Did the earth move for you, bru?

‘Nooit, Bru! There were was an earthquake in Cape Town?”

Mark spilled his Black Label in disbelief as Mike recounted – from a safe, two-metre distance away – what he’d seen on Twitter.

“Ja, I bet that wasn’t an earthquake,” said Thabiso, as he chugged away at his Windhoek Lager. (The okes had long ago given up telling him he should be drinking Castle… if you support kak teams like Kaizer Chiefs and Arsenal, you have to drink a kak beer, after all…)

Dave chipped in: “Ok, smart arse, just because you’ve got three syllables in your name and we’ve only got one, doesn’t mean you’re cleverer than us, hey! What you scheme happened, then?”

“Explosive bolts, bro…”

“Hold up there, bru! I thought we agreed we are not going to use the word ‘bro’ in case anyone thinks we’re some alt.right commentators with a YouTube channel. Same for boet… in case anyone thinks we come from the Eastern Cape and we know Jeremy Mansfield… Now what are you talking about?”

Thabiso took another swig: “That’s what all those crazy white and coloured okes have been doing down there since they decided they wanted to have their own Republic and break away from South Africa. Now they detonate these bolts and – bang! (Mike dropped his Heineken and cried out in pain. Have you seen how much those things cost?) They then drift off into the Atlantic Ocean by themselves…”

Dave thought for a moment: “That’s actually not a bad idea. They can take The Stormers with them…”

He continued, sipping his Corona Special without the slightest hint of irony, “This has been one strange-assed year, bru. At least we can get out now and sit in a sports bar and talk
rubbish like we used to…”

Mark replied: “I dunno what you’re complaining about, Dave. I wouldn’t mind being quarantined with that hottie of yours…”

“Ja, sex is nice and all but there’s a catch…”

They all nodded and Mike voiced their common fear: “Chicks just want to put a ring on you, bru…”

Dave shook his head: “Nah, it’s not that – but I tell you what I’m getting blemishes on my hands from all the washing up… And I swear you get a headache from all those household chores.”

In the silence which followed, four minds saw four different versions of eternity in Hell. Thabiso broke the spell: “How did we end up like this, guys? It’s been so long since I saw a football
match, I’ve forgotten the offside rule…”

Mike: “Me too! I can’t remember the rule about supporting your own body weight in a loose scrum – actually, was there ever such a rule?”

As they wracked their brains, Mark said: “Can anyone remember the World Cup? Did Siya and the boys actually win? If they didn’t please don’t wake me up…”

They all gazed mournfully at the TV in the sports bar (what an irony that was these days).

“I see it’s the Comedy Channel,” remarked Dave. “No, it’s not. It’s the news.

“Same thing…” They looked at the screen: more of the ANC’s Greatest Hits (allowing that the last word may have been an anagram).

“Chair, I cannot remember. Chair, I was the MEC for housing but I wasn’t told that the Housing Act applied to my portfolio….”

Mike, his replacement Heineken gripped now firmly in his hand, said: “I say we cut the oke a little slack… Covid messes with your memory and logic, bru…”

Brendan Seery

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