A KENYAN reader made some interesting observations in a letter to the Chiel, published on Monday. He is a visitor to this country and has found some of the local customs both puzzling and amusing.

He mentioned what he called several “disturbing experiences” and put it down to “township mentality” or “toment” as he dubbed it.

The first was being mistaken as a possible mugger when overtaking a woman in the street; the second was the “strange” handshake performed by some South Africans; and the third was being mistaken in his own property as the gardener and being asked by the black man peddling manure “to call the master”.

All very difficult isn’t it. Perhaps the writer might have called it “torment” rather than “toment”.

Yet in the Chiel’s opinion none of this is any different from many other places in the world.

Had I, as a visitor or tourist, been walking in a lonely alley in London or the back streets of Harlem in New York, and I’d been approached from behind by a faster walking young man, I too might have glanced over my shoulder or taken precautionary steps to hold tightly onto my wallet; crossed the road perhaps or looked for a safe haven where other people were hanging about.

It’s just a case of being alert to any possibly threatening situation. One cannot be too careful in the world today and the best way to avoid unpleasant experiences is to reduce risk.

The matter of the South African handshake is a difficult one. I’m never sure myself when shaking hands with a black person what is going to transpire, and therefore am ready for whatever comes my way. I do the thumb clasp thing if it’s going to happen or just the ordinary one. Be prepared I say and be ready to respond.

In Russia you might end up bussing and bear hugging another man. If he’s an Eskimo you’d be rubbing noses; in Japan bowing gracefully from the hip; and for a woman in Britain meeting royalty, curtseying. On the other hand in many of these cases, they, knowing you as a South African, might just prefer to shake hands the normal way. Confusing? For sure.

Model nation

FINALLY, our Kenyan friend was mistaken for a gardener ... Well I guess that’s just being typecast. We all do it at times. First impressions make us slot the subject into a certain category and we jump to an immediate and sometimes erroneous conclusion.

In this case the man at the gate spoke Zulu or Sotho to our Kenyan. Maybe Xhosa as well, none of which he understood.

My view is that if anyone were to bump into a black person in this country they would think he could speak one of the indigenous languages. Chances are pretty high they’d be spot on. Same way a white person here 99 times in a 100 would be English or Afrikaans speaking. Yet there’s always the possibility they might be from Eastern Europe, French or German.

I reckon we cope pretty well with the diversity of colours, cultures, languages, religions and so on in South Africa. We are of course the ultimate rainbow nation and proud of it too.

Not perfect perhaps, and I do not believe we ever will be. There will always be differences and splits but there’s no reason why we cannot live together in harmony, respect each other – and those differences too, provided they don’t impact too negatively on the lives of fellow countrymen.

Other nations can learn from us and some want to. How did we bridge the chasm created by apartheid in such a short time? They want to know. It’s been something of a miracle and its evolution continues. There’s no alternative. We’ve had to adapt or die and the only positive choice is to adapt.

APRIL 27, 1975: West Berlin – Hitler’s former deputy, Rudolf Hess, serving a life sentence in Spandau Allied Prison here, marked his 81st birthday yesterday with no change in his daily routine. An appeal by Hess’s wife and their son to have the old man released for a short period on his word of honour was turned down by the four wartime allies – America, Britain, France and the Soviet Union – who share responsibility for the prison.

After a while he finds himself in a very high-class area ... big, stately residences ... no pubs, no shops, no restaurants, and worst of all NO PUBLIC TOILETS. He really, really has to go after all those pints.

He finds a narrow side street with high walls surrounding the adjacent buildings and decides to use the wall to solve his problem. But he’s tapped on the shoulder by a London bobbie, who says: “I say, sir, you simply cannot do that here.”

“I’m very sorry, officer,” replies the American, “but I really, really HAVE TO GO, and I just can’t find a public toilet.”

“Ah, yes,” says the bobbie, “Just follow me.” He leads him to a back delivery alley, then along a wall to a gate, which he opens. “In there,” points the bobbie. “Whiz away sir, anywhere you want.”

The fellow enters and finds himself in the most beautiful garden he has ever seen. Manicured grass lawns, statues, fountains, sculptured hedges and huge beds of gorgeous flowers. Since he has the cop’s blessing, he unburdens himself and is greatly relieved. He asks the bobbie: “Is that what you call British hospitality?”

“Oh no sir,” replies the bobbie. “That is what we call the French Embassy.”