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It’s not racist or sexist if it is true, and it is true that black women are the worst drivers on South African roads. Based on close observation over a number of years we can tell you, conclusively, that the black woman driver who is not a threat to herself and every other road user, that black woman is a treasure so rare as to mythical.

The black woman driver (or BWD, for short) can be divided into two major sub-species: the Oblivious Drug Users and the Premature Little Old Ladies. The former act as if they are high on anti-depressants or marijuana, drifting between lanes without indicating, turning across traffic, parking horizontally across three vertical parking spaces and (surprisingly often) forgetting to engage either the hand brake or a low gear when stationary on an incline.

The Premature Little Old Ladies, on the other hand, drive like pensioners well past their sell-by date, even though some are still teenagers. They are perpetually terrified and bewildered in equal measure, which causes them to sit at a stop sign for hours even when there is no other traffic in sight, turning on their indicator lights a full fifteen minutes before they intend to turn and crawling along the highways at speeds so slow as to be barely measurable with standard speedometers.

Between them these two groups are the most dangerous part of driving on South African roads. Just like the rest of the world we have the 105-year old men who can’t see over the steering wheel. We have the personal assistants who apply mascara and lipstick at the same time while changing highway lines. We have drunken louts who race from traffic light to traffic light. But by sheer weight of numbers the BWDs are way out in front when it comes to causing heart attacks, incidents of road rage and bumper bashings.

They are especially noticeable because they weren’t on the roads until just a couple of years ago. In what we shall laughingly refer to as the good old days, black women didn’t drive because they oppressed by the state, their families and society in general. Their liberation over the last decade or so has been swift, as has been their acquisitions of cars.

Why are the BWDs so bad at driving? We have a couple of theories, all of which are disgustingly racist and classist. Some of them come from cultures where they are still, effectively, second-class citizens. That doesn’t make for the kind of self-confidence required to hold your own on the mean streets of Johannesburg. Some grew up with virtually no exposure to private passenger vehicles, commuting instead on minibus taxis or trains. Some are ill-equipped to drive the 10-ton 4×4 war wagons they have been assigned, and are maybe also overly aware of the R750 000 price tag if it gets so much as a scratch on the glossy metallic paint job. Given the size of the market in fraudulent drivers licences in South Africa it is a certainty that many of them quite literally bought their licences.

Frankly, though, the reasons don’t matter. Just be aware that they are out there, ready to ignore the rules of the road and cost you a fortune in excess payments on your rental car.

There is a place in South Africa where you can find perfect white beaches, predictable (and not at all dangerous) surf and a decent towel service. That place is not along any of our many thousands of kilometres of shoreline. It is in the landlocked, Africanised fairy tale complex of debauchery and sin called Sun City. It is the Valley of the Waves, and if you are willing to discard authenticism then it is quite possibly the happiest place in South Africa.

Sun City itself is a slowly decaying holdover from the Apartheid-era ban on gambling. It was built in the middle of nowhere because that is where the former (gambling-friendly) homeland that housed it was, and South Africans streamed hence because there were so very few other legal places to show their mathematical ineptitude by taking part in rigged games of chance. Now that you can gamble just about anywhere, fewer are willing to make the 1.5-odd hour drive from Johannesburg or Pretoria, so things aren’t quite what they used to be. The glitz is wearing awful thin in places.

The Valley of the Waves was a relatively late addition to this complex (which before then consisted almost entirely of hotels, golf courses and dimly lit rooms where women danced on stage without first covering their breasts). We’re betting that it will also be the last part of the complex to crumble for lack of cashflow, because during the summer months it can still attract a capacity crowd over a long weekend or on a public holiday.

It’s a partially-themed water park, okay? This is Africa; we don’t have that many theme parks or water parks, so we get inordinately excited by that kind of thing. Don’t be so judgemental. This is the closest thing we have to Disneyland: everything is fake or glitzy or both, and carefully engineered to not strain or stress. The wave pool produces child-friendly swells, the death-defying water slides come nowhere close to killing you and the ice cream is always cold. Also, there will be people who are fatter than you are, and neither them nor the good-looking ones will notice your imperfect body (unlike some other places we could name).

That is exactly the kind of escape your average jaded Johannesburger longs for on occasion. And after a couple of weeks of cultural immersion, dusty safaris and weird foods, it’s the kind of place where tourists love to decompress before going back home, or venturing further into the continent. Especially if they have kids. Kids are crazy about the place, as are their parents once they realise that the Valley is a safe environment where they can let the little monsters run wild while mommy and daddy get mildly buzzed on drinks with little umbrellas in them.

If you have the money to spring for the 5-star Palace of the Lost City hotel you get access to a heated outdoor pool. If you hang with the plebs instead, then you have to swim in naturally-heated water, but given that this part of the country is about a finger-width away from officially being a desert, that isn’t a real problem. The weather is invariably glorious all through spring and summer, and if you go there outside of local school holidays and weekends you’ll have the entire place to yourself. Except for the odd (and typically quite entertaining) Japanese or German tour group.

If you get bored from all the predictability and lack of danger, there are always exorbitantly-priced game drives at the Pilanesberg Nature Reserve right next door, or even more exorbitantly priced balloon safaris. You can get better (and cheaper) of both elsewhere, however. If you go to Sun City, go purely for the Valley of the Waves. Lie under a beach umbrella all day while polite servers bring you cool drinks. If anyone asks, don’t admit that you went because the real Africa got you down. Just say you were trying to recreate the experience of being a white colonialist of the previous century.

South Africans are probably a little more superstitious than average on average, given that witchcraft and sorcery and magic are very real for a significant part of our population. But it’s not just out in the rural boondocks that you’ll find this to be true. Any reasonably sized urban mall will provide proof that we believe in things beyond the ken of science.

