The rolling plains of Africa…Migration has a frequent role throughout history and the reoccurrence of it in the future is virtually certain. Transcending over boundaries between species migration is found in nearly every type of object capable of moving.
David Attenborough made one instance of migration the most famous world wide by documenting the never-ending passage of blue wildebeest across the plains of the Serengeti but there are other instances of equal number that aren’t as famous. A vital hinge to the concept of migration is that the moving mass, at some stage returns to their place of origin. If this doesn’t occur then it would just be a mass exodus, like the Jews high-tailing it out of Egypt or Stormers rugby fans bolting out of Newlands.
One of these lesser known but equally large migration takes place when summer reaches its zenith in the Southern Cape. And now that the last Xmas tree has turned brown on the city refuge dumping site and the last piece of shattered Dom Perignon bottles have been swept of the floor summer holiday is on its way out and so are the subjects of this migration to which I refer.
The first subtle indications of its beginning are notice around earlier December, but by the 20th it is in full swing. You first notice skid away tire marks at robots and stop streets. You then walk into Woolworths and feel the squinting eye contact of people searing into the back of your head as they are checking you out.
Whilst on the beach the monotony of your expertly placed beach bats shots resonate melodically in your ears and are usually only interrupted by the lapping of the gentle tide at your feet but now it is harshly punctuated by shouts of ‘boet’ carried by the sea breeze. You look around perplexed and see no one. But as the December days wear on, the ‘boets’ become louder and more frequent, to the point where you stop going to the beach.
The day after Christmas you realize that there are more orange people
wandering the camps bay strip than on a Sunset Tan film set, there are more chains per square capita than on Amistad and…then…then, you see your first orange skinned bikini babe teetering on the curb in a pair of clear heels. The migration, like summer, is at its zenith.
However, despite the increasing prevalence of telltale signs the migration is no more acutely apparent than in the cash trays of bars, clubs, cocktail lounges and restaurants in and around the Mother City.
Like the far eastern plains of the Serengeti the cash tray of your typical till was a common and ordered sanctuary where the animals got on so well. Herds of bright blue buffalo grazed lazily through the veld. Large regal male Lions dominated the higher ground. Africa’s moniker the Elephant roamed freely and the lowveld teemed with crashes of Rhino. This plains were punctuated by the low bark of the majestic leopard that although, not rare, was always tucked away.
In Cape Town the leopards are slightly different in that they have a white powdery tinged much like the Columbian Snow Leopard and are distinct from the leopards around the country. But the migration has begun, and a new leopard is in town.
It is a much larger, bulkier more muscular leopard. It is a leopard on steroids, very probably. It is fierce, aggressive and piles up in the far left of the cash tray barking out aggressive taunts belittling the other animals. It drives a black car. It drives it fast. It doesn’t have thin rubber radio collar, it has a thick full metal and leather collar with spikes. If it was dog, it would live in a junk yard. If it was a person, it would be from Joburg…
However, the vital hinge of the migration occurs and this foreign breed of leopard starts disappearing. Their departure is not a day too late as a hunting party just arrived from over the Atlantic. Teddy R has brought is friends Benjamin, Grant, Jackson, Lincoln and Washington to do some shooting…
The day after Christmas you realize that there are more orange people 
wandering the camps bay strip than on a Sunset Tan film set, there are more chains per square capita than on Amistad and…then…then, you see your first orange skinned bikini babe teetering on the curb in a pair of clear heels. The migration, like summer, is at its zenith.
