Chipyks
Yesterday was supposed to be a simple eye surgery trip for my mom. Quick in, quick out, maybe grab a snack along the way.
By the time we left?
✅ I was ready to expropriate my land.
✅ I had eaten the same sammich THREE times.
✅ A nurse had destroyed the concept of music.
✅ I learned apartheid was run by people who made life-altering decisions using office supplies.
This was not just a hospital trip—this was a journey of discovery.
🚗 Scene 1: The Day I Became a Revolutionary
So my mom casually tells me:
“We’re going to Suiderberg for my eye surgery.”
And I’m like, “Cool, hospitals, whatever.”
Then she adds:
“This is where I grew up—before the government kicked us out.”
Wait.
Hold up.
💭 Did apartheid steal our land??
💭 What if there’s a KFC on my grandfather’s soil??
💭 What if some real estate agent is selling MY heritage??
Immediate radicalization.
🚨 Step 1: Confirm my family’s stolen land.
🚨 Step 2: Call Julius Malema. Join the EFF.
🚨 Step 3: Take back what’s mine. No compensation, just vibes.
🚨 Step 4: Build a braai stand on it and declare independence.
🚨 Step 5: Plant Bermuda lawn and mow epic stripes every day that begins with a ‘T’—Tuesdays, Thursdays, Taturdays, Tundays, Tevery Tucked Day.
Meanwhile, my mom?
She was just worried about her eye surgery.
Me?
I was ready to start my own country.
And then she hit me with a history lesson that didn’t just confirm my expropriation ambitions—it sent them into HYPERDRIVE.
📜 Scene 2: Apartheid’s Bic Pen Racial Sorting System
Look, we all know apartheid was a mess.
But my mom casually dropped a piece of history so stupid, I actually had to sit down.
Back in the day, the government didn’t need birth certificates or DNA tests to classify your race.
Oh no.
They had Oom Gert at Home Affairs.
This man would take one look at you, and BOOM—your entire future was decided.
📝 “Coloured?” Off to Eersterust.
📝 “Black?” Pack your bags for Vlakfontein.
📝 Not sure?Time for the Bic Pen Test.
YES. A BIC PEN.
💀💀💀
This was apartheid’s scientific method.
Oom Gert would take a cheap office pen and shove it into your hair.
If it fell out? Congrats, you were Coloured.
If it stayed in? Sorry, you were Black.
That was it.
Like some budget Hogwarts Sorting Hat, except instead of Gryffindor and Slytherin, you got “Eersterust” and “Vlakfontein.”
I was laughing AND questioning reality.
Because if the apartheid government was running an entire country using office supplies, then I could 100% reclaim my stolen homeland with confidence.
And when I did, I’d make sure it was covered in lush, deep-green Bermuda grass with stripes so clean, people would walk barefoot just to experience greatness.
🚜 Step 6: Mow epic stripes every Tuesday, Thursday, Taturday, Tunday, and Tevery Tucked Day.
Because when you reclaim your land, you must treat it like royalty.
But before I could start my revolution, we had to survive the eye clinic.
🏥 Scene 3: The Receptionist Who Needed My Mom’s DNA & Hated Life
From the moment we walked into that clinic, I could feel the misery in the air.
The receptionist?
👀 Zero emotions.
👀 Zero effort.
👀 100% “I hate this job and I hate you” energy.
She looked at us like we personally offended her ancestors.
Like, I get it, sis. Life is tough. But please don’t aim your depression at my mom’s appointment.
Then, my mom drops a bomb:
“Oh no… I forgot my medical aid card.”
😐 Instant tension.
This woman perked up IMMEDIATELY.
Finally, her moment to shine.
“No card? I need confirmation from Bonitas.”
Okay, fair. But THEN:
📌 “I also need a letter with the patient details on a Bonitas letterhead.”
📌 “And a drop of blood.”
📌 “And a piece of hair.”
📌 “And a DNA sample.”
📌 “And fingerprints.”
Ma’am.
We are here for an EYE APPOINTMENT, not a paternity test.
I looked around, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I was being punked.
But no.
She was dead serious.
I could feel my soul leaving my body.
I needed food immediately.
So, I did what any rational person would do.
I left.
And went on a side quest.
🥪 Scene 4: The Greatest Sammich of All Time
I found myself in the clinic canteen.
And that’s where I found it.
A toasted bacon and cheese sammich—handcrafted by the culinary gods.
One bite in…
My soul left my body.
I turned to the canteen lady and said:
“Ma’am, this is the greatest sammich I have ever eaten. I would move here just for this.”
She laughed.
I wasn’t joking.
Then, my phone buzzed.
Mom: “I also got the sammich. I saved half for you.”
🥹 This woman is an icon.
🥪 Scene 6: The Triple Sammich Betrayal
When my mom finally came out of surgery, she looked at me and said:
“Here’s your half.”
I took it.
I ate it.
And that’s when it hit me.
I had now eaten THE SAME SAMMICH THREE TIMES.
Once for breakfast.
Once for lunch.
Once for post-surgery recovery.
At this rate, I had to marry the canteen lady.
So I went back.
Me: “Marry me and make me these every morning.”
Her: “I don’t want to be used.”
Damn.
Rejected twice in one day.
🚜 Scene 7: Next Stop—Reclaiming My Land
We never got to drive through Old Lady Selborne.
But I promised my mom—next week, we’re going.
And this time?
I’m bringing a lawyer.
Because if I find a Checkers where my grandfather’s house used to be…
I’m taking that sh*t back.
EFF-style.
No compensation.
Just vibes.
🔥🚜 Viva la revolution! And viva la Bermuda stripes every Tuesday, Thursday, Taturday, Tunday, and Tevery Tucked Day! 🚜🔥
