom before I go. I think part of the reason I didn't have children is because I don't find enjoyment in asking people if they want to use the bathroom. It's just not a fun conversation.

Today I was out for three hours and while I was gone I was worried about the workers and the bathroom situation even though I gave everyone fair warning before I left. Also, because I've been on this planet for 45 years I know that most men don't really care if there is a bathroom around if you know what I mean. And it's not like we have a huge garden/lawn where someone could walk a few meters away from the house and use a tree. If someone is "going" outside they are still near the house so my concern is partially selfish.

Back in the USA I did not give two seconds of thought to workers and their bathroom needs. Most of the time when we were having projects done at home I was at work myself and I didn't even see the workers except maybe to let them in each morning. I don't remember if I was concerned about people stealing. Maybe I took the time to hide a few valuables or to lock certain rooms? One big difference is that in U.S. workers would arrive at the house by car so they could come and go as they pleased throughout the day. If they were working outside and no one was home and the house was locked they could get in their cars and go somewhere to use the bathroom or get water or food or whatever. The painters working at my house here are dropped off in the morning and picked up in the afternoon by their boss They have no transportation. My bathroom is their only option.

When I first arrived in Joburg, I assumed that people who had proper jobs were quite fortunate given the high unemployment rate in the country. To clarify by proper job I don't mean Christine's part time job cleaning my house twice a week and I don't mean car guards who work for tips and have to pay for the privilege of working. By proper job I mean guys like painters, full time domestic workers, security guards, etc. However what I have come to learn is that most of these people are still painfully poor even though they appear to have
"good jobs."

There is a security guard who works in our complex who lives in a shack without electricity, heat or running water. Maybe it is his choice to live this way so he can send the maximum amount of money he earns home to his wife and two kids who live in another province but it is shocking to realize that someone with a seemingly coveted full time job finds it necessary to live in such conditions. Also, I am willing to bet I am the only resident who knows where he lives. Because I think I might be the only one who ever asked him. 

There is also a gardener who works across the street at a neighbor's house (not the neighbors whose house went to on Christmas Day, another house) and I often see him standing on a garbage pail (the kind with a big lid that is on wheels) to reach the top of the small trees that he is trimming. More than once I thought about offering him a step ladder to use. I have to assume that the people he works for don't know that he stands on the pail for surely they would agree that it is incredibly unsafe.  Or maybe they do know and they just don't care.

In addition to the bathroom situation I feel sorry for the guys painting our house because of their equipment. One of their ladders seems to be held together with wire and fabric and their broom, while not unsafe, it just pitiful. Is the painting business so slow that a new broom cannot be purchased? 

The reason I am writing this post now is because a few days ago I came home and saw the painters sitting out front taking a lunch break. Only they weren't eating. It certainly could be that they had already eaten but there was no sign of food and I hadn't seen any of them eat or drink anything on any of the days prior. So I offered them some food and they accepted. As desperate and poor as these guys are I think that if they had already eaten they would have declined the food but they accepted it and so I kept bringing out more and they ate it all. And from then on each day I have been giving them lunch because I personally can't imagine going all day without eating. 

And because I'm a fish out of water I can't help thinking that I could be wrong about all of this as everyone else is going about their business acting like everything is fine. Does the painting boss not know or not care that his guys don't eat during the day? Does he think the ladder is fine and is proud of the efforts to make it last? Or maybe the guys had already eaten and they were just being polite. Or maybe they eat a big breakfast and like to skip lunch and now they are annoyed because I keep feeding them and they are feeling sluggish all afternoon? Maybe it's fine to stand on a garbage can if you have good balance and have been doing so for years without incident? Maybe the security guard is happy to live in a shack? Or, maybe the workers are starving and scared that the ladder is going to break one day. Maybe the security guard is miserable and freezing. Perhaps the gardener will be injured one day when he falls from the can. I'll just keep swimming. 

Good and Proper

I realize that lately I've written several posts complaining about South African bureaucracy and inefficiencies. Hopefully these rants are not making you think that I am unhappy living here because I'm not at all. Actually I'm quite happy. There are so many things to love about life here and our experiences so far have been overwhelmingly positive. But yet again I am facing a situation that is challenging and at the same time amusing.

