Souf Efrika

This is a protest!

This is a protest!

It’s sad really. The US trade unions protesting. I’ve been watching them all over the US lately. Protesting here and protesting there. And they make me want to cry. No! Not the reason for their protests. But the way they protest. It’s sad really.

It always starts with some guy shouting into a mike or loudspeaker. It’s not a pretty sound. You ever watched Apocolypse Now? You know that scene where the two sides are just shooting away at each other with flares going off everywhere? And this guy keeps on shouting through the speakers at the American soldiers. Telling them to give up? Well, that’s what these US trade union “announcers” sound like. The guy from Apocalypse Now used it as a form of torture. And so does the trade union guys. I think it might be banned under the Geneva Convention. They can count their lucky stars that the US doesn’t support the Geneva Convention. Mmm. Makes me think that Dick and Bush should have recorded these trade unionists and used it at Guantanamo? Thank god the trade unions never leaned towards the right. That might have been a bit ugly. The horror… (Those who did watch Apocalypse Now will get the pun…)

Now for another movie scene and the trade unions. You ever seen Midnight Express? The scene where the prisoners all walk in a circle the whole time? Like zombies? Well, there goes the US trade unions. Walking in circles the whole time while protesting. WTF? Is that in some handbook somewhere that I missed? Walk in a little circle and hypnotize the “bosses”? Or is it just part of the regulatory limitations placed on trade union activities in the US? I don’t care what the reason or reasons might be. It’s sad. Really sad. And the worst part is that it turned me into a zombie while I watched them go in a circle over and over again. And again… And again… Yawn… I need a nap. Protest to bore you to death.

And where are the people? You can’t really call ten people a protest. Hell, it isn’t even enough people to make a good old English queue. You need more people to make a statement. Any group of people who number less than a sports team is really just a bunch of buddies hanging out. Not a protest. Hell. My family will protest en mass if you want to call your sorry attempt a protest. And we will have more people than the average US trade union protest. And no screeching speakers either…

Now Souf Afrikans! We know how to protest. We have it in our blood. And in our bones. It’s who we are.

We gather in our thousands. Because it is like a street party! Have fun, bring the kids. Bring something to eat. And drink! It’s like a bring-‘n-braai (potluck).

And we dance. Oh boy, do we dance! Come on! It’s a party right? No party is complete without a bit of a dance.

Okay, it’s not a dance as you know it. It’s a toyi-toyi. And you sh*t yourself if you are on the other side! It’s got rhythm. It’s got song. It’s got chanting. It’s got snappy slogans. Viva! Amandla! Hell yeah! None of this Vietnam guy-on-the-speakers screeching. Nope. Real vibrancy. Real threat. Real protest.

And it’s got beat. Our workers have beat.

And if you face it? You know you’re beat.

You think we will be stopped by some second rate law? Haha! We have our ways and means. We know how to get around it.

Way back in the days when we took to the streets without much of a reason… Anything for a party. Anyway. We have this law in Souf Efrika that says you’re not allowed to have a sit-in. You know, not allowed to take over a building and “sit in”. We went this way and that way. We had to find a way to occupy their buildings. It was the only way to get our point across… And… hum… stop them from doing anything.

Got it! Let’s work on the principle that no one in Souf Efrika knows all 11 of our official languages. And that the boere in charge will only know Afrikaans and maybe a hint of Ingils

We created the Siyalala. WTF? Exactly. That was what we hoped they would think. Wait… Let me tell you a bit about why we were protesting. Apart from the reason to party!

The target was a major clothing retailer in South Africa – Mr Price. Blah blah blah. I won’t bore you with all the details. But it we wanted them to sign a document where they supported an anti customs fraud initiative. But they refused. Why? They didn’t say  but we thought we knew why. We caught a few containers in the Maputo port (Mozambique) that already had the Mr Price tags hanging on them. What’s the problem? The clothes were meant to have “added value” in Souf Efrika for them to get the tax break. Meaning that some of the “value” of the garments must be added in Souf Efrika. Needless to say, but no value was added if the Mr Price tags already hung on the clothes in a foreign port…

So we created the Siyalala to target them and those supporting them – the banks. A Siyalala was another piece of genius from old Ebrahim Patel. Man, I loved working with him and learning from him. He always found a way. And this time it was the Siyalala.

