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Technically a mielie is an ear of corn and braai is a verb referring to the process of barbecuing (usually meat), so a braai mielie is simply a piece of corn prepared over an open fire. But sometimes direct translation fails, and this is one of those times.

The braai mielie is a South African phenomenon that laughs in the face of academic analysis and stubbornly refuses to make sense. In some urban areas, like Johannesburg, they are an infallible seasonal feature. Whenever mielies become available it’s like God’s own multifunction printer kicks into action to run off an infinite number of exact replicas of the braai-mielie lady: always black, always female, always friendly, always on duty no matter what the weather, always tending a fire fuelled primarily by a mixture of anthracite and soft, smoky coal, which is always contained in a modified big metal drum, and always stationed by the side of the road, anywhere the road shoulder allows a truck to pull over.

Mainstream retail has attempted to co-opt the braai mielie that seems so popular (given the high number of roadside sellers) but attempts have invariably failed. Nobody wants to buy a mielie over the counter after it has been carefully prepared on an industrial-grade gas-fired stove by a trained food technician in an environment certified to be hygienic. We want to pull off the road and buy a mielie which is carcinogenic and probably slightly radioactive from all the coal dust spread over it, and then eat it without so much as a pad of butter for accompaniment.

If you are not familiar with corn on the cob, it isn’t exactly easy to eat with one hand (or at all), so why it should be popular among drivers is yet another mystery. And the fierce competition among the sellers, sometimes located just across the road from one another Starbucks-style, mean that prices are rock-bottom low, so why they bother to do it is also not clear. Yet rain or shine you can find a mielie lady ready to serve.

We wouldn’t normally recommend them on a culinary basis, but if you are the kind of tourist who has a township tour on your itinerary, then don’t go home until you can claim to have eaten one.

They are like lit oases in an ocean of darkness at night, and often like frantically buzzing beehives during the day. They are the 24-hour garage shops, and they are your friends.

Here in South Africa we have a peculiar overpopulation of petrol stations (for the Brits, that would be “service station”; for the Yanks, we’re talking about “gas stations”.) It’s a long and somewhat complicated story, but basically the formula used to regulate the petrol price makes it very profitable for oil companies to invest in fixed assets. Such as land and buildings. Which is why they have dotted the landscape with two to three times as many petrol stations as South Africa could conceivably need.

Due to some other quirks in the legislation and regulation, almost every petrol station is open for business 24 hours a day, and almost every single one has a shop attached to it. And in this case “shop” is shorthand for “emporium of delights so rich and varied that it boggles the mind.”

Even the most beggarly of these shops will sell you an ice cold Coca-Cola, a selection of chocolate bars and ice creams, packets of instant soup, wiper blades and a box of condoms to get you through those lonely nights. Hey, we’re not here to judge your preferences, just to inform.

But an overwhelming majority also have advanced bachelor support systems that range from in-house bakeries to full-service fast-food outlets. In the cities you’ll also easily find one co-branded with the Woolworths retail chain, where you’ll find premium pre-prepared microwave meals, fresh fruit and vegetables and fresh custard. Any of these will also boast an automatic teller machine (ATM), so a shortage of cash won’t even be a valid excuse. Harder to find (but more exciting still) are the ones that integrate high-end coffee franchises, where a trained barista will grind your beans fresh. No kidding.

In the cities these little slices of paradise are thick as flies on a dog turd, but if a town is big enough to appear on a map you’ll find a 24-hour garage in it. Oh, and they are also common in the absolute middle of nowhere, if you are driving along a major highway.

If you hail from a third world country (like anywhere in Europe) we know you’ll find it hard to believe. But when you run out of triple-A batteries at three in the morning, or absolutely must have ribbed-for-her-pleasure consumables, just step outside and look for a brightly lit forecourt. The petrol station will provide.