When an earthquake is light relief

I’m not sure what it says about my social life, but last week’s earthquake was the most fun we’ve had on a Saturday night in years.

Maybe even in decades.

It was exciting, it got our heart rates up, and had just the right element of danger. Unlike Netflix on a Saturday night, it was something that we did together as a couple. And it was very, very social. More than that, it gave us something to talk about for the days that followed as we relived, reminisced, and shared the experience with anyone who would listen. In addition to this, there was a great sense of relief when it was over.

Much like Saturday nights used to be. When we were younger.

It was also a welcome break from loadshedding, water-related discussions, potholes, and from the devaluation of the rand thanks to the government’s Russia policy. All of which was frustratingly preventable, predictable, and given the current lack of leadership, probable.

In contrast to the earthquake, which couldn’t have been planned for, couldn’t have been prevented, and where there was no-one to blame. Leaving aside the mining theory for now.

The great Boksburg slash Alberton earthquake wasn’t the only show in town. Comrades runners and supporters who were already in Umhlanga, with a hint of Pietermaritzburg, were busy with their own earth-shattering event that like the earthquake, was social, dangerous (no-one should be running that distance), and something that would be spoken about for days. Much like the earthquake, it too was a relief when it was over.

As frightening as the 4.5 magnitude earthquake was when it hit at 02:38, for the most part it was treated with humour and levity. Aside from the neighbourhood hadedas, who were unimpressed with being woken an hour or two early, most people, once they realised that their homes weren’t being broken into, that their husbands weren’t having seizures, that the Russians hadn’t arrived, and that there was no bulldozer in the garden, seem to take the Boksburg (Alberton) event in their stride. Pausing only to confirm on Twitter that everyone had experienced the same thing.

Which they had.

What’s clear is that South Africans are desperate for a break from the depressing and repetitive reality that they are forced to deal with day in and day out. A reality that has an impact on them in almost every facet of their lives.

So desperate is this need, that they are prepared to punish their bodies and their families by choosing to run close to 90km. So desperate are they, that they are happy to be woken up at 02:38 on a Sunday morning by the aggressive shaking of their beds. Because while they train and run, and while their legs burn and their thighs chafe and their nipples bleed, it’s impossible to consider what the African National Congress is doing to the country.

And because we would rather put our future into the hands of an act of G-d, like an earthquake in Boksburg slash Alberton, than we would in our current government. Which is way more frightening than Saturday night arrangements.