What is my heritage but a braai?

From Valparaiso, a short, wry note on what we call heritage

I am writing from Valparaiso in Chile, where he himself is on a work trip, and I’m minding his bags. It is Chile’s National Day and much of the city is closed. On a food tour through the steep streets a local answered my question about National Day customs with:

“Um… see family? Barbecue?”

Heritage Day, and the great South African default

Back home, the same answer fits Heritage Day. If you feel like a mixed-up, canny combination of influences “the heritage of a mutt” what else do you do but light a fire and cook? The piece traces a childhood made up of a jumble of familiar and oddly South African specifics: Woolworths pick‑n‑mix, Chappie facts, robots for traffic lights, petrol stations as garages, corner shops called cafes, and programmes like Little House on the Prairie and The Cosby Show.

Small, vivid details

The writer recalls knowing koeksisters, Kreepy‑Kraulys and shongololos; corrugated iron roofs, mine dumps and Durban; drive‑ins, Johnny Clegg and Delia Sainsbury; NikNaks, Top Deck and Bophuthatswana. She remembers imported records and cheap cassette cover versions, and a neighbour’s outside loo that once housed a real leopard.

Why the braai matters here

Amid a patchwork of memories, one constant stands out: people cooked with fire, whether by choice or necessity. That common practice is offered as a unifying, practical strand in a national tangle of influences. The reflection closes on a pointed, affectionate exhortation:

So braai on, my South Africans, braai on, because here, at least, we can all come together, in our heritage of flames.