We gave them notice of our protest through something called a Section 77 – the Souf Efrikan notification of mass action. Wait, let me see if I still have that…

I’m back – here it is. Word for word:


Annexure 2: Nature of Protest

The Southern African Clothing and Textile Workers Union intend initiating socio-economic protest action against the Mr Price Group, associated operations and the banking sector in the following ways:

  1. Mass rallies outside any Mr Price Group associated stores and banks in general. These include those situated in malls and stand-alone stores.
  2. Placard demonstrations at targeted retail warehouses, retail company offices, distribution points and any other commercial centre associated with the Mr Price Group, associated operations and banking sector.
  3. Solidarity campaigns aimed at the media, shareholders, employees and any organisation or individual sponsored or in the employment of the Mr Price Group, any of the Mr Price Group associated operations and/or banking sector.
  4. Picketing outside targeted Mr Price Group, associated operations and banking properties or properties linked to any of these companies.
  5. Demonstrations at events sponsored by the Mr Price Group, associated operations and banking sector
  6. Targeted contact with customers of the Mr Price Group, associated operations and banking sector informing them of the reasons for the protest action.
  7. Call for consumer boycotts of the Mr Price Group, associated operations and banking sector through general mass gatherings and protest campaign activities.
  8. Call on financial sector to discontinue supply financial services to the Mr Price Group and it’s associated operations.
  9. Siyalala’s at the Mr Price Group, associated operations and divisions and banks and bank properties during operating hours for the purpose of retarding and/or obstructing work in order to defend the socio-economic interests of workers.


Notice hidden in number 9? Highlighted just for you? The Siyalala. The “lie in”.

Yes! If we weren’t allowed to “sit in” then we might just as well “lie in”. And we did! Well, everyone knows you need a good rest after a protest party. And what better way to rest than “lie in” for a little bit? Did I mention that Mr Price also sold pillows and blankets? Aah… Now that is much better. A good old “lie in” after spending much of the day partying protesting outside.

I miss a good protest. Us Souf Efrikans have got the worker beat. I think the unions over here have the workers beat.

Gotta go. It’s late. And I’ve been watching US trade unions protest. Yawn. They tire me out. I’m going for a Siyalala. See ya later.


From the Loose Ends files…


Some people think that I make up stories about the so-called Souf Efrikans. I don’t! It is all the honest truth… At least the Souf Efrikan version of the truth. But to prove to you that I really don’t do much other than report on the Souf Efrikan character of someone, I have decided to let the photos speak for themselves… (From the brave thatdudeyouknow and holeycheese.)

Unfortunately the photo has laryngitis and meaning was lost in translation… So, I have to report what it had to say. All I’ll do is set the scene and report on what really happened to this Souf Efrikan couple. Trust me… Would I make up up things like these? It’s the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the Souf Efrikan truth.

Let me start by introducing you to Japie Koekemoer (Common first name for farm boys and a surname that means Cake-beater). He is from the farm – af die plaas af. His family’s got high hopes for him. He is going to be the first one to go and work in the big city. Maybe find himself a girl and settle down. Work a normal job away from the farm. But Souf Efrikan farm boys aren’t the sharpest tool in the toolbox. Or as we say in Souf Efrika, the bakkie is running, but there’s no diesel in the tank. Let’s see how it went…

Japiemade his family very proud. He was the first one to pass through school. Okay, not the whole school. He passed through it once when he was chasing those crazy sheep who escaped. But he did at least Grade 1 in a more academic way. It took him a while. But here he is in all his glory! Decked out in his graduation outfit. Just look at him. All fancy and neat. They called the graduation ceremony Happie Pruim – Meaning Plum Bite. It’s part of a long tradition where the person (generally a guy) who took the longest to pass Grade 1 had to eat a plum. Why a plum? Because when someone get’s really old we call them ‘n ou pruim – an old plum. And he had to write the banner. You can see that it was the spelling that kept him back in Grade 1. Souf Efrikans can’t spell so well.

But Japie got himself a fancy girl from the big city. Yes, he crossed the cultural barrier by going all classy with an Inglish Souf Efrikan. Her name was Kerry Oakey (and yes, she did like to sing.) And Japie got her. Okay, maybe “got her” is a stretch. More like her caught her. And held on for dear life. See how Japie has his arm all lovie-dovie around her shoulder? Ha! That’s what we Souf Efrikans farm boys call the sheep grip. We use that to catch and hold sheep on the farm. No way to escape. That’s how all Souf Efrikan Koekemoer men got their wives. But note her smile… That’s what all Souf Efrikan women do. They make the men believe they “have” them. But it’s really the other way around…

Of course all that sheep eating didn’t go down so well on the breath department… This Souf Efrikan couple had to try many different ways for poor Kerry Oakey to overcome Japie’s sheep breath problem.

