We speak of things that matter.

January 1992

It is 4 pm. It is 40 degrees Celsius. It is hot. No, it is stinking hot. We lie in the shade and wait patiently. Only three and a half hours hours to survive until blessed sunset. Jannie is tired and sunburnt. He spent all midday in the dam with with madmen and English dogs, holding up sinking children. John believes they must learn to ski without life jackets because "in England ................."

I cleaned the house in the morning. Hard work in the heat. Now I feel drowsy and I drift off to sleep. I hear the rhythmic beating of African drums in the heat. It comes closer. There are many voices melting together into a monotonous drone. I hear shouting. I awake from my dream with a start.

Jannie is peering through a crack between the curtains. I peer over his shoulder. A menacing looking grey rubber duck approaches, banging against the swell. It enters our luke-warm insect-infested cove. It has a Dalmation called Douglas as its bowsprit - barking loudly and cheerfully wagging his tail.

A voice booms out - tinged with irritation: Jack hurry up and go and call Jannie. What do you mean you don't have shoes? Douglas, COME HERE! Douglas picks up speed, ducks under the fence and starts sniffing through our neighbours rubbish.

Kleynhans family - in chorus: Oh no, its the Brown's! Minutes later, Jack, aged 8, appears. "Jannie, Daddy wants you to come for a boat ride. Jannie refuses to obey the captain's orders and sends his daughters into battle in his place. He wishes to savour the approaching evening cool in peace.

As Jack departs, he says "Mommy is coming in the car with all our clothes and stuff". The boat leaves. The car comes.
Mary: Hallo Jannie. I hope you don't mind, but I brought meat and wine and salad. I know we know each other well enough that you will tell me if you don't want us here and really I won't mind, we'll just take everything back and go and braai at home, but we thought you'd enjoy our company.
Jannie: We'd love to have you here, Mary. And really it wasn't necessary to bring your own meat and no, of course it's no trouble at all.

Much, much later: Supper nearly finished.
Deborah: Dad, what's for pudding?
Jannie: Sorry Deborah, but there is no pudding.
John: Now in England of course it wouldn't be called pudding. Pudding is something entirely different. It is thick and stodgy and.....
Mary: I totally disagree with you on that, John. What would you call it then? DOUGLAS GET OUT!
John: Why sweets or desert of course. Now at my old school we always used to .......
Mary: What do you mean - dee-zert? I disagree with you one million percent. I totally refuse to accept what you are saying. It all depends on where you are. Now in England ....
John: You don't talk with your mouth full of food.
Mary: In England you don't go to the toilet; you go to the lavatory. It would be totally unacceptable to go to the toilet. Only in South Africa can you go to the toilet.
John: Well, what do you do in England then? It must be an awful bloody mess. DOUGLAS, OUT!
Mary: Neither do you say "pleased to meet you", you say "how do you do". Dee-zert! I ask you! I am quite sure that Queen Elizabeth always asks for pudding; not dee-zert. What about Prince Andrew, who attended your old school, what would he have called it?
Jannie: My grandmother always used to say...
In the background - sounds of  Douglas lapping water from the white bowl that flushes in the bathroom.
John: Oh, but the house he was in, was a toilet. Now in Sussex.....
Jannie: Once in Kuruman ........
John: Mary, stop pointing a bone at me. How can you call a crepe suzette with cointreau a pudding? What is that dog up to now?
Mary: All I am trying to say is that I totally do not accept what you are trying to say. It all depends on where you are.
Jannie: At a school I once taught ........
John: Mary, don't talk to me with your mouth full of food. Tell that dog to get out. THAT DOG understands every word you say (fondly). Just look at him.
I decide it is time for my strong woman act.After years of practice I can sometimes pull it off convincingly enough so that some people are actually bluffed into believing that I am a strong woman. I sneak into the kitchen and find a bar of chocolate, break it into blocks and shove it in front of John. Shut up and eat your bloody pudding, was what I wanted to say, but all I managed was "Have some pudding".
John: Even here you wouldn't say you're going to the toilet, now would you?Surely you would say "please excuse me", or "I'm going to powder my nose" or something. Now what would you call jelly and custard? DOUGLAS! GET! OUT!
We speak of things that matter, in words that must be said.
Douglas, having drunk his fill from the white bowl in the bathroom, stretches himself out on the lounge carpet and burps, understanding every word.



J

Kalahari 1990

13 Desember 1990

Ek en Elodie in my troue Toyota op reis deur die Kalahari - oor duin en straat - verby die plase met hulbeskrywende, romantiese en of onvanpaste name: Flora Dora, Sandbad, Sonstraal, Lonely, De Hemelstraat, Gemsbokkie, Aasvoëlpan, Vrede, Loch Broom, Feësand, Kings Rest, Takeaways 1 km, WelkominAshkamdankievirubesoek! Verby ‘n mankolieke opslaanhut teen ‘n rooi duin met “Te Koop” daarop geverf.

Al die driedorings wit in blom, gras skyn groen deur na die onlangse reën en die kameeldoringbome, swaar in blaar, lyk of hulle dans in afwagting vir nog reën! Donderweer dreun oor die woestyn. Wit boerbokke huppel oor die kruin van ‘n rooi sandduin. Rachmaninoff oor die pas herstelde bandspeler. Die lugreëlaar ook reggemaak. Jammer Osoonlaag, maar vandag is MY dag!

Tussen Leeudril en Rooiputs stap ‘n maanhaar leeu stadig en statig al langs die pad. Hy kyk skaars in ons rigting, maar hy laat my ril met ‘n oeroue opwinding. Krag straal uit elke voetstap. Net voor hy oor ‘n duin gaan, sak hy effens, staan ‘n oomblik stil en snuif die wind, stap dan na die naaste groot struik en merk dit - selfvoldaan en seker van sy koningskap.

Afrika - wat ‘n plek!