‘BUT I LEFT YOU A MESSAGE’
Ndumiso Ngcobo on the lies we tell each other
WHEN my elder brother and I were about five and four years old respectively, our folks took us to my dad’s village of origin in the Valley of a Thousand Hills, where two goats were murdered in our name. That sort of thing arouses the ancestors greatly, presumably.
In any case, during the ensuing feast someone shoves a dish of tripe in our direction with the curt instruction: “eat”. Mazwi, my big brother, sniffs at the soggy mess and indignantly pronounces: “B-but it smells like shit!” He is naturally rebuked rather sternly and asked to whisper sweet nothings to the ancestors in apology.
I was reminded of this incident when my three-year-old son walked into the bedroom while I was liberally lubricating my torso with Vaseline petroleum jelly. He walked up to me and, with a quizzical expression, prodded my belly with a fat little finger before inquiring, “Are you going to have a baby, Baba?”
I’m not sharing these two incidents for the exclusive purpose of insulting the ancestors and my gut. There’s an actual point I’m making.
You see, human beings are apparently a social species, which means we are perpetually striving towards a state of harmony. And being brutally honest with each other is often in conflict with our ideals of peaceful coexistence with others. As a result, it is our duty to impress upon our three-year-old that sharing his unfiltered, unadulterated thoughts with others is a no-no. It’s called being polite. I call it pathological lies. Allow me to share with you some of the more common rotten lies we tell each other daily without even blinking. Sies.
“Pleased to meet you” — these words are often uttered during a party while pumping someone’s clammy hand “enthusiastically” with a wide grin on our faces. What we really mean, of course, is: “I don’t know who you are, Meerkat Face, and I’ll probably never see you again. Now let go of my hand before the cocktail sausage platter is cleaned out.”
“On this auspicious occasion” — this is something often said by MCs during those R50 000-a-plate black-tie events graced by the MEC for Ignoring Potholes and Such and other important dignitaries at the Sandton Convention Centre. What this really means is: “I don’t know we’re all subjecting ourselves to this verbal flatulence but, hey, I’m being paid R30 000 to stand here and inflate your egos.”
“Baby, I never saw one this big before” — this is a lie often perpetrated against the male of our species by cunning females. What they forget to add is: “... unless you count Peter, Mark, Ntiyiso and Courtney, the bartender from the Barimba Bar in downtown Kingston, Jamaica.”
“Lord, I’m coming” — no, you lying faker, you’re not. What you mean is: “OK, enough already. This is going nowhere. Let’s get it over and done with and play Scrabble instead.”
“It looks fabulous on you” — lies lavished upon our wives by Hyde Park boutique attendants, amid lots of gasps and gushes, just before they blow the kids’ education fund on one pair of jeans.
“Our heartfelt condolences” — words often scribbled on those impersonal Hallmark cards sent by colleagues to someone whose granny has passed on. What they really mean is: “Your nana was 106, for crying out loud. Now man up and hurry back to work. Covering your behind is killing us.”
“This hurts me more than it hurts you” — often uttered by sadistic mothers as they whack the living daylights out of their kids with a leather belt. This is an obvious fabrication; the person with the red welts on their buttocks is hurting more than anyone else in this scenario.
“We will forgive but we will never forget” — the true meaning of these words is: “We’ll be back,” in the best Terminator accent possible. Remembering and forgetting is not humanly possible. For as long as there is someone who remembers the Six-Day War, CNN will have a bureau in the Middle East.
Sharing unfiltered, unadulterated thoughts with others is a no-no Then there are the lies lavished upon our wives by boutique attendants
“When I was in the struggle” — this is often shouted out during BEE parties, just loud enough for the sound to carry to a bunch of ANC Youth League bigwigs in pointy shoes and high collars. The purveyor of this lie is often an aspiring tenderpreneur angling for a huge government maritime contract on the basis of his BA in Biblical studies.
“It’s the nomination that counts” — no, it’s not. My first book was shortlisted for a Nielsen’s Bookwhy sellers’ Choice Award. I flew all the way to Cape Town, full of hope. The words I spat out when Craig Ray was announced the winner for In Black and White are unprintable in such a respectable publication.
So there you have it. Of course, I am personally immune to such falsehoods. I have too much respect for my readers. E-mail lifestyle@sundaytimes.co.za On Twitter @NdumisoNgcobo