I handed the free range rump in its multi-layered packaging to the Woolworths cashier.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Okay,” she replied, “What’s the weather like outside?”

“Hot and getting hotter. How do you like it? Hot or cold?”

“In between. But I’m getting thirsty. I can’t afford a drink.”

“Don’t they sort you out here - give you a discount?”

“No. I can’t even afford a coke,” she sulked, handing me my change.

I wondered if she was angling for a tip. But then I realised what this was.

It was a mini flash mob, part of Woolworths’ political campaign to remind us just how divided our nation is. Their first flash mob was outstanding. It was filmed by what must have been an army of cameramen hiding in strategic locations in a Woolies store.

It started like a regular Wooly day. Workers packed the shelves while wealthy looking customers ambled about not knowing quite how to spend their money. A cashier swiped stuff at a till while a bored customer watched. 7 December 2013, 10:15am a title proclaimed, just two days after Nelson Mandela’s death.

Then one of the workers looked around, stopped wiping the café counter, and broke into song. “Asimbonanga…” he sang (we have not seen him).

And all the workers stopped what they were doing and joined in. “Asimbonang’, uMandela thina,” they chorused (we have not seen Mandela).

“Laph’ekhona. Laph’ehleli khona.” (In the place where he is. In the place where he is kept).

It was sung with emotion no doubt inspired by Madiba’s passing. Customers looked up from their skinny cappuccinos and guilty nibbles and the cameramen caught those essential parts of every flash mob film: WTF moments of onlookers. There were enough Woolworths W’s on aprons and shop walls for a hundred WTF’s. But the customer’s expressions soon turned to smiles as the workers walked through the store, singing away. You got a sense of the emotion and the song reached it’s crux when the workers moved towards the exit where the majority of onlookers stood, blocking their way. The workers extended their arms and pointed at them singing:

“Hey wena!” (Hey you!)

“Hey wena nawe.” (Hey you and you as well)

“Siyofika nini la’ siyakhona?” (When will we arrive at our destination?)

And the customers smiled because they didn’t have a clue when the workers would arrive at their destination, or even what that destination was, but they had the foresight to capture this poignant moment on their smart phones because it seemed so… authentic.

The workers sang the chorus once more and finished off defiantly by raising their fists as a salute to the struggle. The customers raised their hands in applause.

It was genius. It was brave. Who expected a supermarket chain could be so politically motivated, so selfless that it would stage divisions within one of its stores to represent the divisions in our nation. How motivated must they have been to spring into action immediately after the death of Nelson Mandela, the world’s foremost icon of equality and compassion, to use this sad event to mine our collective sense of irony and show South Africans just how far we are from Mandela’s vision.

More recently I stopped at a service station to fill up. Across the road, three homeless people were fighting over a supermarket trolly filled with dirty blankets and other paraphernalia. They were all drunk. There were about ten men watching from the service station and nearby shops, but they stood immobile. Some laughed.

One customer was clearly disgusted. She said to a station attendant, “Why don’t you go and do something?” I felt bad so I got out the car and started over there. I called to the petrol attendants to come and help, but they didn’t move. Then a big guy jumped out of a dilapidated tow truck and joined me.

“Lets go fuck them up,” he said.

“No one’s fucking anyone up,” I said. “We just break it up, Okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “But you better buy me a coke.”

I guessed it was another flash mob.