THE DISTRICT COMES TO ARMS

There are in the world of fiction many extreme characters both wicked and good, but it is rare to find such in real life, but we have one here, a wicked one to boot.

The other day Fishy Tim arrived here for a little dinner party and was fired up big time. He had left his most pleasant and convivial estate on some errand and gazing out over the idyllic scenery passing his Cruiser window clocked several porta-potties and big yellow machines grinding up and down on his neighbor’s property. Naturally he did a sharp turn to find out what was up?

He was informed, to his distress, that they were hell bent on erecting housing (see squatter camp) for 100 plus wekkers for the mine down the road!

He did a swift about turn, all thoughts of his farming activities forgotten to address this threat to his life and property. The phone lines got red hot as contacted the owner’s, who consisted of an entire family of conflicting intertribal interests and pitting the one against the other, prevented this horror from infesting his valley.
He was triumphant; he had the trucks stopped, the porta-potties dispersed, the enterprise and its cement consigned to the void from whence it had come. JOY was all abounding!
He was a hero, and we praised him.
This one would have thought would be the last of this episode. This flagrant misuse of land with no permissions or any consultation by a large and experienced company had already cost them thousands of Rands, which one would have thought would have taught them a lesson. In fact the entire episode had almost been lost in the mists of time when it transpired that they were back!
This time on my doorstep!
WB and Wankers Construction commissioned by Nko Mine a subsidiary of some other nameless entity controlled by interests far from those of us introverts tucked into this bit of wilderness, had managed to get hold of our local villain and negotiated to erect their slum, at huge cost to themselves and huge profit to the bad baaad boy of Uitkoms.
This news rapidly spread through the entire community, which was universally, shocked, shocked and appalled. The thought that a huge crowd of wekkers (see young black men) was to descend onto them did not please and delight. This bigotry was naturally hidden behind heartfelt claims to be concerned with the quality of water, sewerage and other PC areas such as planning permissions and good citizenry, but basically they did not want a bunch of young bucks wondering around unsupervised eating their cattle, raping their women and murdering them in their beds!!!
NO, NO, NO. Fuck that!!!!!
And neither did I.
As you can imagine this inspired a great deal of spirited conversation and debate. Mr Craw’s personal history and the many slights he had inflicted on virtually every person in the district were aired again with renewed vigor. People huddled whispering in small groups looking over their shoulders, with a renewed sense of community and purpose.
Nothing like the work of the devil to unite!
A group of ‘concerned citizens’ constituting representatives of the local Boer Verineging (farmers union) as well as our local Tourism Association who had dissuaded a convoy of heavily armed bakkie's rolling onto the offending parties patio, had instead approached this terrible man to politely enquire what the devil he thought he was up to? Which incidentally we all knew, but they wanted to hear it from the horses mouth.
Sadly I was not present myself, but it was reported that the delegation were received with minimal hostility, Itzk our local plumber was immediately accused of being the instigator. Mr. C is nothing if not aggressive in his debating techniques.
He admitted that yea verily indeed he was to import 100-150 murders and cattle thieving rapists into the heart of our area, with the heartfelt wish that these interfering busy bodies should keep their collective noses out of his business and their presence off his farm. He felt that there was NO need to mention this to those who would be murdered, robbed and raped by his new tenants. He intimated that this was ‘his’ farm and he could do whatever he wanted and what were they so twitched about? He lied and fabricated stories of his deep concern for all his beloved neighbors concerns, he assured them that he had sought permission from the council, but was unable to produce any documentation. He assured the gathered that the sewerage would be removed by the council’s honey wagons, if it transpired that the plastic septic tanks were inadequate to the task, and in short was less than willing to roll over and lose the fortune that he would be paid to spoil our lives.
Our delegation left to digest this information, and to pass on to their respective congregations the awful news. The local lines hummed with screams of indignation and concern. We were not pleased. The consensus was to shoot him, insult his wife, poison his cattle, and report him to the press, the council, the police, anybody and everybody. Action was being called for in shrill tones. It was settled however that we would hold off till the delegation had consulted with the authorities and that a letter would be sent. I am sure that this gave our scoundrel sleepless nights, not!
Well I for one was not satisfied. I felt a somewhat a more forceful reaction was called for than a mere letter but I was prevailed upon to restrain myself, even our local firebrand the Afrikaner Welshman Mr. Itzak Davies felt that we should do this the ‘right’ way so the letter was sent, all formal and precise listing all our grievances.
I none the less got hold of my legal eagle who also advised me not to send my digger down to trench his road or to do any other impetuous and foolish things such as had already, on many occasions forced her to interrupt her profitable legal biz to bail me out off. Instead I was asked to get a petition signed by all to keep me quiet.
This took me on an altogether different adventure, back into the past, Getting signatures in this area is not like in some urban jungle, where you can be a minor irritation to people on the pavement, here you have to travel, far, very far with the likely hood that the incumbent you are visiting is on a hill and far away so when I heard that there was to be a Farmers festival at the local hall I was dead pleased. I could catch these elusive folk at play and in a group.
Well let me tell you this was something to behold, I rolled into the place which consists of a prefab building like a low barn, hidden from civilization in the depths of a blue gum forest, you have to be in the know to know it is there. The crowd had already started to burn meat and drink. Young bucks scampered with rude health about the place with their gee gee’s and rugby balls while the girls helped their mothers with the cooking and the ‘men’ gathered in groups drinking brown drinks.
A veritable wave of ‘who the fuck is this’ swept over me as I approached but fortunately there were a few that knew me and I was brought into the fold. No adulation or even much civility let alone drink, food or any hospitality was offered, although they did welcome my petition and even asked for more for the next day when the main proceedings were to happen. I was very aware that I was an English, Jewish stranger in a very peculiar world. I made a hasty retreat the whispers behind me deafening in their disapproval.
The next day I brought more petition form for the disgruntled to sign and was faced with the full might of the local commando, on their horsies with their women in voortrekker outfits, a domineeee (Afrikaans priest) flag poles with ‘Vier Kleur’ (four colour) flag flying no SA flag let alone the New SA Flag and it was only the threat of an instant lynching which prevented me breaking into “Inkosi Sikele” when they sang ‘Die Stem”.
It was all a bit sad, the last hoorah of a small and forgotten people lost in the wilderness, made one wonder how they used to be so scary! How the mighty have fallen.
Well the pagan season of celebration and drunkenness is upon us so the saga rests till all the brews have been drunk and expelled, wives have recovered from their beatings, the food has been digested and children have been sent back to school when we will return.

