Hi Blogies,
As you know I came to Cape Town in search of Kaapse lekkers. I am still looking for them. I can’t find them anywhere. I am really hoping that if I do find them eventually that they would be lactose free because it is such a struggle living in a milky world. I can forget about going to the milky way now. Anyway that is not the the point that I would like to make. I have been in Cape Town for five years now and I can forget about calling myself a Cape Townian. My accent isn’t raaa raaa enough my hair don’t skud and my hips don’t lie. What use to irritate me is the fact that people cornered me off a lot saying.
“You look like an African girl” ( Duh I was born in Africa)
“Are you from the Northern Cape?”
“No.”
“Where are from then ?”
“The Western Cape”
“Oe?!” ( here the stranger has that expression that says: ” Sure, lie to yourself it is none of my business”)
I was even asked if I was from Namibia
” Are You Vambu?” ( Whispering behind his hand)
I obviously knew that they wanted know whether I was a Boesman. I am indeed Boesman. I imagine my ancestors maybe originating from the Strandlopers in the Overberg, you know the fishermen and women. Yes people, Khoi-san did not only live in the desert. Just don’t tell my mother I gave away our family secret. She doesn’t want anyone to know. Always the Scottish blood that has to be flaunted and she always says,
“I am not a Boesman. I have blonde hair.” ( what?! Really mother. It maybe blonde but our hair is still kroes)
I have written a poem about the above mentioned because I will never have the guts to tell this to my mother’s face.
She has quite a left hand.
Don’t call me a Boesman
Mother you get angry
when they call you a Boesman
You would brag
“can’t you see I’ve got yellow hair?”
The truth is
your ancestral denial are written on bodies
here in our heart shaped cheeks
and you don’t want to admit that they are Krotoa’s
Krotoa’s
and these hips that hourglasses us?
you complain fit into these overseas jeans
and that people point at your buttocks
that look like they have to catch up with you
you can’t take the constant taunting
when they mock-sing
“Maandag-Dinsdag- ane-week-en-Woensdag
Maandag- Dinsdag-ane-week-en-Woensdag”
and what about these arms misinterpreted as flabby? ( We kind of look alike don’t you agree)
not to mention the pot belly…
Now that I am growing into my woman
I must hide the extra lovehandles
“want alles wat mal is drill”
just now the people will see
and they will see
that my body figure is ancestral
embodied by those
who gathered and kneaded the land
with their bands
and just like Peter Pan’s Wendy killed Tinkerbell
by saying
“I don’t believe in fairies”
you kill our history
by saying
“don’t you dare call me a Boesman
while you and I both know
the drawing in the ancient caves
don’t tell tales
Warmest,
Joas