But like all good Souf efrikan men… He had a plan to show her how much he loves her. We have a saying in Souf Efrika – ‘n boer maak ‘n plan– a farmer makes a plan. And he did. He grew a beard. So that he could spoil her and save her some money. He grew a beard so she can exfoliate… Now that is true love…

And then they got married. He promised her a fancy wedding. Kerry Oakey also learned another thing about Souf Efrikan farm boys. Their idea of fancy is very different from the the rest of the globe. The Souf Efrikan man thinks that fancy means a two-tone tent. And she had to put it up herself. Kerry Oakey had some serious doubts about the marriage when Japie decided to show her his wedding song and dance. But he was still the best exfoliater she’s ever had.

What was Sarah Palin doing at the wedding?

And once they were married… Oh, man… Like a good Souf Efrikan man he ate everything and drank everything that came his way. And no, he isn’t aiming to eat the food and drink the stuff on the left. He was aiming for the table. Souf Efrikan farmer boys like Japie gets really hungry… And they have unique table manners… But Kerry Oakey taught him some good table manners. Didn’t she?

And then they had kids… As many as what he could count. 3 to be exact… Oh, this photo isn’t of them in the newspaper celebrating the birth! It is just another of those wanted pictures they put up at all the restaurants in Souf Efrika. He’s banned from most of them. Because of the table eating…

All I am going to say about this photo is that we call a pacifier a dummy in Souf Efrika. And some dummy has got the dummy in his mouth. And the baby is trying to get it back…

Oh poor Kerry Oakey. She tried to get away from the mad Souf Efrikan farmer so many times. She’ll run as fast as what she can. But she could never get away. As you can see from the photo on the left, he would get the kids together for a hunting party and with his best Souf Efrikan farmer instincts find her. And then (photo on the right) he would get the kids to bring her down with their best Souf Efrikan rugby tackle. It was futile. She could never get away…

But the kids had other ideas. They were going to make something from Japie. So they sat him down for a talk – photo on the left. And they had a heart to heart. In Japie’s case, a hard to hard. They asked him what he wanted to do when he grows up. And he said an accountant. So they said… Okay, let’s rather just start with counting. So the little one taught him how to count and read words and not just pictures – middle photo. And once that was done he was forced to write a test… And he passed! (Okay, the little one passed him the answers, but that’s okay. It’s Souf Efrikans – we stick together.)

Yes they are a crazy bunch… Japie Koekemoer and Kerry Oakey. But they are Souf Efrikan. That much you can see. Because most of all. Most of all. Souf Efrikans love… In crazy ways.

Hahaaaa! (Dr Evil laugh fading.) My latest vic.. I mean… friend who offered to give me their good name to play with. Of course I will make sure I take their name carefully in my two hands… And then I will crush it! I mean, I will respect their wishes and not make fun of them… Yeah, right… Like that is gonna happen! Sorry Cordie from Looking In The Mirror, you asked for it. People, meet Johanna Ma Klein (Joanna Mother Small – Johanna pronounced as Yo-Ha-Na). Or rather the female version of John McClane – the guy from Die Hard (In my language it means The Heart). She is tough. And rough. You don’t mess with her. Not if you love your teeth. You want to know how tough she is? I’ll give you a few…

She’s so tough when she gets into a cab and the cab driver asks where she is going she says, “None of your bloody business!!!”

She’s so tough she wasn’t breast fed as a baby, she went straight onto cappuccinos.

She’s so tough that when she was a baby she pushed her own pram.

She’s so tough that she never needs to brush her teeth, she just lets the toothbrush tremble in her mouth.

She’s so tough that when she eats Smarties, she eats the red ones first. (Smarties = M&M’s.)

She’s so tough that her answering machine doesn’t answer to anyone except her.

She’s so tough that when she goes to the beach she kicks sand in her own face.

She’s so tough she’s into Punk Yoga… That’s when you stand on somebody else’s head.

She’s so tough Vitamins take her.

She’s tougher than an English steak.

And this is a true story of our Johanna…

Three Englishmen were sitting together bragging about how they had given their new wives duties. Terry had married a woman from America, and bragged that he had told his wife she was going to do all the dishes and house cleaning that needed to be done at their house. He said that it took a couple days but on the third day he came home to a clean house and the dishes were all washed and put away.

Jimmie had married a woman from Canada. He bragged that he had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes, and the cooking. He told them that the first day he didn’t see any results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man had married our South African girl Johanna. He boasted that he told her that her duties were to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn’t see anything, the second day he didn’t see anything, but by the third day most of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye. Enough to fix himself a bite to eat, load the dishwasher, and call a landscaper.