A reasonably large mall, you see, is likely to come with paid parking (which has its own perils). Most of these have self-service payment points scattered about the place rather than human cashiers at the exit. And every single last one of these vending machines will be defaced by scratches that range from barely-dented-the-paint to ruts so deep they threaten the structural integrity of the whole thing.

Any time a vending machine refuses a coin, eight out of ten South Africans will vigourously rub that coin against the machine before trying it again. And again. Some will continue, rubbing ever more vigourously, for five or six repeats before giving up and fishing out an alternative coin.

Why? Because sometimes it works – or at least seems to work. Perhaps it is just a change in the orientation of the coin or the force with which it is inserted the second or third time. Maybe the rubbing actually raises the temperature of the coin sufficiently that it expands just enough to be passed as authentic by the machine’s mechanism, although that seems highly unlikely.

We would look to the psychological rather than the mechanical for motivation, however. There is an element of aggression and the pleasure of doing violence to the recalcitrant machine, but not so much violence as to be held responsible for an act of vandalism. There is an element of theatre, aimed at those impatiently waiting in the line behind, showing that every attempt is being made to rectify the problem and allow everyone to be on their way swiftly. There is also sheer force of habit.

Even so, that person rubbing a coin on a metal surface to somehow transform it is almost certainly the driver of a car. A driver is, by default, literate, or else would not be able to obtain a licence. The SA education system is in dire trouble, but we do still provide a modicum of scientific teaching to everybody who passes through the doors of a school. A rational person knows that, statistically, their time would be better spent reinserting the coin without the rubbing, or just using a different piece of currency. An educated person would verbally apologise to those in the queue behind, as this is a far better way to defuse embarrassment at causing them some slight inconvenience. An aggravated person would kick the machine at just above ground level, where security cameras are unlikely to pick up the satisfying dent a well-shoed foot can make.

Yet we rub coins, and nothing short of the extinction of the coin seems likely to make us stop.

So if you see these strange markings on vending machines, don’t fret. They aren’t an indication that you are in a bad part of town and they aren’t some sort of gang-related territorial marking. It’s just a sign that South Africans are somewhat eccentric.

If you’re coming to South Africa and you don’t visit the coast you’re a damn fool. The wild animals are mostly inland, this is true, but the coast has a lot to offer. Some like the windblown desolation of the West Coast, some prefer the ruggedness of the Wild Coast. The downright tropical waters of the South Coast are always a big drawcard; here at Howzzzt we have a particular fondness for the Garden Route and its always-perfect weather.

Each of these areas – as well as any even nearly habitable inland city – comes with a selection of fish you’ve never heard of. Sometimes that’s just because we use different names for species you’ll find elsewhere in the world, but we also have a couple of fairly exotic ones that you need to try out. Thus we present: the Howzzzt Guide to the Fishes of South Africa.

If you’re roaming on a local cellular telephone network, or if you are using a local SIM card, then you don’t need us. The World Wildlife Fund (WWF) offers a great SMS service as part of its sustainable seafood initiative. The idea is to tell you whether the fish on the menu is endangered or not, but it will also give you alternative names and a short blurb about the fish. Just SMS the name of the fish to this phone number: 079 499 8795.

If that doesn’t work for you, this is our list of what you absolutely must know, in order of importance.

Snoek: A local favourite to the extent that you can sometimes buy it from roadside vendors, even inland. Stunning when smoked or roasted with apricot jam, although there are entire books full of recipes for it. You may as well eat it with your fingers right from the start because the numerous, small bones are impossible to remove any other way. Tagged entire guilt-free and sustainable by the WWF. Australians and points east of there know it as Barracouta, Barracuda or Sea Pike.

Kingklip: Sought-after and considered a luxury fish (and priced accordingly), Kingklip is appreciated for its firm texture and rich taste. It’s more common than Snoek on the menus of upmarket restaurants, possibly because there is no polite way to eat Snoek with a knife and fork. Rated orange on the WWF sustainability scale because stocks have been somewhat over-fished. Known as Ling or Pink Ling in the waters of South America and New Zealand.

Sole: Very common on menus and typically prepared very simply so as to not spoil the delicate flavour. This is a bony fish you can actually eat with a knife and fork (you’ll catch on to the method right away) and worth the relatively high price you’ll probably have to pay. These are plentiful and breed like rabbits, but conservationists are worried about the impact on Kabeljou (see below), which is caught by the same trawling method. Similar-looking (and named) fishes are found in many parts of the world; ours are more tasty. Really.

Butterfish: A handful of what fishermen know as oilfishes are sold as Butterfish in South Africa. After preparation they are very soft and flaky, and if the job is done right they can all taste quite pleasant. Another plus is that they are rated highly sustainable, because all these fishes are by-catches. On the negative side is the fact that they can rapidly cause sudden and violent diarrhoea in some people. Don’t risk it. Also don’t confuse it with the very different species that go by the same name across the globe.

Kabeljou: AKA Silver Kob, Dusky Kob, or just Cob on occasion. These turn out to be three closely related species, all of which are delicious enough to be specifically targeted by recreational fishermen. Somewhat tricky to prepare, so look for a specialist seafood chef or other trustworthy cook. Rated orange because of depleted stocks but not considered in danger of extinction.

Galjoen: Sports fishermen love this beast, spear-fishers especially, because of its speed, strength and perceived wiliness. Doesn’t taste bad either. But be aware that it is only allowed to be caught recreationally, and not at all during the summer months. If it is offered in a restaurant it’s almost certainly illegal.

Dorado: Sometimes also called Dolphinfish (though rarely on menus, presumably because it wouldn’t sell well if it were). Another game fish that requires pretty hard work to land. This one, though, is legal – and worth the price if you find it.