When you live in the middle of nowhere and have none to talk to, you begin to crave interaction. I suppose that I could have spoken to my parents, but they were loathe to talk of frivolous matters and often they were the cause of my various frustrations, including my isolation.

I had a dog once, and he was a great comfort for a while. He was put down, something happened and I don’t recall what it was. They refused to indulge me with another pet, each time they would shake their head and mutter something unintelligible before stalking off. It was somewhere around this time that I realised that people, animals, no matter who they are; they all leave regardless.

We lived on a huge farm, and I started exploring when I knew my presence would not be missed. And that was when I found the courtyard, with its crumbling gray walls. Nature had taken over this little orchard. But in the centre there was a little lemon tree and it became my new companion. I would escape here when I needed to get away from the tyranny of my parents, or the stillness of that great big empty house. Even though the tree offered no words, it offered a great tranquillity and calmness.

The tree had a name in my mind; I would call it Lenard the Lemon Tree. I would go and sit by the tree and talk all my frustrations out with Lenard. I would imagine Lenard replying and sympathising with me. He even on occasion gave me advice, and I would follow his advice for it always seemed sound. Lenard quickly became my best friend, and I would find reasons to go and visit him. Unfortunately, he could not move away from the little orchard, my little friend.

With the coming of Spring, Lenard bloomed and lush lemons lined his small branches. I remember his utter joy at blooming, how thrilled he was that he could share his gift with somebody who could appreciate them. He would regularly encourage me to pick that special fruit of his. I would take it home with me, and my parents would marvel at my find. Lenard’s gift of his fruit seemed to bring my parents closer to me, they took interest for once. I began to jealously pick large quantities from the branches of Lenard, hoping each day for the same praise from my mother and father. Lenard, being a truly giving person, did not begrudge my taking of fruit; he seemed equally pleased that it was bringing me closer to my parents. Lenard regularly tried to persuade me to speak to my parents, to create a relationship with them once more. I don’t think even he realised that he would initiate my craving for their affection and attention.

Spring started to pass into Summer, and eventually my parents were not so easily impressed by the lemons. The moments my mother and I spent in the kitchen making lemon muffins passed, and my fathers smile at the dinner table were becoming but fading memories in my mind. I began to do more to get simple praise, which would spark a small smile to my pale cheeks. Lenard was no more help as he had no more lemons to give up, and I would beg him to grow faster, to be able to give me more. I tearfully begged him, I tried to manipulate and twist him but he would not give me any more lemons. How was I to get my parents to talk to me? We began to fight him and I, and I regretfully kept away from Lenard for over a week.

During that week I became my old sullen self, I noticed the change immediately. I regretted that Lenard and I were fighting but even more I mourned over the loss of my parents. They walked around the house, with their blank masks over their faces, hiding their smiles beneath. How they taunted me. I relished seeing the smile, their eyes light up for me. How ironic that I’d rejected them for so long, and then one moment with them could change everything. I became a drug addict desperate for my next hit.

Desperation changed me. I could no nothing but make plans to please my parents. And Lenard, the more I wanted to make them smile, the more he had stood in my way. That insidious, devious lemon tree that jealously was trying to keep me to himself, unable to share. Everybody leaves and nobody could be trusted.

That night I crept back to the orchard, the blackness of the sky mirroring the hate in my heart. The only witness to my dreadful deed was the full moon. I stalked up to Lenard, and he didn’t even hear me coming until I stood in front of him. He immediately spoke lies to me, insisting that he had missed me and that we should put it behind us. I paused then, what was the ‘it’ that we should put behind us. He told me that I was selfish, and that I was sick. He told me that he knew what happened to my little dog, that I had tortured the dog beyond comprehension and that my parents had been forced to isolate me from everybody since then. I remember screaming at Lenard, insisting that he was lying to me and that was when I lifted the axe over my head and sunk it deep into the flesh of Lenard. In my rage, I raised the axe again and again ignoring the screams of Lenard until he lay dead on the floor. The moonlight shone down on Lenard, highlighting my deed. The unbearable silence settled into the orchard, I looked down at my hands and I could see the blood shining, always dripping. The axe slipped to the ground, and the last sound that was heard in that orchard that night was the hard fall of my feet on the earth. 

