Fear Factor, African Style

I am living this summer at a convent. If you put together all of your stereotypes of what a room at a convent that also boards young women, and protects their chastity, would look like, you would have a rough approximation of my room. The walls are a sort of two-shades-lighter-than-Pepto-Bismol pink, the carpet and draperies are a dusky rose, and the two chairs that sit by the doily-covered sitting table are covered in an upholstery that may be familiar to you if you have a 150-year-old great-aunt. However: private furnished room and bathroom, full-length mirror, private entrance and exit (meaning the 11 pm curfew does not apply to me! In loco parentis my ass, chumps!), and a TV and DVD player—yeah, I can make this work. And it’s walking distance to work.

So let’s talk a little about South African television. Big into sports, I’ve watched a lot of the European soccer championships, and rugby matches are on regularly, but that’s no different from home—I mean the sports are different, but not the ubiquity of them. There are soap operas—mostly South African ones, which are hilarious because they have subtitles as the characters regularly slip into languages other than English; but also a healthy dose of “All My Children”; and I woke up the other morning to the disconcerting sight of Sesame Street in Afrikaans.

But what is most bizarre to me is their unyielding affection for, and apparent insatiable appetite for, American reality television. And not even the really fun ones, like “I Know My Kid’s A Star” or “Celebrity Fit Club: Boot Camp.” No, we’re talking “Survivor” and “Amazing Race” and “Fear Factor.”

“Fear Factor” is the one I don’t get. Really? In Africa? I mean, I get that if you are an overfed, overprivileged American, watching people face down spiders and eat bugs pretty much sums up all your nightmares. But if you’ve survived apartheid, or live in a shanty with no plumbing or electricity, or you’ve fled a neighboring country because of oppression or lack of opportunity or because your currency is roughly 2.5 billion dollars to one American greenback (yes, Zimbabwe, I’m looking at you, and yes, that is the actual exchange rate now, not an exaggeration—wrap your mind around that if you can), then is watching someone eat a slug really going to freak you out? I mean aren’t you just like, “amateurs, when I was making my 1500-mile trek here from Congo after having my hands cut off I would have *killed* for a slug to eat”?

Imagine what an African version of Fear Factor would be like. Seriously, what’s even left to be afraid of?