That’s our Johanna. Tough as nails… But don’t just believe me. Believe the photo evidence…

You think Johanna is just standing there right? Looks like she is waiting for a bus right? Wrong. She is just standing because she wants to stand. In broad daylight. It might look like it is evening but it isn’t. It is daytime. Because even the sun is sh*t scared of Souf Efrikan women like Johanna. And that isn’t just a normal street light. Oh no. It’s one of those fancy electric mosquito gadgets. The light attract mosquitoesand then zaps them. And it doubles up as a tanning salon for Johanna. Just look at the pose. That’s the Johanna tan-under-the-neck pose. She’s also waiting for dinner. The mosquitoes in Souf Efrika is so big that we eat them like chicken. Fried.

Johanna lives in Domdonnersemansvallei (Menarestupidbecauseisaidosville.) Locally known as Shutyourpieholeville. Where woman are strong and men wear body armour.

Johanna doesn’t need a man to look after her. She doesn’t need a man to feed her. She looks after herself. And feeds herself. And here you can see her catching her dinner…

No, not fish. She catches trains for dinner. See those tracks behind her? That’s where she catches her prey… I mean food. Actually, this photo was taken from the last train a split second before she caught it. She’s got a neat trick. She acts as if she’s just fishing for some fish out on the sea to put the train at ease. And then when the train gets right behind her she swings that rod around and hooks the train. It’s stops dead in its tracks. She used to stop it with her bare hands but she got really annoyed when she kept on chipping her finger nails. So she just spun her own string from her chest hairs to hook and hold the train – The chest hairs of Souf Efrikan woman are stronger than gravity… And stronger than the will to live…

Souf Efrikan woman are also unbelievable entrepreneurs. And Johanna is the Bill Gates of them all. Or rather, Bill Gates is the Johanna of men worldwide. She can make anything into anything. Her latest business is “building” escalators. Well, she doesn’t really build them. She forced normal steps to turn themselves into escalators. By using her willpower. You can see it from this photo. She just grabs that railing and pulls herself and the steps higher up. And the steps starts moving all by themselves. And they dare not stop until she tells them to stop. That’s our Johanna… She turns steps into escalators. She once turned coal into diamonds by blowing it on it. And she gave Superman a wedgie…

Look, Johanna is so tough she believes that the only things that should be red are her toenails and the blood showing on her knuckles. Yeah, she is one tough cookie. She smokes Marlboro reds – Sort of. But she hated the red packets. It clashed with her ice-cool blue eyes. And her dress. So she made Marlboro make a special packet of her type of reds just for her. In blue. It is not sold over the counter. Because her smokes are banned in every country in this world. Even in smoke capitals like China, France and Russia. One whiff of her smokes can kill a bull from a 100 yards. They say that the Russians gave up the Eastern block when she sat on the Berlin Wall having a smoke. It has been declared a WMD in most countries. Even in North Korea. Dubya knows that she carries these WMD’s with her but he is too sh*t scared to do anything about it.

And that 2 finger salute? It’s saying, “Eim gonna get myshelf u man wif too balls enda kut dem out enda put dem in dese too plestik kups eye heve rite here”. (Accent included – I’m going to get myself a man with two balls and cut them out and put them in these two plastic cups I have right here.) Apparently, she is not into sweet talking much.

You ever wondered how tough Souf Efrikan woman “catch” a guy? This is how. You stalk them and then jump them from behind. Also known as a rugby tackle. This poor guy tried to run but no luck. When Johanna has her sights on a man… Okay, maybe sights isn’t the right word. She only uses that at what she calls the “breakup” – when she uses the telescope or “sight” on her gun. Let’s rather say that once she has her eye on a guy… No, wait. She only “eye” guys just before she hits them between the eyes. Mmm… When she wants to date a guy and not “take him out” in any other way than in a loving relationship, then she hunts him down the way a lion hunts her prey. And you know who wins that fight… Johanna has a much higher kill success rate than a lioness. But once she is in a “relationship”…

She is all loving. Hugs and kisses all around. Hum… Not to the guy! To her 6 cats and 2.3 dogs. The guy gets it Johanna style. You think this photo is all loving and stuff? Ha! Try again. She has him in her grip called the “Jaws of life”. There is no way of escaping from this. When Johanna’s hand locks over her palm like that nothing can break it. Unbreakable – Like a hyena’s jaw. You can try a crowbar. No luck. Not even a ton of dynamite will break that grip.

