I worry about worrying about all the worrying that South Africans do

About 99% of the things most people worry about are harmless and fall into three categories: potential eventualities that will never materialise; delusions generated by poorly functioning brains; and inadequate information. To brace for the impact of Covid-19, housewives from Parktown to Pofadder rented storage units for R1995.95 a month filled with enough loo paper to last until the 2029 when President Julius Malema is inaugurated on the lawns of the Union Buildings by chief justice Dali Mpofu.

I can’t think of anything more irrational than being faced by a devastating pandemic and worrying about wiping one’s arse. Those of us who grew up in townships rolled our eyes and wondered if these folks have never heard of the grooming properties of newspapers, especially the sports section with a picture of the Proteas after another World Cup choke fest.

These thoughts went through my mind as I watched that clip of Limpopo health MEC Phophi Ramathuba’s delicious rant against a Zimbabwean patient. Let me issue a disclaimer. I happen to be fond of Ramathuba, which should disqualify me from offering any objective observations.

Also, it’s virtually impossible to talk about SA’s immigration issues without coming across as a rabid, Afrophobic xenophobe or unpatriotic apologist, if you disagree with her. Still, when I watched that clip, I couldn’t stop humming, “I got 99 problems but Zimbabweans aren’t one” in my best Jay-Z voice.

At that moment I wished I possessed a spell that could make all Zimbabwean immigrants in Limpopo health facilities magically go “poof!”

I would pay R1,500 for a seat at the press conference a year later to hear her excuse for any improvement in all major KPIs. My prediction is that, as much as Nigerian immigrants handed the baton of “most despised” to unsuspecting Zimbabweans, she would have found new external forces.

Helen Zille fingered “immigrants” from the Eastern Cape for her province’s poor service delivery. David Makhura does the same when it comes to “immigrants” into Gauteng.

I hope no one thinks I’m picking on these politicians because I’m blind to my own irrationality. I’m the quintessential poster child for worrying about the wrong things. I’m that guy who worries about being hit by debris from space rockets. My only defence is to point out that if you appreciate historical events you know that history is littered with examples of statistically improbable events. Until they happened, of course.

Fretting about inane trivialities is a human trait that’s hardwired in our DNA. It’s always been my contention that when Mike Tyson was bludgeoned to the canvas by Buster Douglas in his first loss in 1990, he could have beaten the count. But instead of getting up before the 10 count, he wasted three precious seconds searching for his gum shield.

The same thing happened to my childhood friend Bigboy after he was punched in the mouth by a boy from Unit 3. Instead of fighting back, he searched for the tooth that went flying. Imagine his disappointment when he discovered that the nurses at Mpumalanga Clinic couldn’t implant it into his jaw.

I don’t know what everyone else thinks about when insomnia strikes at 3.17am. A friend once confided that he’d spent three minutes fretting about what would happen if morning never came because the sun had burnt itself out.

I once found two dogs conjoined in the aftermath of an intense roll in the hay. The dog-lover that I am quickly typed: “How to separate stuck dogs” on YouTube. But before I got out of the car to spray them with beer (YouTube said use water but I was fresh out), I stopped in my tracks. If you think my worry was about being bitten, you do not appreciate my levels of nuttiness. My biggest worry was someone appearing at the moment I’m straddling the dogs, pouring frothy Castle Lager on their entangled bits, and ending up on the Sunday World front page with the headline, “Columnist in bizarre bestiality ménage à trois with mutts”.

I don’t know enough about the full impact of illegal immigration on our economy, but you would have your work cut out if you tried to convince me that the presence of Zimbabweans on these shores was in the top 20 factors leading to our economy tanking catastrophically.

The hysteria around this seems a lot like whistling “Jerusalema” while the economy sinks deeper by the day and Durbanites loot and burn warehouses.

I don’t know what everyone else thinks about when insomnia strikes at 3.17am. A friend once confided that he’d spent three minutes fretting about what would happen if morning never came because the sun had burnt itself out