© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 137
There is a general difference between people who are born in Africa and people who are born in Europe. People who are born in Europe love the sun, and are willing to travel as much as a few thousand miles to soak up its rays. On the other hand, people who are born in Africa, particularly further away from the equator tend to have a predilection for the cold.
There you have it: not ethnicity, not culture, or even widespread poverty. The simple fact of the matter is that Europeans think that suntans are ‘cool’, or ‘hot’ as the case may be. And they are quite willing to back up their belief by risking melanomas, blistering, and peeling like donkeys as a result of overexposure to the sun, in order to prove that point.
Europeans are also incredibly insensitive. In the midst of the 137th consecutive day of sweltering heat and soul-sapping, clear, blue skies, as Africans discuss the merits and survival prospects of that one, tiny, struggling wisp of cloud in the far, top, left corner of the sky, it is only a European who could be so insensitive as to spend half an hour discoursing on how lucky we Africans are to have so much lovely sun.
I wonder if, in the arid depths of some antipodean desert, there isn’t some Australian chap who faces the same problem. Rain, rain, rain. Bring it on and then some. And if you are a European reader, experiencing a moment of enlightenment here, you should also know that when and African says, “You have brought the rain with you,” what he or she actually means is you are a favoured and lucky guest. Make yourself at home, just not too much and next time round, bring a bit of the cold as well. It also helps to keep the beer at a drinkable temperature.
Not that sun is without its fond and youthful memories. I vividly remember the long strides of childhood runs to the houses of friends, the strides motivated by the need to keep my feet off the burning ground. I remember the long sessions in the bath, scrubbing melted tar from my feet. And I also remember the concern of my mother as I came home vomiting from an excess of sunlight. Some kids had adventures that led to falling out of trees. I remember days under the sun. Hats and factor forty sunshine lotion weren’t a big thing then.
But the sun is no longer as popular as it once was. Sun-seeking travellers are a dying breed, figuratively speaking if skin cancer doesn’t get to them first. Tans are no longer a thing of beauty, just another reason to shudder alongside pollution, some of the more interesting artificial additives and embroidered flowers on samplers hung in living rooms.
My daughter has to grow up in a different world. I wonder how I will explain to her, in a believable way that, once upon a time, days in the sun were a natural way of life. I’ll probably come across more credibly telling her about dial telephones and the wonder of the 16k Sinclair ZX Spectrum computer.
I suspect that her later life will be lived out of the sun, indoors or under shade-netting, if she is lucky with some form of environmentally friendly air-conditioning to keep the heat to a comfortable minimum.
Global warming has been preying on my mind for a long time now. Having written this column, thus far, I know why. It’s an ugly infestation of involuntary, unwanted nostalgia. As the years pass, some things change for the better and some for the worse. The situation with the sun and the heat is a loss of freedom. Although I have spent a few decades living by night and avoiding the day, she cannot.
A bit of sunburn is not a natural thing of childhood anymore. Anything less than factor forty suntan lotion, sleeves over the shoulder, a hat and limits on time in the sun has the feeling of danger and neglect.
Perhaps in a couple of years, the signs of rebellion won’t be staying out late or taking risks in cars. Maybe truculent teens will show their defiance and disregard for their lives by going to the beach.
