Refugees are just our friends from far away places

EFUGEE is a contested word of late. It’s raised a few eyebrows and got tongues wagging and fingers typing away on Twitter.

Non-locals have been here for a long time, having chosen the fair Cape as their new or transient home. Some see it as an invasion. Others are offended. Quite frankly, I don’t see what the fuss is all about.

In my world, refugees, foreigners, immigrants – whatever you want to call them – add tons of spice to life.

I quite like my brothers and sisters from all corners of the globe – and SA – and the influ-

Rence they’ve had on my palate and my pocket. Just last week I told my friend Ruby I didn’t know what I’d do without our friendly neighbourhood Somali trader, Elmo. (His stall really says that: “Elmo, your friendly trader.”)

Granted, I don’t know his real name. I’m just so happy to see him I forget to ask what it is. And asking now – three years later – would just be rude.

But I appreciate him all the same. When I need biscuits for unexpected guests, I can count on Elmo’s stall always being open when the supermarkets have long closed their doors. I love that Elmo’s biscuits – among other things – make my money stretch further in these trying times. It’s exactly the same brand, but always cheaper.

I wish Elmo would branch out into real estate. He’d easily knock a couple of hundred thousand off my dream house.

Then there’re the internal refugees. If there’d been no migration from just across the way, I don’t know if walkie-talkies (chicken feet) would ever have grown on me.

It probably has no nutritional value to speak of, but much like the tip of the chicken wing, it just begs to be chewed.

And what about smileys? Fine, I don’t eat smileys (sheep’s head), but only because I don’t like my food to stare me down before I eat it up. The eyes are too sad, begging me to spare them. But I’m sure it’s tasty all the same.

Once you move on to the rest of the body, however, the best braai meat I’ve had was from the