Today I envied South Africa

Writer's block was hellbent on having its way with me, but I decided to publish this either way:

Today I envied South Africa

I witnessed her enthused children honor her in earnest. They unashamedly blasted their plastic trumpets – vuvuzelas as they passionately label them.

Many others preferred silence. Nevertheless, they were beaming with unprecedented pride and joy. Adoring crowds within her offspring received the rest of the world for their winter stay down south.

The world's greatest stars had landed, there to illustrate their ball tricks on her groomed grounds.

Her own representatives donned gold and green. Their recent wins had indisputably captured the support of their inconsistent country.

I observed that swollen lips were really no stranger to her many children. A handful of whom you would incorrectly assume blew vuvuzelas for a living. Dusk, dawn and in between, vuvuzelas sounded. In all areas – rural, remote, urban, and wealthy – they still sounded.

Her children's minds were palpably stuck on a winning atmosphere, as euphoria clung to the roof of their mouths. Their waving flags shook critics who doubted her capability. She exceeded expectations and stood tall against disapproval; momentarily deafening pesky pessimists.

Her children had breathed new meaning to the word ‘patriotism'. The Soccer World Cup had arrived in South Africa, and they said they were ‘feeling it'. While I, the rest of the world, watched and envied South Africa.