You want to know why she has him in this grip? Look at the clock. You see the time on it? Just past 12:15… No, not in the morning. In the afternoon. And he left at 12 to go and buy some milk and bread. He said he would be back by 12:15. Look at the time… And where is the milk and bread? Do you see any? DO YOU SEE ANY MISTA? Her head is tilted slightly back… Or drawn back. She is ready to give him a kiss. A Souf Efrikan kiss… A headbutt… On the bridge of his nose.

That’s our Johanna. She’s tough and rough. She’s a woman. She’s a Souf Efrikan. That’s a double whammy. Johanna, a Souf Efrikan woman. What did you expect?

A Broad (Mrs AA) had a real… hum… sh… aah… odd experience on Friday. I have been waiting for her write about it… I first thought she was just taking the piss… But I promise you it is all true. Go and have a look at her story: I’m Sorry, I Can’t Take Your Call Right Now… Toilet humor at its best…

I’m just getting you back for that Incinerated Chicken – Family Recipe braai story

You know, sometimes we needs loads of evidence to point to someone being Souf Efrikans. But sometimes one photo tells the story. Unfortunately for others, 3 photos are not only enough proof to show they are Souf Efrikan, but also enough to make sure they won’t ever get a visa to go anywhere else in the world.

Take today’s victim friend… He gave me 3 photos. Was he crazy? He could have given me one corner of one half a photo and I could have pointed it out to him. Hell… This guy is so Souf Efrikan that even Mandela calls him boet. I bet you he has the typical 1, 2, 3 of Souf Efrikans – 1 liter brandy, 2 liter Coke and 3 liter Ford. That’s Souf Efrikans for you. As easy as 1, 2, 3…

I give to you Koos Baardman (Chuck Beardman)… Oh, he thought he was Keven Bennet from Seattle, but we know he is Koos Baardman from Sonderwater (Withoutwater). But let me give you a bit of background on Koos…

Every year millions of Souf Efrikans go down to the Cape for a holiday. Those Vaalies, or as we call them, Klipkakkers (Hum… Rockshitters…) come down in their numbers. Getting away from the craziness of living up at high altitude. Only problem is that they are the crazy people and they all gather down at our place. And guess what happens? It’s the same crazy people doing the same crazy things – but just with a better view. Ja, bleddie Klipkakkers…

We have a few of the farmers coming down as well. Bringing their caravans, sheep and mother-in-law with them. That is also the order of importance. Koos does that. He is a farmer. He rents a place right next to the sea every year. Okay, what he defines right next to the sea. It’s about 5 miles in and right next to the sewerage plant. But that’s no problem. Five miles is just enough for the mother-in-law to go missing for the whole day. Or whole holiday. And the smell of the sewerage plant remind him of the kraal (enclosure for sheep and cattle) back home. He is from the land where men are men and sheep are scared…

So here we have Koos at his little place by the sea. Let’s see what evidence we can find. A bit of a tester today. Try to match the red arrows to the statement of his Souf Efrikan roots…

The afdak… (The lean-to) 

Every good Souf Efrikan has got one. An afdak. But not just any afdak. There are certain things that tells us this is a Souf Efrikan afdak…

Now, let’s match the arrows… Join the dots… Check the lines… You get what I mean?

1. A roof made of old blue overalls and stitched together by his lovely wife Ant Bettie. (Blue overalls are the standard outfit for farmers in Souf Efrika.)

2. Leg of blue overall still hanging down the side of the afdak.

3. Old school lawnmower for when the last sheep is on the braai but the grass still needs to be cut.

4. House at the back where mother-in-law is locked up at night. (Just to keep her away from the booze and boys.)

5. Window Aunt Bettie uses to shout instruction like, “Pulls up yor pents Koos. Duh hole nayburhood dusn’t neet to see yor builders cleavage.” (Proper accent included.)

6. Forest for feature braai wood. It used to come right up to his back door. Yes, Koos likes to braai. Often. And big.

7. Pipe to let the steam out from the “braai”. It isn’t really a braai. It is a home made mampoer factory. (Mampoer is the strongest drink ever made. And it is home brewed. Not to be used close to an open flame. But can be used as a paint stripper. Made from fruits. Any fruits. We Souf Efrikans aren’t too picky…)

And… Did you see the generator driven computer in the background? That’s to keep up with what’s going down with AA! Fox News for Africa. Unfiltered and unbiased… Hah!

