Picture a local sitcom with load shedding, braai fails, neighbourhood WhatsApp wars and dodgy plumbers. Sound familiar?
Imagine flipping on your TV every evening to watch Mzansi & Co, my daughter said one evening.
Set in a typical South African suburb, sporting a group of mismatched neighbours – like us – navigating life, load shedding and the occasional braai disaster, she carried on.
I could picture it, actually. Birds are chirping, the smell of boerewors drifts through the air, and then – poof! The power cuts out.
The mechanic to the left of us starts swearing and the word Eskom features somewhere. Mama Joyce who lives across the road follows suit.
Raj – who lives next to her – doesn’t swear but I could picture him dragging his very expensive generator from his garage before switching it on.
And, of course, the rich guy next to Raj casually switches to solar. Show-off. I start braaing everything in my freezer before it melts.
By the time power returns, half the street is sitting outside, telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows. Turns out, load shedding might just be the secret to neighbourhood bonding.
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No matter the episode, there’s always that one person knocking on doors. They either want to borrow sugar, complain about your barking dog, or ask for your Wi-Fi password.
Not to forget the street WhatsApp group chaos. Every episode will feature at least one group message meltdown.
Questions like: Is anyone else without electricity? Who keeps parking in front of my driveway? Or instructions like: The municipal truck is here – take out your bins now.
And, of course, an early riser sending a “Good morning” message at 4.30am.
Then there’s Oom Piet. Doesn’t matter if it’s a birthday, a baby shower, or just a Tuesday – he will find an excuse to light the fire. His usual retort: the meat was on special.
And our sitcom will have a dodgy plumber, a would-be politician sucking up for votes and a conspiracy theorist, all who will remain anonymous, of course.
Then, in the dramatic season finale, the whole neighbourhood wakes up to no water. People start filling buckets from swimming pools, showering at the local gym and bribing the security guard for an extra JoJo tank refill.
After much struggle and desperate WhatsApp messages, the water finally returns – except now, it’s brown. Classic.
Cue to the closing credits, set to the sound of someone yelling: “Where’s the fricken municipality when you need them?”
Mzansi & Co. Your new favourite show…
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