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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.