The workshop…

But you would think the guy will stop there right? That he won’t give me any more reason to “show him the way”? He did…

1. The stick part of a broom used to poke the coals, chase the bloody dog who just grabbed the meat off the braai and also to flip the dog turds off the grass like a professional golfer. (Was once used to keep Ant Bettie away when Koos by “accident” had an “accident” in the kitchen sink after too much mampoer.)

2. A telly to watch the rugby and cricket on. This is cricket you see because no true contact sport for men will really have so much padding or wear helmets. The motto of rugby players… “Real men don’t wear helmets” and “it doesn’t hurt if you can stitch it back on”.

3. A coffee mug. Koos’s favorite coffee mug. He drinks everything from this mug. It says, I Love Mum. Not allowed to be washed, only rinsed, as Koos believes the residue of coffee, mampoer and braai sauce leaves a nice aftertaste. Also known to repel flies from the braai area. And cats won’t even crap close to it. (Currently has mampoer in it.)

4. Wooden fence to keep the noisy neighbors out. Especially the mother-in-law.

5. Bag of charcoal. Only to be used when wood runs out or when you need something hard to chuck at the dogs crapping on the lawn but you don’t really want to get up from the chair.

6. The “Mampoer Bucket”. Used for any type of residue left after making mampoer. From the leftover fruits to the brown and green stuff that grows at the top of the liquid or the yellow watery stuff that comes from you after consuming too much liquid. Once the bucket is filled… Used to kill ants and bees in the garden. And stop the dogs from crapping on the lawn. And makes a mean mix with some ice and a lemon. Not sliced. Called Souf Efrikan Cocktail.

7. Chair taken from the rubbish dump and welded together again by Koos. He made his whole dining room set this way…

8. Big bag of crisps hiding behind the chair. Ant Bettie doesn’t want him to eat so much crisps. But he needs his fix. Also used to store biltong when Ant Bettie isn’t looking. And spare beer.

9. Huge bowl of dip for the chips. Currently covered in tinfoil. Key ingredients… Onion, salt and the stuff from the mampoer bucket.

10. Grass where the dogs crap. No matter what you do there will always be fresh crap in the morning.

11. Big cooler / small paraffin fridge to keep the beers cold. Always stocked full. Because you never know when the “Big Wind” of ’78 might hit you again. That was when Ant Bettie made bean stew and forced Koos to sleep outside for a few days until his “Big Wind” passed. And passed completely.

12. Spare canister attached to braai / mampoer factory to hold extra cold beers while waiting for the mampoer / braai to be done.

13. Tools hanging from braai. These tools are proper antiques and the London Museum has offered Koos loads of money for this already. They want to use it as part of their Neanderthal display. But Koos said his dad gave it to him and he has fond memories of those tools. And he can show the scars on his butt to prove it.

Koos himself…

You think that is enough? How Souf Efrikan can he be? Much more…


1. Neck. Made for playing rugby. Take no prisoners! Real men play rugby and real men have real necks. Not rednecks.

2. Hair shaved for the holidays. Generally covered in big floppy farmer hat. Good to get a haircut once a year. Gets rid of all the things that live there. At least 3 previously unknown species was found by the Nobel prize winning group of scientists who make this yearly pilgrimage to what is known in scientific circles as “The Haircut”. (It is not known whether any of the new species will be able to survive outside the Koos habitat.)

3. Fence also used as spare wood for really big braais. It used to be 60 feet long. But then, Koos had a couple of really big braais since then.

4. The bakkie… Like every good farmer Oom Koos drives a bakkie that is diesel and the smoke it creates when you start it can be seen from space. Rumored to have led to the invasion of Iraq as the bakkie was seen as a WMD. But he drove it back to SA quickly once he filled his oil drum (now used as a braai / mampoer factory.) The US never suspected a thing. Oom Koos is good in that way. Or maybe Rummy was just bad in that way. And yes, when Oom Koos drives the bakkie it can also be heard from space.

5. The kraal where the sheep stay during the holiday. Barren because the sheep have eaten almost all the grass. Not a problem because Oom Koos have eaten almost all the sheep already. Yes, Oom Koos and Ant Bettie have been there on holiday for almost a week already.

6.  The towel used to wipe bloody hands when Koos slaughters the sheep. Also used to dry himself after a swim at the beach.

7. The path to freedom. Or at least to the outside toilet known as his “office”. That’s the right turn where he makes his number 2’s. Number 1 is done on the grass like all good Souf Efrikan men do. Koos turns left for his 1 and 2. 1 Liter brandy and 2 liter Coke. The shop is just around the corner. Oom Koos is known to be more inclined to go left than right. It’s a natural thing for him to lean towards the left.