When we first arrived a relocation company assisted us in getting settled and provided advice on many practical matters. People from the relocation company took me around to look at houses, helped us figure out how to register our vehicles and more. One of the things they told us was that we needed to pay into the unemployment insurance fund (UIF) each month on behalf of our cleaning woman and our gardener. I would be willing to bet that many (if not most) South Africans do not pay into this fund just like many (if not most) South Africans don't pay e-tolls. But, because Mr. Deep is an accountant and because in America bad things happen to you if you don't follow the rules and pay what you are supposed to pay we thought it best to pay into the fund.

Unfortunately over a year has passed since we moved into our home and we have yet to pay into the fund. And it's not due to lack of trying. The fund seems to be so poorly managed that we have been unable to pay. Yes, we are willing to give money away and yet we have been unsuccessful in doing so.

Step one to paying into the fund is to get an employer registration number from the UIF. Over the past year, I have requested an employer registration number at least six times.  I have used various available communication methods for these requests including phone, email and fax. I have spoken to several UIF staff members on the phone but still have not received a registration number. When I do get someone on the phone, they ask me to again email and fax the forms. I comply and resend the information and then the UIF goes radio silent until the point in time that I work up the energy to contact them to again try to obtain the registration number.

I asked two people I know if they pay the UIF. The first person I asked is a fellow expat and she said she tried numerous times to obtain a registration number but was not successful. At least I know it's not just me. The second person I asked was a South African. First, I had to remind her what UIF was and then she kind of shrugged and said she has never paid it.

On the surface it seems like a good idea to pay into this fund. It would be beneficial if hardworking people could have some money set aside for them if they become unemployed. But, I can't imagine that if it is seemingly impossible to obtain a registration number that things are running all that smoothly over at UIF. I really doubt that the UIF is paying out claims in a diligent manner to those poor people who are requesting assistance.

I wasn't going to write about this situation because I hate to admit in writing for all to see that we are not following the rules, even if I have a folder of evidence illustrating my efforts and correspondence. But now, something has occurred which is too precious not to share.

On February 26, I received a customer service satisfaction survey via email from the UIF. The subject line read "Was our Service Good and Proper?" This email text followed.

Dear valued client

At the UIF we are committed to providing you with excellent customer service, and we rely on your feedback to continuously improve.

We would like to find out more about your recent interaction with the UIF. Please take a few moments to complete our brief survey - your participation is of great value to us.

This survey will take approximately 2 minutes to complete.

Yes, the survey will take two minutes to complete BUT you will be waiting the rest of your life to receive any assistance from the UIF. Clearly their service has not been good or proper seeing as over 12 months had passed and I still don't have the employer registration number.

I (naively) thought maybe if I completed the survey with horribly low ratings and explained my situation in the comment box that it might get the attention of a supervisor and maybe that then the issue would be resolved. So I completed the survey checking boxes that rated service as "worst," indicating that my "issue was still not resolved" and noting that service was "taking longer than expected. " I also shared that working with the UIF was "very difficult" and that my needs were met "not at all." I then used the comment box to provide the details of my problem as well as my contact information.

On March 30 I received the same survey for a second time. I diligently repeated the exercise and panned the service that I had received or more accurately not received from UIF and I again submitted the survey.

Last week I received the same survey for the third time. This time I am not going to bother to fill it out as I know I'll have numerous future chances to complete it if I decide to do so.

I have to say the UIF is good at one thing. They are good at sending out surveys.

The Americans

As part of my Sr. Vice President of Household Operations duties I am in charge of all entertainment and social activities. You would think this would be easy but actually it can be challenging. Not only do I have to research fun things for us to do and manage all the logistics for these outings, but I have to strike the right balance so that we are not over or under scheduled. 

Being responsible for all things social also includes being in charge of making friends. In the time leading up to coming to South Africa and continuing when we first arrived, Mr. Deep reminded me numerous times that I "need to make us some friends." I think I've done well in that department. If Mr. Deep were to provide me with an annual performance evaluation, and honestly I hope he doesn't because I am not sure I want the feedback, I think I'd get a score of five (out of a possible five) in the friend making category. 

One way to easily meet new friends is to become involved with various organizations whose purpose is to bring people together. Groups like Meetup and Internations. We have participated in events with both but until yesterday we had never gone to any event organized by the American Society of South Africa (ASSA.) By the way, am I the only one who thinks ASSA is a funny abbreviation? 

