The month where our sanity gives up

Farmer Pete, it seems, feels very strongly about eggs. Or chickens. Or perhaps the fragile balance between the two. Which is why, according to the New York Post, he opened fire in a bar after an argument about how many eggs a chicken can lay. 

The article was unclear whether the debate referred to eggs per day, week, month, or over the lifetime of the chicken. It didn’t clarify whether Farmer Pete believed the chicken had rights, if the chicken was casual labour, or working under the pressure of unrealistic key performance indicators. It also didn’t say which side of the argument he was on. Instead, it focused, as American media tends to, on the fight, the firearms, and the arrests that followed. 

But the detail hardly matters. What matters is this: it’s November, and people around the world are losing their minds. 

If you haven’t noticed it, South Africa isn’t immune. In fact, we seem to experience November more intensely than most countries, as if the national mood has been slow-cooked over the year and is now bubbling over like a forgotten pot of Friday-night chicken soup. 

Everyone I know is exhausted. Not regular exhausted, November exhausted. That special form of fatigue where even the most functional among us begin slurring our words, forgetting our children’s names, and bursting into tears during school concerts for no logical reason at all. 

It’s the month where WhatsApp groups multiply. Suddenly there’s a class concert; an end-of-year assembly; a teacher’s gift collection; a braai; a braai-planning committee; a “Farewell 2025” video montage; and three unrelated reminders to bring muffins. 

Every company you’ve ever encountered, plus several you didn’t know existed, decides to squeeze in one more networking breakfast, strategy session, year-end function, or “quick” planning meeting. 

Add to that the dinners. The reunions. The shul functions. The charity evenings. The sudden need for new shoes for every child because their old pair has mysteriously “vanished”. The traffic is a mess. The cold front that wasn’t predicted. And the electricity bill that is certainly wrong, because there’s no world in which that number is justified. 

And we haven’t even started talking about the matrics; the varsity students; the office staff hanging by threads; the parents trying to remember who still needs a lift home; and the teachers – heroes, really – who are pushing through the final stretch with nothing but caffeine and the promise of December. 

It’s no wonder that Farmer Pete snapped. I’m not excusing it, but I’m saying, “I understand.” Because November is the month where even the most patient among us discover that our tolerance has expired. The emotional warranty has run out. The wheels on the proverbial trolley have fallen off, and one is squeaking in protest. 

November is the month where we all silently yearn for just one day without obligations. A day where nobody asks us for anything. A day where we don’t have to clap politely at a school performance, smile at a work function, or attend yet another brainstorming session titled “Vision 2026”. 

Despite the madness, November also reminds us that we made it through. Through the bills; the politics; the crises; the headlines; the lost homework; the broken appliances; the unanswered emails; and the days that were simply too much. 

We’re battered, a bit wobbly, possibly crying in the car, but we’re here. 

And in a few weeks, December will soften us again. We’ll exhale. We’ll sleep a little more. We’ll laugh about how close we came to becoming Farmer Pete, and then finally, we will have no opinion whatsoever about how many eggs a chicken should lay.