TPS

[Martin Hash]

In Africa, there is an item so common, so ubiquitous in its presence, so universal in its use, that it deserves its own acronym: TPS – “thin plastic sacks.” Everything you buy, no matter the poverty of the venue or resources of the vendor, will be ensconced in a TPS before being handed over to you. There is only one size of TPS so sometimes you will receive dozens of the flimsy bags when you buy a few pounds of fruit or vegetables. I’m pretty sure the TPS is a source of pride: they’re modern, imply sanitation and ownership, and cheap enough that even the most meager among the meek can afford the luxury of giving them away.

There are billions upon billions of TPS plying the winds in Africa. They can be folded into almost imperceptible balls but immediately unfurl into glorious airfoils. They sail the most remote landscapes and inaccessible regions of the country. Whirlwinds of TPS, so graceful and elegant they could be birds on the wing, spout along the roadside. They crash in waves at the beaches, and line the hallways in government buildings. TPS clog every low-lying area, every shallow, all the niches and crevices of the landscape. TPS adorn the crude animal enclosures in the zoos. Even forlorn and climate worn cactuses are festooned with copious TPS leaf, and, of course, TPS serve admirably as a commode which can be conveniently dumped along the side of the road.

Unfortunately, the beauty and manufacturing perfection of TPS is not accompanied by their structural integrity. A TPS has no strength to hold anything for long – they are simply too insubstantial, less than butterfly wings. Even a loaf of bread will tear off the “handles” (holes on either side of the sack for your fingers). TPS are so fragile and tenuous you would think that nature’s decomposing powers could certainly rid Her landscape of such despicable items, but through the magic of petrochemicals, TPS will not decay nor eventually disintegrate into nothingness – they are here for all eternity.

There’s no reason the First World can’t take their queue from the Third World. Next time you are in a Western supermarket, and the checker self-righteously asks you, “paper or plastic,” vote confidently with your African brethren and loudly proclaim, “Plastic! Oh dear God, let plastic reign!” so that other customers can hear.