I’m driving idly through the streets of Pretoria, with each new car that passes me by, yet another scene of my dramatic yet unsuccessful love life plays in the movie of my mind. I heave a sigh, and notice yet another car with a flag waving some countries colours. The radio is buzzing about the Gautrain which is finally operational, and about all the foreigners that are flocking to the country for the World Cup. And slowly, two and two connect and a devious plan is plotted in seconds. The plan of the Foreign Fling.

The maths seems so logical, although the exact figures and science I will leave to the Nerds. At this very minute, foreigners are flocking to the country of South Africa to support their teams in the Soccer World Cup. These foreigners, based on assumption, will largely be male and a percentage of that number will be in the right age demographic to be considered for the Foreign Fling. The exact numbers are unknown to me, but I’d say once the Nerds have calculated the number of men in the right age group, subtracted the married, the gay and the ugly... Well, there are some men left for consideration. Maybe about 100?

The game plan is this. Local girls who apply for the Foreign Fling are challenged to compete against each other in having a short romance with the said foreigner. While it is easy enough to announce the challenge to the local female population, it is not going to be as easy to play the game.

You may be wondering as to why you would want a Foreign Fling? And if you do not know the answer, you have made the game that much easier for all the girls around you. Why are foreigners so entirely delicious? Could it be that they are foreign, and hold a mirage of mystery? It could be that delectable accent from their home country. And the idea of having a man whisper sweet nothings into your ear in another language? That doesn’t do anything for you? There is something curious and mysterious about men that are not from around here. They have different upbringings, their cultures and the way they think are so vastly different. How could you not be stuck in conversation for hours, and with an accent, you’d want to be in that conversation!

Hollywood has given certain countries certain reputations, and you can hardly blame a girl for wanting to find out how true they are. Italians, French, Brazilians, Spanish, Greeks, Germans... It’s a shopping list, and you just need to decide now. But don’t think it’s going to be easy picking up these boys. You may hold some slight charm, being a foreign delight to them as well. But when supply outweighs demand, there is always a problem.

Problem #1.

It is all very well stated that the girls should compete in attaining themselves a foreign boy, but where are these foreigners? They are obviously not used to the local entertainment and are not as likely to be found in the same places where we, as a representative of the female populace, hang out. I can only assume that it will be easy to pick them out in a crowd, as tourists usually are.

Solution #1.

As stated above, we can assume that they will be easy enough to pick out of a crowd. Look for the tanned beautiful men of Europe with the accent that makes you want to drool, well, that’s who I’m looking for at any rate. If he isn’t tall, dark and totally drop dead gorgeous - I’m going home.

As for the location of these mysterious boys, I believe that we have several options available to us. The first step we can take is to be found sauntering around OR Tambo Airport, waiting for the international arrivals. When the arrivals come in, we will mark the good ones and casually invite them out to a party or give them our number. Another option is to follow them from the airport to their hotel; however, I believe this one may be slightly reminiscent of the movie Taken and their human trafficking scheme. Maybe not the best way forward.

The next option is to perhaps just stick to your local malls and cultural venues. They are not always going to be experiencing the soccer flavour and will need to enlighten themselves with a bit of South African culture. This indicates that they are certainly going to head for museums, game parks and shopping malls. Pick a spot and wait for the right hottie to cross your path.

And most obviously, go to the soccer games. It may not be the best place to pick up a guy, as most will be influenced by alcohol covered in their team colours and roaring obscenities. If the South Africans have anything to do with it, we will be educating them on the usage of Vuvuzela’s as well. It could be a most dangerous place for finding a man, but the option is there. The advantages are that you could most certainly be picky and decide which Foreigner you would want.

Problem #2.

The next thing is, looking at this from an individual’s perspective, is the challenge of the local girls. We are vast, and we are numerous. We are the supply, and they are the demand. Unfortunately, from our side, that means that these boys can be picky and choose which of us they want like we are items of tinned food on the shelf.

