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.