I don’t read much, I am black after all, but I found myself perusing the sacred pages of the weekly Sunday Times yesterday evening. You see, my housemate buys the paper, I think out of habit more than anything else because he constantly complains about the content now carried on the pages. And since there was a moerse storm going on outside I could not watch television (this is what Godless heathens like me do instead of studying the Holy Bible every night) so I picked up a bundle of the opinion paper and started looking at the personal classified adverts for something new to do this weekend.

You may think I’m old fashioned for switching off the old entertainment system during a thunder storm, but once bitten, twice shy. Power surges are a real bitch! I had a run-in with one of those last year and it left my television with a rather unsightly purple haze that formed in one corner and progressively spread over the whole screen. At the end of the migration, the screen resembled what I would imagine a sailors nether regions would look like after a particularly reckless evening spent being pleasured down Mahatma Gandhi in Durban (I know, it sounds really bad, they should have kept that street name as Point Road — it was more, erh, to the point that way and inoffensive when used in the context that the street is famous for).

Anyway, I’m totally losing the plot here. And speaking of totally losing the plot and bordering on a state of complete bananasness; I read on the paper that about three hundred Afrikaner supremacists, including the most famous one Eugene “Ghost Rider” Terre(or) Blanche or Oom Euge to his friends, gathered in an old battlefield site where thirty Afrikaners defeated “thousands” of Matabane, nx, I mean Matabele worriers (Zeb’s crew, would have never stood for that).

The self-appointed “Partner of the Nation” gathered there to commemorate that great day of the victory, celebrate their heritage and garner support for a renewed advance to the attainment of a Volkstad that could be as small as just a slice of Orania (which I thought they already had, silly me) or the whole country plus that little wasteland to the north called Zim, depending on what God thinks they should have after He clicks his finger and makes it so (not my words).

And another thing, apparently the ANC government A.K.A a democratically elected government which represents the will of all the democratic people of this country, not just those three hundred or so worthy of being invited to Euge’s braai at the farm (has anyone ever seen a whole ox on a spit, it is quite a site).

Anyway, the ANC is apparently the “black glove over the white fist (the British) set to forever punish the Afrikaner people”. That whole analogy reminded me of OJ and his cutting up of his wife and her lover thing … allegedly, but the glove didn’t fit then and I doubt this one will fit either, but then again what is a dumb black bloke like me to know about the intricacies of glove fitting since the only engineering feat we have achieved as a people is attaching a plough to the ass end of an ox. That last bit is according to one of the speakers at the three-hundred-strong gathering, the man is a true scholar and profound historian.

All I’m saying is that wheels don’t work for everyone, ask the Eskimos.

More seriously, a few matters of grave importance that needed to be addressed immediately were highlighted during the speeches. These are matters that threaten the very existence of the Afrikaner as a people and those that if left unattended would ultimate result in the complete and systematic eradication of the “volk” and their way of life. Among these gevaar are blacks, naturally, and 7de Laan — just to name a few.

7de Laan?! My goodness, why 7de Laan?!” I shrieked in horror and then I remembered what the programme was and began to understand. You see, I had watched it with my Afrikaner girlfriend once. I was forced to watch it, otherwise later on she wouldn’t do that “Top Deck” thing I liked so much … I’m just joking, please don’t mobilise the militant wing of the AWB against me … I never watched 7de Laan?

The problem with the blacks is clear for everyone to see, I am sure, I mean with their limited exercise of their small ape-ish brains, but I was stumped on the poorly made, badly scripted, poorly performed SAEK programme until I read the AWB’s explanation on this matter – it is the unrealistic portrayal of mixed-race relationships in South Africa that drives the AWB’s kortbroeks right up their cracks. The whole thing is just based on fabrications and fantasy, giving the false impression to anyone watching that all Afrikaners would let blacks touch them, let alone kiss and do naughty Cadbury chocolate inspired things with them away at varsity.

The speaker has a point here, I am afraid to admit, not much mixing happens around here. I concede that one to the movement, not enough of this happens therefore it should not be portrayed as normal behaviour — a lot more meisies need to be hitched to Sumo’s for this farce to be fact and then realistically portrayed on our screens.

This gathering of like minds has a flag for their movement which has a long Afrikaans name that I cannot for the thick life of me remember. The flag is the size of a rugby field according to the reporter, a white dude, I hope, by the surname Ferreira, who was there I would guess. I think it was prudent for the newspaper to send in a white dude or one you cannot really tell is white or otherwise giving them a fair chance of returning to the office alive — these dudes were heavily armed with guns and Bibles written in Afrikaans and they have a really cool black uniform — menacing.

The size of the flag was no coincidence either, I would suggest, a whole rugby field’s worth of flag is a lot. I think the message would have been conveyed just as clearly with maybe a hockey field sized flag, but it had to be the size of the rugby field, methinks it has a lot to do with the Boks and that nuisance of the quota system. I doubt though that with three hundred residents of the Volkstad there would be too many possible options at coach and wing — we can safely accept that those positions are black, judging by the recent success of the current Boks.

On a serious note though, what saddened me was seeing a young man to Euge’s right on the picture, who cannot be more than eighteen years old, looking defiantly into the camera, no doubt ready to pick up the struggle. The next generation, by the likes of Euge, is being schooled in the ways of non-integration and Afrikaner supremacy. That is sad to see and does not bode well for the future of the country and I do not say that in trying to dictate against freedom of association, I say that in warning that the next generation, listening to the rhetoric of their forbearers that is magically glorified and made revolutionary by time, may act in a manner that infringes on the rights of the rest of the citizens of this country who choose to live in a free and fair society where all of us are reasonably equal.

I think I should read more. It is enlightening and hugely entertaining, much better than the 7th Lane.

I rest,
The Sumo

P.S. Please note that this piece is clearly about poking fun at Afrikaner supremacists, not all Afrikaner people, I respect all Afrikaner people who deserve my respect. No one can excuse 7de Laan though.

Author

  • The Sumo is a strapping young man in his late 20s who considers himself the ultimate transitional South African. Born and raised in a KwaZulu-Natal township near Durban, he was part of the first group of black initiates into the "multiracial" education system. He was (and is) always in contrast to the norm, black in "white" schools, a blazer-wearing coconut in the township streets, and now fat in a sea of conventional thinness in the corporate world. This, and a lifetime of junk-food consumption and beer guzzling, has culminated in the man you will come to know as the Sumo. See life through this man's eyes; see life through lard.

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The Sumo

The Sumo is a strapping young man in his late 20s who considers himself the ultimate transitional South African. Born and raised in a KwaZulu-Natal township near Durban, he was part of the first group...

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