Let’s be brave like Johnnie…

It was, Oom Schalk Lourens said, as he gazed upon the Marico bosveld with one hand wrapped around his mug of moer koffie and the other around his pipe, a very interesting time to be alive.

Piet Cronje, sitting next to him and similarly equipped with koffie, but taking a drag of his Camel Lite, agreed, while still keeping a lustful eye on his dust-full Hilux – because some matches are truly made in heaven.

Piet had been named after the Boer War General Piet Cronje, but had never fought his own personal Magersfontein.

Bets, his wife and commander-in-chief, had an uncle at Voortrekkerhoogte so Piet was declared medically unfit to go to “The Border”.

He did his time with Bets, realising early on that, unlike diensplig, he could not “klaar out” at the end of 18 months.

Today, he had fled to early morning solace with Oom Schalk, whose beloved Gertruida allowed him limited time on the stoep for his friend’s “huis besoek”.

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“Ja,” said Oom Schalk remarked, after first sipping then puffing, “Look at this soutie laaitie John Steenhuisen.”

“Wragtig!” Piet exploded, “I am siek en sat of all of these Anglikaners who have our names but can’t speak die taal and so waar just mix and match their languages.”

Oom Schalk turned slowly towards Piet, raising a scornful eyebrow.

Ja well, no fine, thought Oom Schalk, irony is not big in the bosveld.

“As I was saying,” Oom Schalk continued, “This laaitie went all the way to the Ukraine…”

Before he could finish, Piet interjected: “Ja, lekker place that. Remember how Pietman Prinsloo got one of those mail-order brides from there back in the 1990s?”

Oom Schalk had his train of thought momentarily derailed … that blonde-haired, blue-eyed honey was gorgeous.

So what if she couldn’t speak Afrikaans or English; she had a master’s degree in body language.

Sadly for Pietman, once she got her permanent residence, she ran off with a former Nat Cabinet minister.

Piet was on a roll: “Did this oke go there to get another one?” Oom Schalk shook his head in irritation.

“Don’t you know there’s a war going on there? He went on a fact-finding mission…”

Piet watched CNN on the DStv bouquet – which Bets paid for out of her inheritance, because she loved the telenovelas and that was the only way they could afford it – so he asked: “Is it cheaper to go there yourself than to get DStv?”

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Piet slapped his forehead. “Wait! I have a plan for us to get away to Loftus on Saturday to see the Bulls.”

Ag nee, thought Oom Schalk. Getruida had already put her not insubstantial foot down – Dominee was coming for lunch.

“We just turn our Bulls shirts inside out,” continued Piet, eyes ablaze with enthusiasm, “and we look like we’re from the Blue Party.”

The gears were turning in Oom Schalk’s head.

“We each tell vroulief we’ve been sent on a dangerous fact-finding mission.”

Something occurred to him: “But where’s the war, Piet? We have to have one to go to, so we can be brave like Johnnie.”

Piet laughed.

“Ag, Schalk, don’t forget it’s Bulls against Stormers … and if that’s not always a war zone, then I have never seen one!”

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