We have met some Americans here who like to go to ASSA events and so finally last night we attended one. The event was a St. Patrick's Day happy hour at a pub in Sandton. Before I tell you about the event, I need to share that Mr. Deep and I had a challenging St. Patrick's Day. It started off with a fool's errand as we tried to rectify the situation with the cloned license plates. First, we went to the traffic registry office in Sandton. After waiting in the long line, Mr. Deep was told that they can't issue new plates there and we'd have to go to another office located in the Joburg CBD.  We were committed to getting this project handled so we headed to Joburg in rush hour traffic in the pouring rain. If that itself wasn't enough fun when we tried to find the building we were looking for we couldn't find it. We did see a building where the building we were looking for was supposed to be but it was all burned out and abandoned. So we threw in the towel and decided to just ignore any notices we receive going forward about unpaid tolls. That's what most South Africans do anyway.

The rain continued to come down heavily throughout the day and traveling back to Sandton during evening rush hour to drink green beer with Americans was not sounding all that fun and attractive. We forced ourselves to go and I'm glad we did because the happy hour was a lot of fun. We enjoyed spending time with our fellow country men and women. It is an interesting situation to be in a room full of people where the one and only thing that you all have in common is being American. Normally, when I speak to people here I try very hard to speak slowly and to enunciate properly. When I am not speaking I am listening carefully and concentrating very hard so that I can understand what others are saying. But at the happy hour, it was nice to just talk and to not feel self conscious about how I sound or worry about having to repeat myself a few times before being understood.

What did we all talk about? Mexican food of course. No, I'm not kidding. Both Mr. Deep and I got involved in conversations about Mexican food. I met a chef who recently moved here from California and is slowly introducing the taco to South Africa. Mr. Deep met a lady who likes to cook Mexican food and she told him where we can buy spices, tortillas and black beans. So yes, we celebrated St. Patrick's day in South Africa on a day when the weather felt like Ireland with a bunch of Americans and talked about Mexican food. Isn't that what makes America great?

Imitation is Flattery

Cloning is alive and well in South Africa. Not the cloning of sheep, cows or people (at least as far as I know) but the cloning of license plates. We learned this week that the license plate on the car that I drive was cloned and Mr. Deep had to devote several hours to trying to rectify the situation. 

I realize this post comes on the heels of a post when I shared that as Sr. Vice President of Household Operations I am in charge of fixing pretty much any mess (I mean challenge) related to our household. But you will also remember that I am a dependent spouse and sometimes being dependent gets me out of having to handle the most annoying of tasks. In South Africa's eyes I cannot own a car, rent a house or open any type of bank or other account. Because of this the license plates on my car weren't cloned because I don't own a car. But the license plates on the car that Mr. Deep owns, that I drive, were cloned.

I first learned of license plate cloning while watching a TV show called Carte Blanche.  Carte Blanche is an investigative journalism program that airs every Sunday. It is not an uplifting show. Watch one episode of Carte Blanche and you will wonder how quickly you can exit South Africa never to return. One report I saw on Carte Blanche was about the police pulling people over and beating the $%&! out of them. Another was about some kind of algae that is taking over all of the lakes and dams across the country that will make our water unfit to drink. Another exposed how raw sewage is poisoning the water supply. 

License plate cloners visit parking lots and take photos of license plates. Then, they go to shops that produce fake license plates and have fake plates created. Fake plates are then affixed to cars similar to the make and model of the original car. The cars with the fake plates cruise through electronic tolls (e-toll) without having the little dashboard e-toll device or an account to pay the tolls. The e-toll system takes a photo of the license plate of the car passing through without paying and the person who owns the car with the original and non fake plates, gets charged for the tolls that the fake plates vehicle passed through. In even more serious cases highlighted by Carte Blanche, drivers with fake license plates commit crimes and then the police show up at the house of the person with the original non-fake license plates thinking that poor unsuspecting individual is the criminal.

