The vuvuzela, aka bubuzela, is an excellent symbol of the differences in cultural attitudes around the world. In South Africa, where it originated, it is considered the epitome of the soccer spectator experience and represents and reflects the enthusiasm and excitement of its fans. In the U.S., birthday and New Year's Eve parties often contain a miniature version of these noisemakers, although I never saw the value of these myself. Certainly the alternatives of kissing and singing are preferable.
Other than hearing damage, the vuvuzelas, incidentally, can also spread disease. Like a trumpet or any other wind 'instrument', tiny droplets of saliva are expelled and can remain airborne for sometime, spreading colds and flus. For those with tinnitus (chronic ringing in the ears), soccer-watching at this level must approach the gates of hell. For the rest of us it is pretty obnoxious too, which begs the question, what do people get out of this? And who are these people? I would hazard a guess that the majority may be men.
Why? Because I had a father and lots of uncles and male cousins. I also have a husband, a son and lots and lots of nephews. Men, in my experience, love loud noises, although my husband swears he also hates the b-flat (below middle C) emitted in varying intensities by the vuvuzela spectators.
On the other hand, I can remember how my 6'4" father loved to jump out at us when we were little kids and yell, "Boo!" As a sullen teenager with a persecution complex I often dreamed of reciprocating, but he had a weak heart and I had a conscience. Yet I am happily married and have been ever since I realized that all men retain the ability to channel a twelve-year-old's sense of humor. For those of you who can't remember what that is, here are a few examples of what's funny. A fragile old woman crossing the street carrying a pizza and slipping on a banana peel. The slaughtering of chickens on a farm as they run around spurting blood after their heads are cut off. (Sorry PETA people.) You get the drift.
There is no judgment here, however, as this is a genetic ability. My girlfriend's grandson and my granddaughter were here one day picking cherries, playing on the swings and then went on to play a game of hide-n-seek. Everything was going swimmingly until the 3-year-old - recognizing he would quickly be discovered - took control by jumping up and yelling, "BOO!!!"
After we plucked my granddaughter off the ceiling and comforted the hysterical child, I realized there was only one defense: offense. I carefully explained to her that this was 'fun'. All she had to do was reciprocate when he found her by jumping up and scaring him back. I should mention that she's an adorable, affectionate, nurturing child, very sensitive and with a sweet personality. Her "boo" never quite packed the same wallop his did and her enthusiasm for the sport was cautious at best. After the little boy went home, she wanted to know why scaring her was fun for him. I have two X chromosones and a failed understanding of the maly psyche, but I told her the truth anyway. "Because he's a boy."
In the U.S. the vuvuzela chorus is now a late-night comedian's joke, often equated to the sound of a buzzing bee hive. I would personally rather be stung all over my naked body than listen to that sound in the flesh. It appears I am not alone. The pharmacies in South Africa ran out of earplugs early on, but opportunistic ingenuity never fails where homo sapiens reside. The manufacturers of the vuvuzelas now sell earplugs to the World Cup spectators. Now that's American-style capitalism. It appears we have a lot in common afer all.
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