Negotiating the CapeXit divorce settlement
LIKE any exhausted and disinterested parent, South Africa has let its petulant child of the Western Cape run amok for far too long. Indulging them in their pseudoEuropean fantasies that have them picturing themselves as some French district that somehow disengaged and floated too far south.
But our ignorance has allowed these hemp-wearing, RooibosGaulois-smoking egomaniacs to actually come up with the notion of CapeXit – Cape Town establishing itself as its own country, adrift from the rest of Mzansi who – up until this point – have been holding them back.
The sheer audacity.
I can just picture these Trust
Fund kids in their Llandudno pieds-a-terre, sipping on their Prosecco and discussing their new world over organic sautéed rabbit droppings on a bed of fresh sea kelp.
One can only imagine this pristine country they’ve envisaged, free from the economic shackles of Limpopo… removed from the tarnished image of Boksburg… untethered from the beaurocracy of Nkandla’s fire pools.
They’ll be free to become a global force. Much like Meghan and Harry who’ve broken free of their gilded cage.
Although, in this instance, Cape Town would probably want to build a gilded cage to keep us heathens out. But still, very similar.
They’d create a new world with a set new of rules. Look at America! It turned out so well for them.
Would New World Cape Town have a military? Of course! But they’d be an army of peace-loving hippies, skipping about putting fynbos in enemies’ rifles while singing Kumbaya.
And who needs a military parade when you have a pride parade? Sorted.
When it comes to dress codes, every man would be encouraged to fashion a man bun, and all women’s hairstyles would be acceptable - except for ‘The Karen’.
Obviously, the official language would be French. You wouldn’t have to actually speak the language – as long as you do speak with a really overdone French accent inspired by Inspector Jacques Clouseau.
They could finally all stop pretending to be even slightly interested in rugby, and there are big plans under way to convert Newlands Stadium into an open-air auditorium specialising in kabuki theatre.
The Cape gangs will actually be trained in dance and music, so gang warfare becomes a niche form of entertainment – a sort of West Side Story meets the 26s and 27s.
Many will be wanting to claim nationality in New Cape Town, but this would require a citizen’s test.
Basically, it’s a wine tasting where you have to accurately differentiate between a Châteauneuf-du-Pape Les Trois Sources 2016 and a Chacayes Los Chacayes 2015, identifying the exact grapes used, the wine growing district, and the species of sheep that supplied the manure for these particular vintages.
Once you’ve got those correct, you have to commit to a religion that worships Table Mountain and the 12 Apostles, before smoking the traditional fynbos pipe of acceptance.
What you Capetonians don’t understand is that this is going to be a messy divorce. We’ve never really considered you to be part of South Africa, but if you want to play your hand, we’re going to play ours.
And when it comes to land expropriation deals, we know our way around the negotiation table.
Firstly, we’re taking the rainbow. Nelson Mandela invented it, so it’s ours. Speaking of Madiba, you’re forbidden from even mentioning him except when giving tours of Robben Island where you kept him imprisoned – you b*stards.
Secondly, we’re taking Afrikaans. Not because we’re particularly attached to it, but just because there’s no way 99.9% of you can actually communicate without it. Bonne chance with your French you little merdes.
Thirdly, we’re keeping our water resources. We will share the water with you, however, if you agree to trade us equal quantities of water for wine. And we’re talking the good stuff. Like from the cellars of the Stellenbosch mafia. Not from the dorm rooms of Stellenbosch University.
Fourthly, you have to take Julius and Floyd. This is the ultimate in land expropriation deals and we feel this trade should adequately satisfy their Gucci bejewelled desires.
Fifthly, we’ve agreed you can keep your Rooibos reserves but you’re not getting any of our Durban Poison.
Finally, we’ve chatted to the rest of Africa (AKA your grandparents) and they don’t want you either. As of now, you don’t belong to the African continent. You’re a bit like Australia in a way… and a few other ways as well, really.
Au revoir le Cape!