I’m just guessing numbers again, but I’d wager that for every Foreign Fling potential there are about 100 of us girls. This poses a problem for the 100 with their eye on that guy. Within seconds the first 80 or 90 will be eliminated, they will be ruthless in this stage of the game and then it’s down to the last few girls to make an impression and to beat the other girl. The game turns into a silent cat fight, where we as women must maintain perfect pose at all times and yet still intimidate the other girls. This is where the real crunch of the problem is, what are you going to do to stand out in the competition? What makes you so memorable? Looks and personality may only take you so far with the local boys, but with these men you have the extra challenge of showing them what South Africa is all about.

Solution #2.

The answer to this problem is not something that I can tell you, but it is for you to figure out. Show off your South African charm, and how Local is Lekker. Use the mystery of a Foreign Fling to your advantage, as he is as curious about you as you are about him. Embrace who you are and use that to your favour.

Another obvious answer here is that, girls, you need to flirt and always keep a good lip gloss on you. If you don’t look kissable, then what are you doing in the game?

Problem #3.

Are they really interested in having a fling? They paid a lot of money to come and watch soccer and support their country. Another thing is some girls, me included, are totally ignorant about the rules of the game. Soccer is the round ball right?

Solution #3.

Of course they want to have a fling, they are men. And men have two heads to think with. When they are not thinking about soccer, what are they thinking about? Two guesses and the first guess doesn’t count.

As for the rules of the game, there are two options here. Do the groundwork and find out more about soccer, find out what the rules are and who the players are. Get updated on when the matches are and where they are taking place. By doing the legwork and becoming soccer know it all, you ensure that the conversation can continue when talk of the games comes around. And you never know, he might even be impressed that you know something about soccer. If you are the type to rub it in his nose that his team lost, be careful. Not all men take these kinds of jibes well, and it might be a Fling Breaker.

Another approach that you might have, but this boy needs to be totally smitten with you, is that you can take the ignorant approach and attempt to get him to teach you the game. This ensures that he will remain talking to you when the game is playing. Expect long pauses between your lessons though. This approach might have conversational and cute value, but it also may lead him to think that you are a nitwit who should just be kept on his arm because you look pretty at night. In that case, be prepared to be ignored.

Other helpful advice

Be yourself and look fabulous at all times. Girls, we know who the poppies are, and they are simply imitations of the European wannabes. Try being original and complex in some manners, in both your personality and your appearance. Can you run around kicking a ball by day, and wear a pair of heels at night? If you can, you are a keeper.

Remember, these boys are not looking for a wife or a long time girlfriend, but for a girl to be his holiday romance. Well, I’m not sure that they are looking for romance as much as we are, but it will do. If you are in the 1% that finds a guy that wants to marry you and take you to meet his mother in Spain, congrats to you! Long life and good health! To the rest, don’t fall in love because when he goes home you are going to be wrecked for another 5 weeks. This Foreign Fling is about 5 weeks of memorable fun, and if you can’t handle that, then you need to deactivate from the challenge straight away. Be glad that you don’t have to go to his house and meet his mother and his 21 cousins who look like they belong in the FHM calendar.

When you do nab the guy that you set out for, make sure you show him the South African way of hospitality. That doesn’t mean take him to Soweto and leaving him there to be hijacked, mugged and then sold to the human trafficking system. That means you invite your friends over for a braai and you cook up all those great family favourites. Don’t forget the local beverages as well; Black Label and Castle are the family bests. If you must, pull out the Afrikaans treffers so that you can sokkie, at least make sure you are not the only idiot who enjoys it. You could be listening to the sound of crickets chirping by the end of the first song.

Conclusion

Good luck fellow ladies, May the best of us achieve the Foreign Fling, and to the others, don’t worry if you didn’t get to compete! Local boys are always still around, and I doubt that they would resent you for entering the Foreign Fling Challenge, because many have been dreaming about the Men’s version of the Fling Challenge. Locals, they are, truly, the best. At the end of the day, I know that my money is still on a local sweetheart to win my heart.

But most of important, I wondered how God sees you today. This is what He gave me to tell you.