Our South
African Boer Cousins 2
by Albert Russo
Kif can't stand Blacks,
Jews or homeysetchuals (many people call
them gays, but I don't see what's so gay about
being in love with someone of your own sex, or
with your dog or your cat, for that matter).
Goddess, if Kif only knew that my uncle is a bye
and bye homey - apparently, after being heathersetchual,
he turned bi, then hey ho - hey,
there's nothing wrong with that, understand? If
ever you're homeyfobic, I'll send you
and your family straight to Saudi Arabia or to
Afghanistan, where women are forced to serve men,
whether it's their father, their brother or even
their cousin, dressed like black ghosts, and to
be beaten up black and blue for the slightest
reason or for no reason at all, and where your
closet homey son will have his head cut
off in a public square. And don't tell me to mind
my own business, what's freeedom of expreshun
for?
Bonka told me that South
Africa has a homey friendly constitushun,
unlike most of the continent where the
governments want to send them to hell and gone,
compliments of the prison guards, with no return
ticket.
You oughta see how nicely
Kif and his Kiffette are looking after us in
spite of their being such racists. They prepared
a wonderfful braavleis (the local
barbecue) for us, with half a dozen chickens, two
piglets and a whole calf, turning on various
skewers. Goddess almighty, I hope we won't have
to eat it all in one go, our livers might burst
open. I had a taste of each, very juicy and
finger-lickin' delicious - Bonka's mouth was
dripping quite indecently - , specially with the
mashed potato and the corn on the cob slightly
burnt on top, just the way I like. We drank some
wonderful Cape wine with it - we French (at least
part of me) have to be careful, coz nowadays on
account of globalization we ain't the only ones
producing Goddess' favorite elixir (how's that
for e-ru-di-tion?). The whole thing smelled out
of this world, so much so that I began sniffing
myself like I came out of a Roman bath
delightfully scented.
All the while Kiffette was
stuffing herself with a variety of meats - yes
yes, even if it sounds unbelievable, I really saw
the three kinds sprouting out of her mouth, how
she managed to get them all together baffles me -,
her chubby checker of a hubby started singing a
folksong in Afrikaans called 'Sarie Marais'.
Since it's supposed to be about love, Kiffette
stopped chewing and joined in. She even had a few
tears in her eyes, on account that even fat
boorish people - you do see where the word comes
from, hey - can be sentimental.
Contrary to the image some
have about colonialists resting the whole day on
hammocks and being fanned by piccanins - that's
racist for little black boys, serving the white baas,
so don't use it, ok -, Kif and his Kiffette get
up at cockcrow.
From
the GOSH ZAPINETTE! series (15 episodes in all)
10/9//21 Excerpted from Zulu Zapy wins the
Rainbow Nation, by Albert Russo.
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