E-tolls are a controversial topic in South Africa. Actually controversial is the wrong word because it implies that people disagree about e-tolls. Instead, it is one of the few topics that most South Africans seem to agree on. It appears that most South African citizens strongly dislike e-tolls. I once made the mistake of bringing up the subject of e-tolls with a South African woman I met in the bathroom of a bar (I get chatty in the ladies room sometimes) and I got a ten minute earful about the topic. An earful that included a lot of swear words. I don't like to guess where opinions of people here come from but if I had to guess I would say that people here don't trust the government to spend the money earned from tolls on the projects that the money is supposed to support. Also, there are a lot of people who really can't afford to pay the e-tolls.

In the U.S. we also don't like paying tolls but we appreciate the convenience of being able to drive quickly through a toll booth if we have an electronic thingy on our dash. When traffic forms at toll booths because of the need for the lanes of people who still think it's 1982 and are still paying their tolls in cash we ask ourselves, "who doesn't have an EZ pass in this day and age?" Only we don't say it quite that nicely. The tolls here are not like the ones in the U.S. There are no actual booths that each vehicle drives through. Instead a giant scaffolding like structure branches over all the lanes of the highway and every vehicle just drives under it. 

If you don't pay your e-tolls a photo of your car is taken as you pass under the scaffolding and you receive a bill. If you have unpaid tolls you might have trouble renewing your vehicle registration which needs to be renewed annually. 

Even though we got the little e-toll device to stick on our dashboards, Mr. Deep and I don't drive on the highway much so our toll expenses are very low. Because of this Mr. Deep was surprised to notice earlier this week that our prepaid e-toll account was drained and that we were being asked to add more money. He requested the transaction history and immediately learned that there were over 20 transactions since February 19 all showing the car that I drive going up and down the N1 highway. The total cost of the tolls was R60. That isn't a lot of money but the situation still needed to be addressed. 

To avoid being accused of a crime we didn't commit and to have a record of the cloning so that we could request a new set of license plates, Mr. Deep had to the visit the SAPS (South African Police Service) and file a police report. As much as I would have loved to spend an afternoon visiting the SAPS, it's not my car, so I couldn't file the report.

When Mr. Deep arrived at the SAPS office and explained the situation, the police officer was incredulous. He grilled Mr. Deep as to how he knew for sure that his plates were cloned. Do people really take the time to visit the SAPS and pretend that their license plate has been cloned just to get out of paying tolls?  Mr. Deep handed over his extensive documentation obtained through lengthy conversations with the e-tolls office. After about twenty minutes, the officer admitted that cloning is a huge problem. He didn't feel like taking the report though so instead he handed the document containing the fraudulent e-toll transactions to another police officer who happened to be on the phone at the time. The officer who was on the phone shook his head and handed the document back to the first officer. In America we call this game hot potato meaning something that no one wants to touch.

Finally the first officer said Mr. Deep could file an affidavit which is like a self service police report. Mr. Deep had to write up his own report about what happened and the officer then signed it and stamped it.

Now the Ops team is working on figuring out how we can get new license plates for my car. I mean Mr. Deep's car that I happen to drive. 

Ops Never Stops

Purple Rocks Purple Rocks

I can't believe it's been over a week since I published my last blog post. I didn't start this blog to market myself but I do hear every marketing person I have ever known in my head telling me, "you have to be consistent with your brand" and "you must communicate with your audience regularly" and "be sure to use engaging content." I realize I have probably let my readers down by going longer than normal without publishing. I don't really have a good reason for my lapse but I have been very busy lately with a lot of different things. Things that I will share with you over the next few posts. 

And what is it about marketing people that you can always hear them talking to you in your head? I guess they are good marketers and know how to make their message stick!

This week, I have been extra busy with my Ops work. No, I have not joined an elite special forces team. Ops is how I refer to any project or task associated with the Deep Household Operations, all of which I oversee. If there is a question in our house concerning which one of us needs to handle something the answer is that the Ops Team needs to handle it. Keep in mind that Ops is a very small team consisting of one person.

Ops has many different departments and functions. They include but are not limited to:

• travel, social functions and entertainment
• house and garden maintenance including staff management of cleaning lady and gardener
• licenses and renewals
• health and medical
• automotive cleaning and care
• food and nutrition 
• other as requested by Mr. Deep

You will notice that anything related to financial matters is excluded from the Ops scope of work. This is due to the team's marked deficiency in mathematics. Mathematics are handled by our CFO, Mr. Deep. Ops sometimes has to approve invoices for Mr. Deep to pay. Invariably Ops forwards these invoices to Mr. Deep without even looking at them which leads to scolding and a discussion about the need to be thorough.