8. Braai made from an oil drum. You know, the one he got in Iraq. He cut it in half and just welded a few spots together. High tech for a Souf Efrikan but then, he is known for his edgy attitudes towards braaing. He was once seen braaing chicken! What the hell is a salad doing on the fire? A question asked by the many onlookers. If it’s not red it’s not meat. If it’s not meat you can’t eat.

9. Rooster to place the meat on. The rooster (grill) is a key component of any braai. It leaves nice lines across the steaks. Best place to get a rooster is to cut one out of the frame of a grocery trolley. And it’s shiny too!

10. Battery backup for the mampoer factory. The clamp is used to charge the battery that runs the mampoer factory. At the moment not on as the braai and mampoer can’t be done at the same time. Koos generally empties the mampoer into his mug for “safe keeping” while he braais. No one knows how safe this really is. Not this close to an open fire in any case. Koos uses it instead of fire lighters. No, he doesn’t pour it over the coals. He just breathes over the coals. So strong that no matches are required either. The term “spontaneous combustion” was named after Koos and his fire lighting abilities.

11. Tongs used to grip the rooster. Koos is also known as an expert in grabbing thongs with his tongs. The screams of surprise and the horror when they see him can also be heard from space. Koos doesn’t mean anything with this. He just needs something to cover his hands when he grips the tongs. They get hot. Unlike the girls he gets his thongs from.

12. Meat and fish pot. Koos is famous for his daring braai techniques. You can see the pot where he mixed fish and chicken together. Men call him names because of this. Names like “traitor”, “Mr WTF” and “stupid doos”, but Koos doesn’t mind as he is a Renaissance man. Just don’t call him a maverick… Let me just clarify Koos being famous for this dishes. Infamous might be a better word for it. Eating this dish is not allowed under the Geneva Convention. It makes grown men cry. And get very, very sick. There is no known cure for this. Have you seen the movie Awakening? Now you know why…

13. A red arrow. I just threw an extra red arrow in there to make it look even more impressive. Honestly? I actually forgot why I had that other arrow in there. Or that one…

14. The chain. Some people think that Koos have dog chains around his neck. No, it isn’t. It’s his keys, tools (drillbits and screwdriver), earbud (he has used the same one since 1984. They always come clean after a rinse under hot water. Or after repeated use), tobacco for his pipe, his pipe, glasses and Swiss Army Knife. Oh, and a can of Bullybeef (Spam/Corned Beef) and a half-jack of mampoer. A man can never be too prepared. He hides it really, really well.

15. Boep. The paunch that you see is the pride of all Souf Efrikan men. Or like they would say, “I work-ad werry hart forr dis boep. U no how mutch beer I hed two drinked two get dis boep? Et leest wurf 40 bucks. Part off my retiremint plen.” A Souf Efrikan man without a boep is like having Italy not change their government every year. Or the English not lose against Souf Efrika in rugby or cricket. Or President Bush without a f*ck-up once a day. You know it is possible, but it ain’t gonna happen.

16. Rugby jersey. Every man in Souf Efrika must have a rugby jersey. You never wear it on the farm. But you also never take it off when you go on holiday. Including at night when you go to sleep. Alone. Outside. Also never washed. NEVER washed. Wash it and you could be deported and lose your citizenship. Another reason to sleep outside… The smell. Just ask Ant Bettie. Koos played rugby. He was a winger who played on the left. A left winger.

There you go! And who said that KB isn’t Souf Efrikan? Hell, he is more Souf Efrikan than me! Seattle is only where he visits for the duration of his lifetime. But Souf Efrikan he is…

Sorry Kev, but you asked for it…


Who’s next? Come on… Don’t be afraid. I’ll be nice…

The next sucker… Hum… I mean victim friend to share her photos with us… SanityFound! But she is no ordinary Souf Efrikan. Nope. She is from the city. Pretoria… (Shiver)… And this is about her journey… Of love…

Let me start by saying that she is a deeply disturbed Souf Efrikan. She does things that makes us just shake our head and go… “What is happening to the youth of today”. Or in a more pure Souf Efrikan way, “Wat are heppening to duh yoof off twodey?” She is a wild one… But don’t believe just old me. I have photo evidence. And more than one photo…

You think her name SanityFound has something to do with finding her “inner” self? Her deep side? Haha! Suckers. Not even close. It’s about her journey from Pretoria to Cape Town. About love found and lost. And found again and lost again and found again. And then lost again. I give to you SanityFound’s journey as a Souf Efrikan.

