The other side of Christmas cheer

A young girl peers out of a taxi window as she notices a dressed up Santa Claus wandering around the Joburg CBD as the festive feeling grips most residents. But spare a thought for those who aren't into the Christmas spirit, says the writer. Photo: Ihsaan Haffejee

A young girl peers out of a taxi window as she notices a dressed up Santa Claus wandering around the Joburg CBD as the festive feeling grips most residents. But spare a thought for those who aren't into the Christmas spirit, says the writer. Photo: Ihsaan Haffejee

Published Dec 22, 2014

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At this time of compulsory smiles let’s spare a thought for many among us who’re feeling anything but festive, writes Eusebius McKaiser.

 We’re sitting on the deck at Moyo restaurant. It’s a stunning Sunday morning in Joburg. And we’re but a few days away from Christmas. Families are everywhere around Zoo Lake, braaiing like only South Africans can, and laughing children are playing on the grass.

As I look up, a man sitting opposite our table is staring at me. But his stare is so intense that I realise he’s not staring at me; he is staring through me. Lost in thought and sporting a melancholy expression.

He is alone, dirty and dishevelled with a tog bag of seemingly sparse belongings, and a little blanket attached to it. He looks away for a second, and I’m relieved at not having to worry whether he can see into my head or read my musings about his presence.

But he has enough money for a pint of lager. And he has a cigarette on him, which he lights up, while moving to the balcony and trying out his stare into oblivion in another direction. He eventually finishes it after puffing on it more quickly than a desert absorbs a glass of spilt water.

And he hangs his head, looking down before holding it in his hand. Our eyes meet and I look away, feeling like the guilty voyeur that I am.

This stranger, Mr X, is exhibit five of the morning so far. First was a woman at an intersection sitting alone in the hot sun, with a black umbrella her only companion, and the only shade in her life at that point.

Next to her, on the other side, literally in the traffic, was a double amputee in a wheelchair at the mercy of Joburg drivers.

Just before we got to Zoo Lake was another man almost hidden under a tree, with a placard, sitting down, alone.

And here on the deck at Moyo, at the table next to Mr X, is an old woman, also alone, talking to herself, and summoning the staff more often than is necessary. I can’t but help whether she wants service from them or just companionship. She is neatly dressed, and I imagine a different world in which she is a granny in a house filled with some of the laughter of the kids we saw on the grass next door. In that world, her children – the parents of the laughing kids – are catching up with granny and she is the happiest old woman in the world.

But that’s not the picture I see here. I can’t overhear an exchange between her and Mr X, but feel oddly happy that they are striking up a conversation, united in their familial absences.

I’m not surprised that these images sit with me. I am prone to melancholy during Christmas, like many people who dare not say so. It has become something of a running, predictable joke with some friends and, when I was on radio, with my listeners, my penchant to spoil the Christmas cheer.

But it’s not a contrarian inclination at work; it’s born out of an awareness of just how cruel the compulsory Christmas cheer can be.

Maybe Mr X and the other strangers are profoundly content with their lives. I’m projecting narrative and sentiment onto them. I don’t know their truths, their feelings.

But there can be little doubt that the Christmas cheer is hard on the poor mom unable to take out the clothes from Pep Stores that require one more payment; it’s hard on the comedian who secretly battles clinical depression but now more than ever has to be the life of the party; it’s hard on the gay son ostracised by a homophobic family he’d rather not see at this time; it’s hard on families scattered across geographies they can’t connect.

And all these traumas play out while many of us get on with overeating, buying happiness with credit cards and wearing compulsory smiles at any cost.

Don’t induce sadness. That’s mercifully not my point. Flip, in a stressful country like South Africa and a challenging city like Joburg, escapism is justified. It’s prudent. It’s the only way to get up and go the following year. Sing along to Boney M even!

But do spare a thought for those not into the Christmas cheer. Like a dad who just got up from his table to speak to Mr X. He didn’t say much. He just listened. But after their interaction, Mr X is all smiles as he takes a final swig from his beer. My partner is right. It is easy to underestimate the impact of just recognising someone, rendering them visible.

But not everyone who is alone wants company. So maybe don’t force the issue if your friend, who is alone during this time, doesn’t want to accept your invitation to join your family for lunch. Christmas isn’t for everyone.

* Eusebius McKaiser is the best-selling author of A Bantu In My Bathroom and Could I Vote DA? A Voter’s Dilemma. He is currently working on his third book, Searching For Sello Duiker.

** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.

The Star

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