by Steven Abramowitz
Fredrick Courtney Selous was the bugger who owned Rhodesia before Uncle Cecil (who really was a bugger) bought it with some diamonds and when I was a whenwe he was a murra important oke. Of course, being good Rhadeezjens we never said his name Sel-Ooh, in two syllables. To save time, because we had maningi other things to do, like braai, waterski at Lake Mac and gooi moves at Barney’s, we said Slew. And no-one ever used his first names. For a start Fredrick is a fukken stupid name, and you could never pull a gwarra at The George Or Clubbies – even one from Mabelreign – up the Kopje if you’d said huzzit I’m Fredrick, if I gooi you a dop can I take a burn on your noombies?
Secondly Courtney is a gwarra’s name, as any whenwe who read Wilbur Smith will tell you. And let me tell one thing for sure, there’s not a single boy who grew up in that spot who didn’t pull wire reading Wilbur Smith. Also, my number one shamwari called his daughter Courtney so it is definitely a gwarra’s name, and if you want to argue with him that’s your fukken indaba. Hokoyo, that’s all I’m saying.
Maningi things were named after Slew. Your Slew Scouts for example, easily spotted by their beards, brown berets and ability to fuck you up quickstyle. Don’t confuse them with the Selusa Scouts, who were the toppies who patrolled Bamba Zonke in their dressing gowns. Another example was your Slew House at PEfukkenS, which was a boarding hostel. Maybe it still is. Who fukken knows hey? I was in Moffat House, which was kak at everything. Well, everything I had anything to do with anyway, which was as little as possible.
Anyway man, once for my birthday I got a gift voucher, which let’s face it is the kakkest present ever. Ja look I know now that you all drink G&Ts and Chardonnay instead of spook-en-diesel and chiboolies it’s all “ooh a book voucher how lovely, I simply love books” and batting your eyelids like those airborne fukken boerewors we used to get in summer but when you’re a ten-year old whenwe who only wants a horse or a pellet gun getting a book voucher is like your nana slipping you tongue when she kisses you goodnight. So I took this book voucher and I bought a book by Slew, called A Hunter’s Wanderings in Africa, which was a story about Slew and some other okes, with pictures of Vic Falls and all the other stuff Rhodesia was famous for ages ago, before we had Queens Hotel and other international landmarks. I couldn’t put it down, that book hey?
Jesus Steven, are you reading that book again? Ja ma – it’s a tit book hey. A what book Steven? Tit ma – I heard you Steven. Then why did you ask ma? Do not be bloody cheeky with me my boy. Do. You. Understand. Me? Do not get bloody above your station. All you do is read that bloody book, eat, and be cheeky. Have you not got a school book to read, hey? Is it too much to ask that you actually justify your school fees for bloody once? Put that book away and go do some homework. Ja man ma but. No buts. No ifs, no ands and definitely no bloody maybes. Go. Now. Ja ma.
Anyway, I was looking around lo current kia ka-mina and I found that Slew book again. And I couldn’t help but read it again. Fucksakes man, was I in for a shock. Easily impressed hey, us picannin whenwes. When you’re a grown up and you read this book, you’re appalled. Well, at least I was, and let me tell you something for free: I do not appall easily. The basic premise of Slew’s book is this: I came to Africa and I shot everything I saw. Siriyas – everything and fukken anything. And then I measured the horns, and then some other rooinekke came to visit, and look, here are some pictures of dead things. Jislike man, it’s a fukken miracle that there was anything left for us to shoot when we lived there. Some okes hey?
Lastly, in this last post of 2014, let me say a big fat tatenda to all of you who have read this kak and enjoyed it. In just a bitchun over two years, nearly 200000 people have visited this blog, and many of you have been kind enough to say nice things. Not so many of you have also been kind enough to damn me to eternal hellfire, but those are the breaks. Although the lady who said she knew the Suttles and that they were very nice people, while obviously a raving lunatic fresh from Igutchini – will never be forgiven. And a few whenwes have even popped into Gisborne to say huzzit and buy me a beer, which is always a bonus. The last one was to do so was Ma-Nugent who is as penga as a cut fukken snake and was also kind enough to gooi me a bottle of very good single malt.
May you all have a peaceful happy festive season, surrounded by chops, dops and the ones you love. Spot you in 2015. Chiz.