BOYS GET TOGETHER TO MAKE A DEAL

With all the excitement of this destruction in my life it was a relief that the I just had time to turn my slashed and tortured paintings to the wall, when Nick the Baron arrived at Tambo/Joburg/ Smuts airport and I could flee the farm and have a very expensive dinner.
Always a great consolation in times of stress.
Some few months before, Howard, having enjoyed his bundu investment, a lot, fallen in love with the place, and with some disposable loot in hand, which he felt would be well spent on such foolishness as Francis’s little dream in the bush, wanted to up his shares.
Which is nice.
He had ammo and Nick didn’t, so he needed to get more of the pie to justify such investment and Nicko who had an urgent need to turn left on a plane again, was very amenable to such an unexpected return on his investment. It seemed that this would be an easy and pain free negotiation.
Now in this world of real estate when ownership is discussed the thorny subject of ‘value’ comes racing to the fore. How do you put a price on a piece of rock, weed and vermin? A thorny and vexing question, as the sums discussed, even at the lowest level were considerable!
I was dispatched to get an evaluation, and old man Winkler the local lad in this department came measured, um’ed and tutted, drank my coffee and showed me what local farms were selling for. Very gratifyingly high, his assessment was sent to all, one party was delighted and the other not so. So the not so one (wid de mullah) asked his chum to look at it, his chum did nada, days and weeks passed, with no resolution, e-mails, sms’s were shared, the philosophy of the farm was discussed, the nature and size of the money involved was explained, substances were shared and things said under the influence, both parties went into and came out of their respective coma’s to chuck in their latest theory of life and everything into the pot.
I was a little cow between 2 old and cautious bulls that insisted on snorting and pawing the ground across the valley. In short we were arguing between 6 and 16! A bit of a gap.
So after a few months of this inter continental bickering the Baron realized that his presence was required in the actual field of play, so there I was at the Airport to fetch him. Taking Greg to give moral support we ended up in a Chinese restaurant.
THE CHINA MEETING
The venue, a communist style minimalist hall brightly lit with nary a shadow to be seen. We let Nick do the ordering, being a trencherman of note and a cognosti of the archaic world of Chinese menus, we even got saki to ease the negotiations.
Naturally with two such reticent chaps as H & N silence fell like a curtain over the table, interspersed with glib tales of no consequence. We chattered and gossiped away like a bunch of old ladies.
I had decided that I must let them get on with it and not push the situation. But they were very coy and retiring, 2 virgins on the verge. It was all I could do to not stick a fork in the pair of them.
The fags came to my rescue as I was bursting to get things moving, so Greg and I departed to the street, to have one.
“Round 1” was rung on a handy glass.
We left them looking at each other as though they had NO idea what they were there for.
Returning we found them looking flushed and strangely intimate, worrying, but obviously some ground had been covered, at the very least foreplay had been indulged!
At that point vast amounts of food started to arrive. Do not leave Nicko in charge of a menu if you are unwilling to eat a lot. It was very impressive show, so much so that a book club of ladies in a nearby table wanted him to do the same for them. A feast indeed!
Between all this Howard managed to insert plaintive squeals about how he was being irresponsible spending all this money and Nicko tried to look sad and poor, but not desperate, between mouth full’s of wonderful oriental grub. Quite a trick it was a sight to see.
The truth is that both of them had decided what was what long ago and this was all some sort of complicated tango to see who would lift their skirts first. Now between a pair of sexy young girls this can be a good spectator sport but between these 2 old bruisers it got dull quite fast and the deal as had been first mentioned so many months before was left for being slept over for one last night, thankfully confirmed the very next day!
Well this pleased me as the farm would get some more loot, Nick was pleased because he could go home with some wedge from his ‘African Investments” and Howard was pleased because I was pleased and the truth be told he had acquired himself a gentleman’s estate for a keen price and with no aggravation for him, that these acquisitions normally engender.
THE ITALIAN MEET
With the value established, the price agreed, all that remained was to sign the grey stuff and all would be well ……….HA!!!! Life should be so easy. We gathered again this time with Kim the legal eagle in tow to set it all up, and all had a very convivial time. This and that came up; archaic points of law and tax were discussed with great interest. An endless stream of dissipated punters approached Howard, being a bit of a rock star in the gambling firmament; Kim took notes and babbled on her phone. We ate food.
Leaving this I thought that all was settled. There was no further need for any discussion, addition or any delay in the finalization of the task, and within in days if not hours all would be done and I could strike another job off my endless list!
I am such a girly!
Now after 6 weeks have passed nothing but nothing has been achieved. My deal has disappeared into that strange void between lawyers and accountants with their complications. The propensity of both parties to be a combination of vague and nit picky at the same time consumed more time. Creating, as we are spread far apart, endless complications and confusion with a long delays created even in this electronic age as both sides like to read these things slowly and at leisure and then do nothing for a while too.
There is a down side to being the plaything of wealthy men.