Turns out, I was wrong.
Yes, we all technically speak English — but between the accents, the slang, and the “Sorry, are you British?” moments… it sometimes feels like we’re translating in real time.
One of the greatest gifts of this emigration journey has been finding a community of fellow South African expats. People who get it — who understand when you say you’re gatvol, who laugh at jokes no one else finds funny, and who know the emotional cost of not having Woolies in your life anymore.
One thing about South Africans? We find each other. The unmistakable sound of someone saying “shame, man” with perfect inflection. There’s something about our culture — the humor, the sarcasm, the way we tell a story that creates instant connection.
Add to that the shared experience of being an immigrant — of starting again, of missing home in the weirdest small ways — there is an invisible thread that binds us together and kinda feels like home.
What I’ve learned is this:
When you emigrate as an adult, you’re leaving behind friendships that span decades. The worst thing you can do is try to replace them. You can’t. And you shouldn’t.
But you can build new ones — slowly, intentionally, and without expectation. You can meet people who become part of your story in a different way.
And when you do… it’s magic.
To anyone starting over — your people are out there. Sometimes gathered around a braai. Sometimes wearing green and gold. Sometimes showing up just when you need them most.
