Not just to look at their asses from a distance, but actually to talk to them and ultimately try pomp them?
And then actually pomp them and start going out in public together and stand in the queue at movies with them and all that? Go to braais and say, “This is my girlfriend Letsego?” or Lonwabo, or Sibu, or Kate because she grew up with a white family. Or whatever.
If this sounds like you, and you follow things through to their natural conclusion, you may even end up marrying your babe, differently coloured as you might be.
It happened to me, so I have prepared a list of tips.
Marrying Black Girls for Guys Who Aren’t Black:
Prepare to not follow the conversation
You’re not black, so don’t even try to be. Maybe you know some Xhosa, maybe you’ve had black friends all your life, maybe you been building RDP houses in Katlehong for the past ten years. But you’re not black. When you hang with her mates, you will spend a lot of time staring blankly into the middle distance, smiling vaguely, while people bellow at each other in vernac, laugh their arses off and generally have more fun than you. If you stick with it, you’ll get to meet her family, where the same scenario will play itself out times a hundred.
Prepare for the speeches
African culture is big on making speeches. Cultural ceremonies are basically extended talk shops where the okes – the men, mostly – get to showcase their thousand-year-old debating skills. African culture is basically a massive, continent-wide Toastmaster’s club. While everyone’s making speeches you don’t understand, nod politely, and only ask what was said afterwards. Sooner or later they’ll ask you to say something. Keep it concise, because you’re about to make a total cock of yourself.
Lobola: a minefield
It’s supposed to be a patriarchy, but in reality most black kids are raised by women. Lobola negotiations are supposed to be handled between the uncles of your two clans. A quick check will confirm that you have only three uncles, two of whom now live in Australia, and Oom Johan, currently on probation for assaulting his farm workers. On her side, there will be roughly 27 uncles, brothers, half-brothers, half-uncles, cousin-uncles and cousin-brothers. They will all insist they are the right person to conduct lobola negotiations with.
You are a racist: face it
You can marry six black babes in a row and you’ll still be a racist. We all are. Being a racist is part of being South African. Luckily, she’s one too. You okes are made for each other. Just admit it at every opportunity then wallow in your inbred racial prejudice and bigotry. Park in front of TV talking in ethnic accents, ripping off every race group in turn. Every now and then you’ll wade into a political debate with an unthought-through clanger of such ignorant racism you’ll shock yourself. Don’t stress about it. You can still marry her.
Embrace the B
Choice of music remains one of the most powerful cultural signifiers. So unless you’re dating earth’s only black female fan of Facing The Gallows, you’re going to be listening to a lot of R&B. There will be Beyonce, yes, but old-school stuff you didn’t know existed. Try Silk, Tamia, Johnny Gill, Shai and Tevin Campbell. And you will never get to like it. It will be a living hell every time you hear it. On one occasion you’ll drive the whole way from Sandton to Kempton listening to Forever My Lady by Jodeci. Oh, and your Bon Iver will not be tolerated. Trivium? Forget about it.
Black babe = gold digger
Ja I know. Not necessarily. But to your folks that’s all she is. So they’ll insist on a pre-nup to stop her stealing your family’s dynastic fortune. Even if her dad’s a company director, and your old man’s a caretaker at the Boknes caravan park. Life will suck at this point. And you’ll have a moment in the lawyer’s office where you’ll want to rip your face off. But on some deep, twisted level, there’s a certain pride in being a target of gold-digging. Misguided as that pride may be.
You get a new wife every month
Because black women do hair like nobody else does hair. Your babe will pop off to get her hair done at ten in the morning, and return, like, eleven hours later! When she left she’ll have looked like Keri Hilson, and she’ll come back looking like Diana Ross the time she dropped her toaster in the bath. It’s disturbing having your lady look completely different and you’ll be shocked when she first walks in the door. But don’t give the game away. Try not to gasp – she’s invested eleven hours in this, after all. Practise saying, “Wow! You look amazing.”
You’re going to have to defend your territory
When you go out with a white babe, guys seem to at least grant you the basic respect of waiting till you’re not around before they try to woo her away from you. Not so much with black ladies. You can be standing right next to her at the gym, and some dude will grab her by the arm and ask her where she’s from. Policemen will wolf whistle her while you’re walking right next to each other. Beggars at the robots will tell her she’s phakile. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to take someone by the throat and threaten to rip his fuckin’ eyes out. Think of it as a romantic gesture, defending your lady’s honour. You old smoothie, you.
Have you ever bought something on lay-bye? How do you rate the taste of umleqwa compared to normal chicken? Do you want some of this delicious tripe? Aren’t you dying for some magwinya? Aren’t you broken that Oprah’s off air? Not? Well maybe you a white oke going out with a black babe. Or, to be honest, maybe you’re me. Let’s stop pretending these things are universal – these are just some examples of what I’ve experienced in my relationship. And to generalize is to engage in racist stereotyping, and we agreed we’re trying to cut down on racism. As if that’s possible.
I’m pretty happy indulging my personal case of jungle fever, and if you’re into something similar, I wish you the very best of polychromatic good luck. Maybe I’ll see you guys out some night. At a Kenny Lattimore concert or some shit like that…