Kritiek Aster — Verskroeide aarde (September 2013)

We struggle with English, vernacular and all the rest. A hard Afrikaans word could get us all confused because we’re from Witpoortjie and our ambition withered with the last dagga rokie in the back yard.

Ourselves and all our idols drink at the local bar (see, a grammar error) and we can’t talk about niks meer gekompliseerd than biltong, braaivleis and rugby nie.

That’s what the world tells us about ourselves. That’s what my supposed Monash friends teased me about – being a boeremeisie, a poppie (shoot me now, skat, I’ll never be), always being warm and wearing summer clothes because Afrikaans people don’t get cold, eating bland food as compared to chilli and dried-and-feisty leaves and finally, for preferring brandy to beer.

The other day, out for some dinner, I entertained the last of the ignorance about who I am and who my people are.

“That war was useless and you were fighting over something that wasn’t yours to start with. Apartheid, racism, inequality blah blah blah … you ‘suffered’ nothing and fought without cause.” And then something about the brilliant British imperialism tactics in China.

Tsjaina, you has no idea.

I don’t want to sound like the stereotype, I’m just working to bring a point across. I take pride in my capabilities in Afrikaans, English and French and look forward to expanding those capabilities – and to put you in your place in all three languages.

Ons wou nie oor goud óf grond baklei nie. The war wasn’t really about gold or land. La guerre n’était pas sur l’or ou des terre.

As much as you battled your way down Africa or from slave ships or from Europe or Asia to South Africa to have a peaceful new beginning and to prosper, I did. The Myburghs did. So did the Ferreiras (previously, Perreiras because they were Portuguese and had to flee their country and change their identity) and the Bothas, the Schulze and the Leibbrandts. The Schulze fled Nazi Germany to raise South African children.

I’m sure members of my own family and around 28 000 members of most now-Afrikaans but then Dutch, German, Polish and French families died in the cruel British concentration camps, under the scorched earth policy of Lord Oom Kitchener. Verskroeide aarde. Technique de la terre brulée, oui, les damnés de la Terre.

Ons het vir ons tuisgemaakte kultuur se bestaansreg geveg. Vir Afrikaans, vir familie en plaaswerkers en vee.

We fought for our homemade culture, for our Afrikaans, for family, farm workers and livestock.

La guerre était sur la liberte, la culture et la famille.

Gryp jou bier en kom ek vertel jou bietjie wat régtig gebeur het, want let’s face it, géén handboek gaan nie. Lewer jou uitspraak eers daarná.