If you are a human, 2010 was a very good year to be a South African.

If you are a penguin, every day is a good day, but last Saturday was an even better day.

So, let me start with 2010. That was the year that South Africa hosted the Soccer World Cup. Us South Africans get things right more often than what we give ourselves credit for. Hosting the World Cup was such a heady time. It took place during what must have been one of our coldest winters, but that did not stop us from going out and staying out late, even when our toes were numb with cold. Apart from our national Ubuntu, that became so evident in that time, two other iconic objects will always take me back to that time. The one is the Vuvuzela, and the other? K’naan belting out “Wave Your Flag.”

Let’s start with the Vuvuzela. The actual “thing” is cheap and nasty. It is basically an inexpensive injection moulded plastic horn shaped shell. It is about 65cm long. It produced an extremely loud, monotone note. Google tells me that its high volume can lead to permanent hearing loss for unprotected ears after close range exposure with a sound level of 120dB(A). Unless you have a prepossessed affiliation with a Vuvuzela, they are horrid things, but loved by local soccer fans. Only once in my life, did I unconditionally love a Vuvuzela. It was during this 2010 world cup and I had travelled abroad. I was excited about the trip; my only regret was that I would miss the fantastic vibe in our country. On my travels, I was sitting in a rather fancy hotel, when I spotted 2 fellow tourists at a table, and peeking out of their luggage? A Vuvuzela. In that moment, my proud South African heart swelled with love at the sight and my soul rejoiced in a monotone 120dB. I have been following the Western Cape baboon management program proposals. It has been suggested that baboon monitors are issued with Vuvuzelas. It has been identified as a most effective way of warning humans when a baboon troupe is in the area. That infamous, extremely loud squawk can be heard a mile away.

Our poor baboons. They have no idea what is waiting for them.

There are few other sounds that can silence the Vuvuzela. In 2010, it was the song Wave Your Flag. This song was originally written for Somalia and the aspirations of its people for freedom. To us, it was the unofficial World Cup anthem. Coca Cola chose it as the promotional music for the 2010 World Cup. I may not like the drink, but Coca Cola has a knack of choosing iconic songs for their campaigns. Do you remember some time back in the ‘70s, when Coke said it would like to teach the world to sing….In Wave Your Flag, we had an African son of the soil, K’naan, singing:

When I get older

I will be stronger

They’ll call me freedom just like a waving flag.

FIFA selected their own official song, performed by a Colombian singer. The music video showed the lady singer contorting with a bit of local talent backup dancers, who looked like they were not sure whether to lamban (an African dance style, performed at joyous occasions) or belly dance, all dressed up in what looked like a “lemoen sakkie”, grass skirt and more beads on her head than found on an abacus. Had she asked a local, they would have told her that when a South African upcycles a lemoen sakkie (for the cousins of another mother: that is the woven orange bag that one buys oranges in), it is to turn it into a exfoliating plastic loofah in the shower. Now, us South Africans do not know much about Waka Waka-ing, but we are very good at waving our flag. As with the Vuvuzela, our flag is bright, bold, and unconventional. Initially there were pockets of resistance to both objects, but it has now been absorbed into our collective DNA, and we are proud and protective of both icons. All of us have at some point tried to blow a Vuvuzela. You have no idea how difficult it is, until you try.

This past Saturday, we attended the Penguin Palooza. What happens at a Palooza, you ask? Well, you see. Just perhaps the Wave Your Flag song was written for baby penguins. Sometimes penguins get themselves into a spot of trouble. Either the nests get washed away before the eggs have hatched, during a storm, or parents die and leave orphans behind, or they just run into a spot of trouble, such as dirty oil spills. Fortunately, there are kind humans out there that rescue and rehabilitate these penguins. As much as it is nice to be pampered at penguin rehab, there comes a time for penguins to sing:

When I get older

I will be stronger

They’ll give me freedom just like a waving tail…..

And what would be the point of releasing penguins back into nature, without creating a bit of Palooza to mark the occasion?

We made our way down to Stoney Point in Bettys Bay. Stoney Point is a nature reserve, home to a unique colony of African Penguins. This is as close as you will ever come to penguins in the wild. There are thousands of them. A group of baby penguins are called a creche. They are cute little adorable balls of fluff. Baby penguin fluff is designed to keep the chicks warm, but is not waterproof, and as they get older, they will lose this fluff and grow big bird feathers that will keep them dry when swimming. It was a windy day (what’s new?), and all-around small piles of this fluff was blown into corners and crevices. Wow, I thought. How lucky I am. There I was, going around collecting fury fluff, thinking to myself: How many people have actually held baby penguin fluff in their hands, and was now collecting it to take home and keep in a jar, so I can make my inland friends jealous? I spotted a particular patch of fluff and stuck my hand into the hole in a firm grip to pull it out. Trouble is, I did not realise that the fluff was still attached to a very huffy, and now indignant penguin chick, who wasted no time in telling me off. Chicks only look fluffy and cute, until you annoy them. I got such a fright that I let go of my entire feather collection and am left with only about ten little ones that stuck to my clammy hand. Oh well. How lucky I am, that I can go back next Saturday and collect more fluff.

Soon, I will be showing off. Oh, that jar of fluff? Nothing special about it. We have piles of it lying around our backyard. It is baby penguin fluff, I will tell them, with that nonchalant look of privilege. Those who know me better will know how very fortunate I am. It is not every day that one gets to attend a Penguin Palooza. And leave with a fist full of feathers.