Amid a potpourri of menus, what is it that can unite us in SA?

SOME years ago, while I was on sabbatical at an American university, the highlight was a weekly discussion at which group members would take turns to tell tales about themselves and their countries.

The idea was that you’d cook, preferably your national dish, and buy the drinks. Then, probably resplendent in your national colours or dress, you’d talk about yourself, your family and your country, while the others ate the food and imbibed your national beverage.

I remember struggling to put together anything akin to a South African menu. Where the hell does one find morogo or koeksisters in Boston?

I’ve been fixated by these questions ever since. What is our national dish, drink or dress code? What is our national identity, and how does it find expression?

A country is like a human being. It grows certain habits, mannerisms or even idiosyncrasies that are peculiar to itself and which, for better or worse, come to define its identity. We have many pockets of these identities but nothing common to all of us; nothing that expresses a common South African nationhood.

Crime has unfortunately become our emblem. That’s what comes to mind when South Africa is mentioned.

Apart from such quirks or idiosyncrasies, many countries are easily identifiable by their iconic landmarks, either natural or manmade. The Taj Mahal says India, the Statue of Liberty is the US, Sydney Opera House is Australia and the pyramids are unique to Egypt.

South Africa has nothing comparable. The Nelson Mandela Bridge in Braamfontein, often draped in the national colours, has pretensions, but, apart from the name, it’s just another structure. Upcountry folk often snigger scornfully at Capetonians’ affection for “their” Table Mountain. The rest of the country doesn’t understand the obsession.

At dinner time, a family will usually switch off all gadgets — TV and cellphones — because that’s a precious time to chat without interruption while enjoying the meal. It’s also time for stock-taking; often ruffled feathers are smoothed and bruised egos caressed. That brings the family closer together. Members learn from each other and a common narrative is reinforced.

Metaphorically, there’s nothing similar happening on a national scale. There’s a potpourri of menus we continue to enjoy separately.

Mandela unwittingly created something of a craze with his Madiba shirts, much to the disgust of his dear friend, Desmond Tutu, who thought such attire unbecoming. “A bit rich coming from a man who wears dresses,” Mandela shot back.

That craze never took off. It died with Mandela.

So what is our national identity? What sets us apart as South Africans? Or are we just a collection of individuals, clans, language groups or races who happen to inhabit the same space?

Despite our best endeavours, our future seems to have been neatly mapped out by our past. Our future will therefore always be dogged by how we deal with our past. Even those things that should ordinarily unite us often divide us.

Restitution, for instance, is often viewed as taking from some (the losers) and giving to others (the winners). It’s never going to be seen by the losers as a national imperative, especially if it’s not properly explained or implemented.

The quarrel over national symbols has thankfully been settled. The new flag is now waved with pride, even at rugby matches.

Our lack of a galvanising ideology is probably the reason we’ve latched on to sport not simply as an extramural activity but as a political tool to unite the country. Playing together with a single goal will hopefully create a common purpose. But there’s no unanimity on the end goal: whether to choose the best team to bring us national honour or one that, while not the cream of all our available talent, reflects the diversity of our society.

But even transformation hardliners will confess that they, too, want to bathe in the glory of a national victory, however it comes. Nothing better illustrates the power of sport to unite a people than the 2010 Soccer World Cup. There was a spring in our steps and our chests bulged with national pride.

Sometimes our refusal to let go of Mandela is understandable. Without a commanding political figure such as him, we’ve been reduced to squabbling like rats in a sack. For instance, nobody but Mandela could have convinced black people to sing Die Stem.

The current lot of politicians are just a bunch of myopic midgets intent only on exploiting our differences for short-term political gain. They’re good at scapegoating others, the media, judges, et cetera.

Because we are uncertain even about where we are, our common aspiration becomes a bone of contention. And because of a lack of unanimity on the small and obvious things, reaching agreement on big and substantial matters seems almost insurmountable. Comment on this: write to tellus@sundaytimes.co.za or SMS us at 33971 www.timeslive.co.za