Africa Illustrated

I actually wrote a long, award winning article under this heading yesterday, but the internet in South Africa, well, those words in the same sentence simply do not fit together nicely, they simply don't make sense, in fact I am considering approaching some or other English Authority and having 'internet in South Africa' be classified as 'grammatically incorrect', because here the internet is simply anathema*.

Okay, back to the subject at hand. I guess the above paragraph does in a way illustrate one of the realities of living in Africa. Here's another:
While cycling back from Dealesville, I suddenly felt dehydrated (and as it turns out my watch showed that the mercury rose to 33 Celsius towards the end of my ride, and that, before 11am!
I had fluid but it was sugary, and I'd been drinking sugary for over 4 hours. My body was crying out for water. Water! Only water!
I obeyed.
I pulled over at about 120km, just 20km outside Bloemfontein and entered a bit of a ratty shop.
As I entered an African man left, cursing under his breath, and the old white granny was skelling him out as well.

I bought 2 bottles of water, and drank these while standing at the counter with my bike. Sweat was just streaming down my face, over the white sunblock. I must have resembled a very hot, melting clown, red jumpsuit and all (and Jacques referred to me at VA as 'the clown in the lane next to me').
Then a black dude entered and started leafing through a Daily Sun and after about a minute the old woman pounced on him, and told him unequivocally, 'You read it, you buy it, okay?'
He left, muttering, and she did some more grumbling under her breath.
Then about 8 black guys came in. 1 bought a bread and asked for something at the counter. It was then that it hit me. She maintained a riveted stare, her eyes trained on the other 7 who were wandering around the store. She answered the man at the counter's question, but not without taking her eyes off the others. I wondered, if they do shoplift something, if they steal a can on sardines, what can she do?
Eventually she bent over to get something for the man at the counter, and I saw a man slip out the back door. I don't know if he had anything with him, but the impression I felt was a powerful one. The tension. This old woman, alone in her shop, and all these men, unemployed, loitering about, hungry, for the whole day. And the next day. Eventually something has got to give.

So I felt a lot of compassion for the old woman, but I also felt I should have given the black guy some money for the paper so he could get it, and move on. It just felt like a very stuck situation, and I think poverty does that. So that is a small glimpse into South Africa.

I understand there is a shop not far from our farm that has a huge steel grill separating patrons from the consumables. So you enter and stand in a little hokkie, a cage, right in front of the counter, and point to a chocolate or matches or whatever it is you want. You hand over the cash, under the metal frame, and then you get your goods. Crazy!
*Anathema - 'a cursed thing'.