Verashni Pillay: SA's newest boeremeisie

Yesterday, while perusing the news, I discovered a small announcement buried somewhere on the M&G website. It stated that columnist Verashni Pillay, along with a whole bunch of other journalists, had been reclassified as a boer journalist by a special decree from ANCYL leader Julius Malema. And as we all know, what Juju wants, Juju gets. So being the charitable soul I am and knowing Miss Pillay is probably a busy lady, I have decided to write a short list of pointers to help her on the path to becoming South Africa’s newest boeremeisie.*

First of all, I want to say, Congratulations, Miss Pillay, it is not everyone who gets to change their culture overnight. It’s not everyone who gets to be an Afrikaans bokkie, rolling in die vetness met supersterre like Nadine, Shine 4 and Patricia Lewis. Just look at our bro, Pieter-Dirk Uys. He has been trying to become an Afrikaans chick for as long as I can remember. He wishes he could be as lucky as you.

But being an egte cherrie from the far north is not all popcorn, chewing gum, peanuts and bubblegum. Not every day is gonna be like a trip to the drive-in. Throughout history boer women have endured hardships and tough times. They have had to battle empires and show fortitude in the face of disaster. Like Anneline Kriel-Kerzner. She was married to Sol for a very long time. Ag shame, poor girl. Imagine having to be his nookie koekie. Never mind having to make him a nice fridge tart for afterwards.

As a good Afrikaans girl, you will be required to make a nice fridge tart or a melktert. A nice cool slice to follow the meat. (I mean meat meat, no pun intended here). Because apart from fridge tart, meat will be your staple diet. Meat with a side of meat. The only people who eat more meat than the Afrikaans are lions. I know they aren’t people but I couldn’t think of anything else, my brain isn’t that big.

You will also be required to say “ag, shame” a lot. Ag, shame can be used to express pleasure, gratitude, disappointment, pity and surprise. Ag, shame, you brought a fridge tart. Ag, shame, we are going to the drive-in. Ag, shame, he got fired from the railways. Ag, shame, I couldn’t believe my arse when I saw him there by the beach!

You will also get to do some kiff new stuff like learn how to use a gun. In the old days, boer women used to shoot voorlaaiers and Mausers. You may have seen them in the movies. Nowadays, they’ll shoot anything they can get their hands on. A proper boeremeisie can knock a can off a person’s head at 100 paces. She can also blow their head out from under a can at a 100 paces. I don’t say that to be militant or anything but as a word of warning to any potential fridge-tart thieves out there. Pas op! The last time I messed with a boeremeisie I landed up on a flight to Amsterdam. (Magda, if you are reading this, I’m sorry, that second slice wasn’t for me, I promise).

Miss Pillay, I’m not sure what faith you are, or if you even follow one, but as of today, you will have to convert to Rugby. Once a week, or twice a week, depending on how religious you are, you will be required to scream obscenities at the screen, at the field and in particular at the man with the whistle, who does the devil’s work. You’ll discover that gluing horns to your head doesn’t make you a Satanist but shows fervour and passion. You’ll learn that the modern numerical system was not as god intended — drie comes after four and not before four. And as an added bonus, you will also get to hang out with men who go by names like Ox and Small Buckets. I know you probably saw yourself more as a Johnny Depp kinda gal, but you’ll grow to love the beer-barrel charm of the tight five.

There are a whole bunch of other things I should tell you, but I don’t know what they are, and I’m sure you’ll pick them up as you go along. Well, what more can I say? Ah, if you are thinking of a name change, I quite like the sound of Verashni Koekemoer. Ok, maybe not.

Alle sukses vir die toekoms!

* I freely admit that my knowledge of Afrikaans girls is mainly based on hearsay, stereotypes, what I heard on the beach and popularist bunkum. But so is Mr Malema’s, so let’s just go with the flow.