MY sister’s British boyfriend is a really nice guy, but not the sharpest tool in the shed.
So I decided to pull an African-style April Fools’ joke on him.
Via WhatsApp (at half my salary per minute calling London was out of the question), I informed John he had to pay lobola for my sister.
Within 30 seconds he phoned.
‘Are you serious, how much?’
Not having foreseen such a speedy response, I coughed violently for half-a-minute, and then told him a tsetse fly flew into my mouth, I have to get an emergency anti-malaria shot, and would get back to him after I’ve consulted the elders.
That evening, in the kitchen, I asked my 15-year-old (elderly) nondescript brown dog, whether I should tell him it’s a prank, or not just yet. One tail wag meant yes, and two no.
She fell over attempting to reach her under-tail area, which I took as ‘roll on the floor laughter’, and having to make him suffer a bit more.
I think this was the point where I got a bit carried away…
I thought if my sister didn’t find out, I could actually make a buck or two off the guy, and seeing that the Rand is worth nothing nowadays, why not?
Lions in the streets
Now I know lobola is mostly about hooves and horns, but not having land (I wasn’t on Jan’s ship) will make keeping livestock somewhat problematic.
I wanted cash!
But how to get the message across without sounding like a gold digger?
I would’ve said because tigers roam the streets I fear for their safety and will therefore take cash instead, but he’s been here on holiday and knows very well a lion putting one paw outside a game reserve quickly ends up as balm and sold at the taxi rank.
So I decided to tell him that a retarded poacher might shoot my cows and sell the horns to a retarded Korean, and the thought of Daisy being rubbed on Oriental genitalia will break my heart.
No, it’s got to be Elizabeth II’s pink face!
Next I calculated how much I’m entitled to.
Lobola can be grossly inflated if you’re just slightly less average than Joe, so I sat a while, speculating about my social standing.
I’m a double Caxton Excellence Awards finalist, and once actor Ian Roberts and I bumped heads at the Kroonstad Ultra City’s urinal, so it’s not that I’m nobody.
Human trafficking
After establishing that I’m in a good position to negotiate, I went about identifying that which could swing my asking price the wrong way.
Her cooking skills came to mind.
Once my dad had to get the kitchen repainted because a tin of condensed milk she over-boiled exploded.
Also, for a girl from Africa, she’s a bit on the thin side. In fact, compared to a healthy specimen she can be classified as borderline anorexic, but that was all I could come up with.
The settlement amount on my car sounded ideal, but the R7 000 I needed for that new surfboard would also do.
Again I sent him my demands via WhatsApp, and again my phone rang within seconds.
It was my sister – and she was furious!
Holding the device far away from my ear to protect my hearing, I heard her shouting something about human trafficking and Interpol.
After she hung up I told the dog hers was a stupid idea and send a message explaining it was a prank and that I’m terribly sorry.
John replied in seconds – ‘April Fool!’
