Halloween

Turns out people don’t really do Halloween in rural South Africa. Who knew? It's a shame, really. I adore that time of year when going to Fred Meyer means finding not one but three entire aisles full of candy. (Sometimes we miss the way America does overkill so well.) Then again, we don’t mind too much because with no Halloween there is no pressure to dress up for work or attend costume parties. Since neither of us is too keen on that, it was nice to have a year off…not from dressing up, but of being the weirdos who don't.

But, the kids around our housing facility here do know a little about Halloween. (No surprise there. I would expect kids most anywhere to know about a holiday where they can get free candy.) But their understanding is a bit sketchy. They basically associate Halloween with three things: Americans, scary costumes, and candy. The details/protocols are a bit hazy. Regardless, they have been dutifully reminding their parents about this day all month long. And their parents have been dutifully putting them off all month long. Until yesterday when at around 10am one such parent rushes into our office and says: “I’m afraid I need some Americans, tonight!" Luckily, we knew where to find a couple of them. “So, it's Halloween today...and do you know about treated trickery?” he probed, making sure that we were the real deal. “Oh, do you mean ‘trick or treat’?” we asked. He wasn’t too certain about that, but wanted to verify that if he brought a load of kids over that evening, they would get something made with lots of sugar. Otherwise he would have a lot of angry, sugar-hungry kids on his hands. “Sure, bring them by! We’ve got you covered,” we assured him.

We were excited. We’ve never had trick-or-treaters. But, alas, we had no candy. (OK, Neil would like me to clarify that there were and are about 30 packages of Reisens in the drawer of my bedside table. And I would like to clarify that that caliber of sweet is off limits to holiday festivities including anyone other than myself.) So, off we went to the local grocery store. We like one particular store, Score, a lot. Mainly because it's close to work, has great fresh-baked rolls every afternoon, and because we know we're going to be stared at the whole time. It's right in the middle of the city plaza and the number of white people who go there on a regular basis you could count on zero hands. Except when we go. Then it stirs things up a bit. It's like being a celebrity...sort of. But instead of people thinking we're wonderful and gushing all over us they more likely wonder why we are here and if we need a taxi ride out of town.

Despite it's many qualities, Score offers slim pickings in terms of little Halloween-type candies. It's more of a meat, mealies, and veggies kind of place. Could we give them marshmallows? Or sweet potatoes perhaps? I think not! So, we ended up buying whole chocolate bars and snack-size bags of cheese curls (after all, it’s nice to balance the sweet with the salty). The cashier gave us a quizzical look upon noticing our overabundance of junk food (although not as suspicious as the look we got the other day when we bought all the tortilla chips and Reisens from the Super Spar in Nelspruit). “It’s Halloween!” we exclaimed, forgetting that she probably hadn't the slightest idea what we were talking about. "Have a what? Move along, silly Americans," I would be thinking if I were her. At least, that's what I was thinking. She just shook her head and checked us out as quickly as possible.

We went home.

We waited.

And waited.

Just when we were about to pack it in for the evening eight ghouls converged on our house…screaming, wailing, knocking on our windows, opening our doors, and chanting: “Candy! Candy! Candy!” Now, this isn’t exactly how we did Halloween when we were kids. Usually we tip-toed up to front doors, knocked politely as if we were just asking to borrow some innocuous household item, and then we did something we thought was a completely original idea...screamed “Trick or Treat!” at the top of our lungs as some (presumably unassuming) person opened the door. Then that person would fain surprise or horror, tell us we looked "soooo scary", give us a treat in our little plastic pumpkins, and tell us to be safe as we headed onto the next house. Sound familiar? Ah, those were the days.

All in all, these kids went through the Halloween rigmarole surprisingly well (except for the plastic pumpkin...I just don't see that catching on around here). We tried to offer them onions and peppers after making them pledge allegiance to the American flag (the trick, you see). They saw through our shenanigans. Although, I think we had them really questioning what Halloween was all about until one of them sniffed out the candy bowl within seconds of entering the house. I’ve never seen a bowl of treats disappear faster. Nor have I heard more immediate discussions about the fair distribution of chocolate bars. Happy Halloween, indeed!

Superpowers

This is a pile of dirt:

(Keep reading. This gets more interesting...). It’s mostly composed of gecko droppings, beetle carcasses, and flying insect remains. Every morning one of us sweeps off the counters, tables, window sills, stairs, etc. and every morning the other one finds a way to stand in this nicely arranged pile of dirt before it goes out the front door. (I suppose my attempt to make this anonymous is futile. You can probably guess who fulfills which of these roles).

One morning after I had swept up, Neil came downstairs, walked straight to the pile of dirt, stood in it, and walked back upstairs to finish whatever he was doing. No words. No explanation. No purpose. Nothing. Upon his return downstairs I questioned him about this very odd and slightly irritating behavior. To his credit, he acknowledged that it was both odd and mostly likely very irritating (what a good spouse). He then continued with a rather intriguing argument: “I can’t help it”, he explained, “I’m…I’m like Superman. He has superpowers. I have superpowers. He can fly really fast and jump over tall buildings and lift up heavy objects. Me? I can find dirt…anywhere.” Now, it is true that Neil has an uncanny knack for finding dirt (as partly evidenced by our morning routine and the height of our weekly laundry pile). And he testifies that, like Superman, he has been this way since he was a kid. For example, he would always be the dirtiest one on the soccer field. People would ask: “Neil, why are you so dirty?” He would only shrug his shoulders and reply: “I don’t know.”

Now, perhaps Neil has something here. We don’t ask why Superman has his powers, he just does. But what about the functionality of those superpowers? I can see the usefulness of flying at speeds not known to man, of being bullet-proof, or of being able to put out fires or freeze water with your breath. But what is the purpose of being able to find piles of dirt? “Well, let’s just consider this:” Neil responded quickly, proving that he still retains more than his fair share of impromptu skills, “suppose a child is sweeping up some dirt around a well. This well happens to be made of lead." (Don't ask why or what the health/environmental repercussions are of having a lead well). "Now," Neil reasons, "the child trips somehow, and falls into this well. Superman can’t see through lead, but I can find dirt. So, someone who knew the child was last seen sweeping dirt could just call me. I would come, find the pile of dirt, and locate the child in the well ultimately saving his or her life.”

Surprisingly, I follow his logic, but must make an important clarification: “Doesn’t Superman have super-hearing? Couldn’t he hear the child in the well?" Neil thinks about it for only a moment and replies: “Yes. You’re right. Good point. So, Superman and I are the only ones who could save the child…unless, of course, Superman had a nasty head-cold that day. Then it’s all up to me.”

Well, (no pun intended) I'm convinced.