I'd like to share with you about a day in the life of Ops but each day is a little bit different. So I am going to combine the experiences of a few recent days into one example to illustrate the vast array of projects I am currently managing.

1) Wake up at 6:00 a.m. Say hello to Mr. Deep who wakes up at 5:30 a.m. Mr. Deep requests his morning green smoothie. Make his green smoothie (if you want the recipe I can share it.) 

2) Check emails and look at Facebook while waiting for Mr. Deep to go to work

3) Clean up all smoothie making materials and put away dishes from last night's dinner

4) Clean the water feature. We have a water feature in our garden and somehow many of the bricks have turned purple and green. Use gloves to protect manicure. Use a scrub brush and bleach to try to clean bricks. Realize the purple and green is some kind of algae. Hope that I don't get infected with a brain eating amoeba. Realize that I need to remove all water from the fountain. Use a bucket to bail out water. Stand in the fountain and clean out remaining debris. Hope that I don't step on a snake or other kind of creature in the dirty and cloudy water. Hope that I don't contract cholera. Refill the fountain. Realize that there is a serious drought and that I am not supposed to be using the hose during the day. Continue using the hose while feeling guilty about it. Get frustrated that the purple growth remains on the bricks. Pour a whole bottle of bleach directly on the bricks. Let the bleach sit until the purple pales to a light shade of lavender. Decide it is much better and end the project due to running out of bleach.

Ugh I had to stand in this to get the last bit of water and dirt out.

5) Email the South African office of the Mozambican consulate. Tell them the Deep family would like to visit Mozambique and ask them how we can get a tourist visa. Hope that it does not take long to get one since the trip is already booked and fully paid for. Consider it to be an Ops failure that the visa piece was not discovered earlier. Decide that it's dumb that people need visas to go on vacation. Expect not to hear back via email and decide I will call them at noon if I don't hear back.

6) Receive an email from security advising that the pine trees in our back garden need to to be pruned because when it rains the branches are touching the electric fence and causing security havoc. Call a tree feller (that's a guy who chops down trees not fellow spelled wrong) who I saw working at a neighbor's house. Feller says he is in the estate now and can come over. Meet with feller and agree on price. Set tree trimming date for Thursday.

7) Try to renew the Deep family TV license. (FYI as best I can tell a TV license is a money making scheme in South Africa. You have to buy a TV license or give a license number when you buy a TV. You must then renew the license every year for about R250. I am not sure what happens if you don't renew it. Does your TV just stop working one day?) Review email received from Mr. Deep regarding the license renewal. Note that his email says he tried to pay the fee online but was not successful. Review list of retail outlets where the license can be renewed. Go to a TV store listed to try to pay the fee. Wait 15 minutes while the salesman tries to help me. Argue with salesman when he says my passport number is supposed to have a letter in it. Go to a grocery store. Wait in line to renew license. Get frustrated when cashier tells me that I need an EZ pay number (license number on the email does not suffice.) Go to the store where we purchased our TV and our original license. Learn that they are unable to process renewals. Go to another store in the same shopping center. Wait online only to learn that the TV license renewal system is offline. Wonder if it's too early in the day to have a glass of wine. Decide instead to eat lunch. Make a poor eating choice and eat a burger due to being hungry and frustrated. Decide not to get chips because that would be gluttonous. Eat burger in car while driving home. Notice that it is dripping with tomato sauce (ketchup) and that I have gotten tomato sauce all over my clothes. Return home and change clothes. Receive email from Mr. Deep saying I can renew the license online. Remind him that he told me he tried to do so and was unsuccessful. Remind him again when he seems to have no memory of any of this. Imagine a peaceful life without TV. Successfully renew license online.

8) Call Mozambique consulate. Learn that we can get the visas Monday - Friday from 

8:00 -12:00 p.m. Email Mr. Deep to see check on his availability.

9) Review email inbox. Learn that my South African visa situation has officially been "rectified." Feel good that Home Affairs has finally acknowledged that I am here accompanying my husband and not my father. Rejoice that once again I am officially a dependent spouse in the eyes of the South African office of Home Affairs.