Apocalypse Later

In the same way that a former US governor allegedly refused to allow Spanish to be taught in schools because “English was good enough for Jesus Christ, it ought to be good enough for the children of Texas”, we tend to conflate grand myths with America. To move from the apocryphal to the apocalyptic: we’re all trained by popular culture to know what would happen if the Apocalypse finally went down. Two guys, virtually indistinguishable except that one is off-white and the other off-black, will blow away the Angel Gabriel with unnaturally large guns, plant the Stars and Stripes in front of the Pearly Gates, and start charging admission (dead children accompanied by a parent get in free Sundays).

But wait! What if the Apocalypse happens in South Africa? Things will be handled very differently. The obvious point is that many people in Johannesburg won’t notice.  Aki Anastasiou’s traffic report on 702 will be business as usual. “Burning petrol tanker overturned on William Nicol, and traffic lights out at twelve intersections. Oh, and angels with trumpets are causing rubbernecking on Jan Smuts, so budget an extra 30 mins for your journey.”

There’ll actually be an upside to the Apocalypse. Street vendors will start selling cheap “I’ve been Raptured” flags to fly from your car, and people in Soweto will finally have something to show deluded fans of District 9 who are on Prawn Safari. Pirates supporters will have a jolly old time exchanging crossed bones salutes with Death, who will be so seduced by his popularity that he’ll start a small assassination agency in Pretoria called Die@BlouBulle. Some fat guy in a gematric Beemer will make a fortune reselling his “Number of the Beast” numberplate (NDAZE 666 GP), and Nonhle Thema will star in a reality show called Mzansi Maggots (“They eat flesh! Superhot naked flesh!!”)

In Cape Town, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Famine, War, Death and, in particular, Toyota Conquest, won’t be able to find parking. And if they do, they’ll find it impossible to actually get anyone interested in their specialist areas. Famine will feel increasingly inadequate and frustrated as he realises that starving yourself is actually a lifestyle choice in Camps Bay, not a blight. War won’t be able to get people to fight, because he’s not part of the right clique, and anyway all the cool kids already belong to the Armoury Boxing Club.

In the South African suburbs where the nouveau riche congregate, there’ll be a rash of cool parents naming their kids Nostradamus (“little Nossie is SO precocious! Don’t you just love the way his little head spins around!), and Beelzebub (“it’s not Billy, it’s BEELY! And if you even think about calling him Bubba…”). Let’s just hope the Apocalypse doesn’t start off in Durban, because then Francis Ford Coppola would have to make a movie called Apocalypse Later.

We’re making light of a serious topic, though. And we haven’t even started to worry about what we’ll do if there’s a Zombie Apocalypse, which is like the normal religious Apocalypse, just more humane. The four Zombies of the Apocalypse are Itchy, Scratchy, Vegan and Lauren Beukes, and if they stumble into town – well, let’s just say you’ll miss Famine and Death.

(Published in Obrigado magazine, December 2011)

Random apocalyptic graffiti, Buenos Aires.