Our South
African Boer Cousins 4
by Albert Russo
By the way, during the
barbecue Maatje offered me boerewors, a
kind of thick sausage that really looked like a
spiraling piece of dogshit and, even though I
didn't want to be rude, a loud bark crackled out
of my mouth which froze her instantly, so she
didn't insist, and neither did I.
On the second day of our
visit to the farm Kif woke us up before the sun
even rose, on account that he absolutely wanted
us to watch how he was going to bottle-feed a
calf that was born during the night.
“You may never have
that opportunity again in your life, darling,”
he woofed, “you absolutely must come and see
this”.
When my second eye opened I
wanted to twist his ears and something else which
I can't mention here - it has to do with
propriety, for I don't believe in vulgarity -
didn't you notice it already?
So there we went, Bonka and
I, following the baas to the barn like
two yawning zombies.
“After Catje” -
Kif gives each of his animals a name -, “I'll
introduce you to her elder brother, and you'll
have the privilege of taking care of him
personally”.
A fat lot I was in the mood
to nurse Catje's brother, what a privilege! And
instead of saying yes, I gave out a half groan. Sis,
as they say here - no, it doesn't mean sister,
but ‘too revolting for words’ in
Afrikaans. I began to drool like a bitch in heat,
all the while I was perspiring. It sometimes
happens to me when Bonka goofs up and I have to
right the helm. My sight was so blurred that big
drops of sweat and some tears of rage fell into
the bucket of fresh milk. Then, suddenly, I
tripped over it, spilling its whole content on
the straw.
I was so embarrassed I didn't
know where to look anymore. That is when you
realize how hard farmers work and you no longer
dare make fun of them. My knees began to knock
together like two frantic bones greeting each
other after a long separation. Some vacation!
This here trip of ours
rolls like a movie shot at one thousand images
per second, not because you believe you’ve
suddenly landed in paradise, but because of the
crazy hours imposed on us by cousin Kif. As for
Kiffette, she has the honor of getting up half an
hour before her paunchy hubby to prepare his
breakfast. She grumbles instead of breathing.
Even before the sun reaches
its zenith your brain starts melting in spite of
that safari cap in which a tiny electrical fan is
inserted, and soon drops of sweat run along your
temples. You then have the impreshun you
just caught a cold in that fookin’ heat, on
account that you start sniffling like you want to
cry your nostrils out, while you keep blowing
your nose which turns clownish red, and you can’t
feel it anymore. Sis, sis and sis!
From
the GOSH ZAPINETTE! series (15 episodes in all)
18/9//21 Excerpted from Zulu Zapy wins the
Rainbow Nation, by Albert Russo.
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