How African time works, I think

Posted on 25 September 2013

I’ve no choice but to believe that if Albert Einstein had tried to do his previously ground-breaking research in relativity in Africa his brain would have exploded like a mopane worm in a microwave.

Let me explain…

In Africa, time works like nowhere else. It’s a beautiful, inexplicable phenomenon. Like black holes and missing socks. See, in Africa, not only does time move at a different pace (usually more on the glacial side), it’s also subject to factors not yet recognised by international physics. These include – but are not limited to – who is waiting for you, what time of day it is and, most importantly, how close you are to an ATM.

I discovered this on a recent road trip in Malawi after failing to obtain our vehicle insurance for reasons I can only describe as a severe aversion to paying attention to official signage. It’s odd because I also have a severe aversion to prison, specifically to the likelihood that a 150-kilogram mastodon named Mandoza will want to get to know me on a more ‘personal’ level.

The police officer who pulled us over for said violation kindly offered to relieve us of MK40 000 (approximately R2 700) to settle the fine ‘on the spot’. Simultaneously, I realised we had no money and that we were approximately 300 kilometres from the nearest ATM. In that terrifying moment the irony of my two conflicting aversions quickly became apparent; a meeting with my Mandoza seemed inevitable.

Then the officer spoke eight magical words: ‘Soooo, what are we going to do now?’

He might as well have said, ‘Hey dude, I can smell that little bead of fear-induced sweat dripping down your back. Don’t worry, I’m going to help you out with a little maths tutorial for how relativity works in Africa. Today, E = avoid prison, m = wait here until the end of my shift so that it doesn’t look like I’m letting you go easily, and c2 = find something from the deep abyss that is your extortionately priced 4×4 van contraption to give me, so I can leave with my pride intact.’

Ninety-two minutes and two T-shirts later, we were back on the road, that harrowing vision of Mandoza and I doing Nkalakatha in a prison bathroom a distant memory. Once again, African time had blown conventional science open like a bottle of 75-proof Malawi gin in a bonfire and proved that you don’t have to understand physics to get by in Africa. All you need is money or time … and a couple of T-shirts.






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