Buig, papa sal bestuur

An inadvertent result of being so horrified by something your boyfriend said to you, that you bring it up in group conversation for the similar repugnant reaction by your friends, is that it becomes part of his new alter ego, and the frequent joke of a long weekend holiday.

But first: the long weekend started with me cursing solidly for four hours as I cleaned the flat, much to the annoyance of our neighbours, with the vacuum cleaner whining at 8am. Then, off to Secunda. Thanks ATW for the directions, but fortunately (or rather, unfortunately as will become evident later) my boyfriend drove us there (basically, you go straight for a heck of a long time, then turn right and go straight for another heck of a long time – swerving occasionally to avoid potholes – then turn left when you see the curlicues of smoke wafting insidiously from Sasol’s plant. Then bang, you’re there.). Not a terrible place for a village out in the sticks. They’ve even got a Dros, god bless ‘em. Two things that stood out in what I stereotypically assumed was an Afrikaner fortress: one, gays are allowed in Secunda, provided they stick to the service industry. I think they view ‘mo’s as counting towards their disabled employee equity credits. And two, black people are by far the coolest people there. As this latter thought strayed across my mind, providence provided proof in the form of a pumping Fiat Uno that zoomed onto the pavement next to the Gilb’s new rented house. Pumping regte egte boereliedjies, that is. The ones with accordions as chief instrument. Believing that diversity is the strength of the country, I decided I would not judge the geriatrics driving in the Uno, that could only have played that Hades elevator music so loud because they were virtually 100% deaf. Except when they stepped out of the car. Folks, they looked just like you and me (except you’d never have caught me dead in those cheap furry brown Roberto Cavalli boot ripoffs). Mid-twenties, a poppie and her ou. They even left the motor running to wait until the end of the song before sauntering out with that we’re-extreme-right-wing-white-supremacists-and-proud-of-it attitude. So unnecessary.

But let’s fast forward to the trip down to the Natal Midlands, the following day. A general word of warning to all would-be travellers that happen to be in Secunda, en route to the Midlands. If you’re thinking that the N11 (via Ermelo and Ladysmith) is a neat shortcut, you’re fucking wrong. The “road” consists of very large holes occasionally interspersed with tar. Which is the very reason why, while I was chatting away mindlessly as the sweat of prolonged concentration beaded the Gilb’s brow, he turned to me in exasperation and said: “Liefie, shoesh! Papa bestuur!”

What?!? Daddy’s driving? Of all the terrible phrases that modern society has invented – moist panties; making love; hell, even moist panty lovemaking – this little phrase sent the kind of shivers down my spine that turning to the mirror to see a tarantula crawling across your neck would incur. It did the trick, though. I was too revolted to open my mouth again, but was quite willing to bring the sick, sick sentence up again when we met up with friends at the lodge that evening. They, of course, thought it was the funniest thing ever said. One even thought it was kinky. Another remarked that it was his Secunda alter ego emerging for public display. And that’s when he started liking the attention too much, and inventing new vile Daddy lines (all delivered in a deep, very porno quasi-lustful voice), like: “Sit dit in papa se mond”, “papa wil he dat jy papa se piel suig”, “buig, papa sal bestuur”, and one I admittedly liked, “papa gaan jou van die bed afstoot”.

Why am I going into such minute detail about these little things? Cos the big details around this trip were otherwise quite mundane, being a chilled vacation and all. Here’s a brief summary:

Eat, drink, sex, smoke (a joint), drink, sex, eat, smoke, chess, drink, sex, chess, vague freak out on a mushroom trip, two-hour walk/hug combo from the dear Gilb to calm me down, drink, eat, smoke, sex, chess, Monopoly, Tuesday, sigh.

Thanks for enduring to the end of this longwinded post, I promise the forthcoming ones will be shorter. Happy weekend, hope the reality of five-day work weeks is not depressing y’all…