Her real name is Ossewania Smit. (To non-Souf Efrikans… It’s something like Oxwagonia and the most common surname you can get.) Born and bred in Snor City (Moustache City) – Pretoria. She went to a girls only school – Langkloof Hoerskool (no umlaut & too rude to translate!) She was Miss Langkloof even with the braces and thick glasses. Because she was still the best looking one at school. Yeah, the competition was really weak. She was the only one with her own teeth. And without a cauliflower ear. And the only one to actually make it to her final year at school. And then she was set free…

Okay, she left school and went to a party in Joburg.

And there it all started with some trouble with the law…

The whole gang (Jannie, Sannie and friends) went to the park in Joburg to celebrate their freedom. They went to the beach – Benoni. No sea in a 1,000 miles, but it had a swimming pool and all the stuff you find at the beach. Fat guys with long socks and beer. Women with two beers in their hands and a swimming costume 4 sizes to small. Sand that got stuck in your underwear. And, that Souf Efrikan speciality, a mugging to go with your shopping at the boerie stand (hot dog stand). Oh, they had so much fun…

But Ossewania had too much fun. Taking drinks from Jannie who always had the hots for her. She didn’t realize that they ran out of beer hours ago, but Jannie kept on filling up her glass… Jannie was known t be 100 per cent proof.

The problems started when she decided to chat up the tall handsome dude she was leaning against. It was early morning so she couldn’t see that well. She thought he was a bit of a stiff, but she always liked tall guys.

So she started catching a vry (smooch) with this guy. She thinks he said his name started with an S. But she couldn’t be sure. It could have been the wind. His lips were a bit hard. But she put that down to inexperience. Or that it was her first time without her braces. She lost that opening the last bottle of beer with her teeth. But at least he had strong solid arms. Like tree trunks. (Oh, she also lost her glasses somewhere during the party. And the bottom of the Coke bottles didn’t work as well as before.)

And then she heard it… “Freeze you woman!” She froze. Threw her arms up in the air. And her date just stood there behind her. He didn’t do a thing to protect her. He stood there like a piece of wood. Almost like he was rooted to the spot.

But she made a dash for it. She headbutted the guy she thought was the cop. Ouch. That hurt…

But she made it. She was free. She ran and ran her little legs off. Even changed her name. To Eeufesia Smythe (Centuriafestivalia and fancy surname – these are real names by the way!) It sounded so much fancier.

She got lost somewhere between Joburg and Cape Town. In the Karoo. A dry desert area. They say the f*ck-all grows 6 feet high there. And that it is so quiet and dead that f*ck-all happens there every hour and that it goes on for days. It was just our little Eeufesia and her friend Saartjie Visser. Stumbling along in this dry country. And then she saw him… She fell for him… really hard… She knew it the moment she fell over him… Her one true love…

And I mean literally fall over him. He was that short. But like a little rock.

Her little Rhino she called him. Rhino Post. (Where rhinos rub their butts. Serious. They must be men.)

She loved her little Rhino. He was short. He was smelly. He wasn’t much of a kisser either. But he was her little Rhino. Her rock.

But she lost him somewhere during the night. She had to go pay “beer rent”. And couldn’t find him in the darkness. She wondered around shouting his name. “Rhino! Rhino! Where art thy Rhino!” But he didn’t answer. He was the quiet type. She sulked in the arms of Saartjie. Cried her little heart out. Because she missed him so.

Oh where could he be? Her man. Her little Rhino Post. She could still smell him on her clothes. Her fingers. Her hair. Her lips. Ewe! Aargh! It smelled really bad. But still. Her heart belonged to him and only him.

And then she saw him. Her little man. Her rock. Her smelly rock. Her Rhino Post butt rock.

I wish I could tell you that it had a happy ending. It didn’t. Eeufesia went for a walk one day and came back only to catch him cheating on her. With a Rhino. And she found her glasses.

But there you go. That’s our SanityFound. Down in Cape Town now (or close enough). Still sulking about her Benoni lover and about her little Rhino. She’s getting better now. But we think it is time for her to leave. The rocks in South Africa isn’t good for her. But at least she can tell her children one day about her journey of love. Her life of love found and lost. And her life story as a Souf Efrikan.

It’s a shame it didn’t work out though. Rhino Post and Eeufesia would have had beautiful kids. Okay, scrap the beautiful part. A rock is a rock.


(For those non-Souf Efrikans – We call really stupid Souf Efrikan men “rocks”. They are that dense, thick and hard headed.)