For my birthday celebration, I decided to join my family for a holiday in our holiday home in Mozambique. Mozambique is one of the little unknown treasures on the Africa continent. In the south of Moz it is almost this little island, I am talking about white soft sand beaches, coconut trees, wide beaches complimented with the rough green mountain hills. As this area is still very, very rural, there is no roads, only thick sand tracks (ideal spot for quad lovers) no commercial stores or businesses, only local pubs and free market trading. The town is only situated 10 kilometers from the border, but it is literally a different world from South Africa.
It was the full Oberholzer family on the trip, including my one brother’s girlfriend and my other brother’s friend Hibertus. I am particularly close with my brothers and with every given situation for us to create new memories we would grasp the opportunity with enthusiasm. Upon my arrival I informed them that the plan of action for my four day holiday is as follows: We will go out on day one, as it is my birthday the following day, we would go out on my birthday and we will celebrate the last night cause it is our last night in Moz.
We started the holiday with a much deserved welcome drink at the ocean. Our welcome cocktail almost went south, due to limited drink measurement cups in Africa. To illustrate the lack of measurement cups, the first place we ordered four of their local drinks, Rum and Rasberry sodas, the bartender emptied one standard 750ml of rum for our four drinks. Yeah – their lack of business skils in Moz clearly illustrate the reason for the extreme poverty in Moz. I bought elastics for my hair at the local market, when I travel in Africa, I make a point of supporting the local vendors, to assist with local economic development. The vendor informed me that the elastics are R5 each or R25 for a bag of at least 20 elastics. This did not make any business sense irrespectively of how you look at it. I was approached by one of the local street hawkers selling sunglasses, he price started at R150 a pair of sunglasses, with a bit of negotiation I bought the sunglasses for R50.
To get back to our story of day one, we started with the poisonous Fernando Rum and Rasberry’s, causing a sudden influx of alcohol in our bloodstream, which resulted in an increase of the braveness levels in my brothers and also maybe a bit of stupidism, this resulted in increased negotiations with local pub owners and managers. We ordered two drinks each at the last place, one of the waiters approached my younger (the more liberal and extroverted brothers) offered him a bribe to demolish the bill for the evening. Taken into account that we were the only people in the pub, he was willing to write-off the account for a small under the table settlement, bad, bad business skills. My brother being the absolute crazy one he is, grabbed the bribe offer with both hands. As we left the owner stopped us and told us that we still have to pay the bill. The younger brother called the bribe waiter, but naturally the bribe waiter denied any mention of the bribe, the older brother offered to settle the bill as any normal sensible adult would do, the younger brother’s level of adrenaline increased with each offer of the older brother paying the bill and the bribe waiter denying the bribe. The result was both brothers were very upset with each other.
Upon meeting up with my parents, they both wanted to know what the story with my brothers was. I informed my dad of the situation, after explaining the situation to him, I asked him what the story sounded like?
The one brother bribed and the other brother was fighting for the truth, this was my father split in half, he won’t think twice before bribing a traffic cop for a reduced fine, but except for the occasional bribe he is the ultimate pioneer and ambassador for the truth and anything that goes along with it. The bottom-line of the story is, we are the mirror of our parents, and we unintentionally emanate the good and the bad qualities of our folks. We watch them and subconsciously decide which and when we will portray who and what they are. Children are the mirrors of the adults.
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