This weekend my cousin invited me to her place for drinks. I anticipated nothing more than a night of heavy drinking (punctuated by an increasing number of slurred proclamations starting with the words “in life…”), followed by a morning of deep regret.
However, before I could get to my second drink and un-buckle my “drinking jeans”, the loud engine of a work-van parking in the guest-house garage brought my attention to the finest product of South Africa I’d ever laid my eyes on. My jaw dropped (but not my drink…never my drink) as I watched a man so gorgeous that his muddy jeans and rolled up sleeves looked like they’d accompanied him straight out of a 1970’s romance novel titled “[the afrikaans version of] The year Hans, the tractor-mechanic re-awakened my desires” (or something), walk out of the van. His piercing eyes and confusingly arousing uni-brow shot sparks through my body and I immediately decided to seduce this man even if it meant my advances would have to be lubricated by the tears of my ancestors.
And in true form I found a way to muddle up the whole thing. Don’t let my piercing intellect and sharp wit fool you, I am no seductress. (Because ‘piercing’ and ‘sharp’ are adjectives that scream ‘I’m fertile!’, right? *snorts*)
In fact, when in the heat of the moment my words act as my enemy. I know this because not too long after I opened my mouth all the young man’s attempts to put his mud-caked hands on my nubile thighs while he recounted tales that illustrated his heroic non-racism (is that a white mating ritual?) came to a loud halt.
So for the black girls out there that are suffering from a particularly relentless bout of Dutch-fever, I present to you the 5 things I said that ruined my first (and probably last) attempt to seduce an Afrikaner man.
1. “So you’re Afrikaner, right? Do your parents have a farm?”
To this I got a puzzled look that may have illustrated two things: my obvious ignorance and the fellow’s own obvious slow recovery from the concussion he told me got in his high school rugby days. Eventually he laughed “no.”
2. “Your drunk stories are so funny! What’s the weirdest thing you and your matric friends did when you were drunk? Did you guys ever get really drunk off klipdrift and do something crazy like steal a black village’s land?”
3. “You strike me as a family man…so tell me: if you had to choose between saving a black family and saving your favorite dog from a fire, what therapist would you take your dog to, to help it recover from the trauma of its near-death experience?”
4. “How many of your ancestors would vomit if you hooked up with me?”
5. “What’s Afrikaans for “I want to make love to you so passionately that every ancestor I’ve ever had places a 200-year-long curse on our mixed-race offspring”?”
After the last statement the space between us grew exponentially throughout the evening so that by the end I was shouting drunken poetry at the wall of his house while he presumably slept off the last of any “jungle-fever” he had ever had.
I suppose I’d better shove away any dreams I ever had of spending my life on a big farm and being perpetually mistaken for the maid by “well-meaning” relatives.
Siyanda is a 20-Year-Old Mathematics major at the University of Botswana. Contact her at siyandawrites[at]gmail.com