’n Goeie gewete is ’n sagte kussing

AFRIKAANS is reeee-dic-ku-lous, by which I mean faaan-tas-tiek.

Like every tannie’s speserykas it has alles: language of the oppressor, Die Stem, language of liberation, ’n Freek en ’n Beyers, Houtstraat (Haowt Street), braaibroekies (en -broodjies), ’n Steve en ’n Zoid, ’n dominee en ’n imam, concentration camp nagmerries and Warmbad vakansie herinneringe, maar wie heuning wil eet, moet steke verdra.

My gravitation to Afrikaans-speaking South Africans started early with my best friend Ruth van Niekerk at the age of five to now being the only English-speaking person in the room at Vrye Weekblad. Ek leef en werk in 'n Afrikaanse wêreld en dit is hoogs vermaaklik obviously tussen oomblikke van volslae verwarring. Deur die blare.

During speedy back-and-forth WhatsApp debates, I feel like a bewildered tourist who accidentally booked a one-way ticket to a parallel universe where vowels are a mere suggestion and every conversation mimics an enthusiastic yet aggressive poetry slam. (I delight in it.) Private appeals for translations of fancy words are granted, but in a group setting my progressive colleagues can suddenly morph into staunch Afrikaans nationalists, swearing blind that no English equivalent exists. Dit weet die aap se stert.

Like a stray dog, Hans occasionally throws me a bone in the form of an English headline to comment on. When I say: What does that even mean? he will argue on behalf of Elizabeth II as though he personally served in her court. I can almost see his beard vibrating: English is like a cheese sandwich. Functional. No seasoning. Hy's 'n slimmerd.

My boerseun friend Dutchy (true story) has recently taken to sending me blurry low-res photos of poems rather than talk to me. This was the first:

My missionary grandpa “Pat" of Irish and British descent would love to teasingly scold us kids with “Pasop”. Mind you, his Afrikaans and Swahili were of equal competence. Minimal. Duidelik. Expressive. And my granny “Golly" on my dad’s side chose Afrikaans for all her uitlatings en uitdrukkings such as “Moenie spot nie”. She was nicknamed Golly as a child because of her kroes hare. My earliest memories of Afrikaans were my dad singing “Die Heiland is Gebore” on the streets of Pretoria at Christmas time accompanying himself on his piano accordian. Uit die hart uit.

Soos ander wat hier begrafnisbriewe geskryf het, het ek ook die eerste uitgawe van VWB 1.0 in 1988 gekoop, my finale jaar by Moscow on the hill. En kyk hoe lyk ek nou.

In 2005, het Max hierdie opsomming van VWB 1.0 geskryf. Dit verskyn voor die titelblad van Oranje blanje blues: 'n Nostalgiese trip:

Het jy dit gelees? Dis ons! Onse mense. Nie my “Ma se mense” nie.

Hy skryf verder:

“Vrye Weekblad is 'n bewys dat nie alle Afrikaners rassiste en dissipels van apartheid was nie. Dat Afrikaners goeie Afrikane en demokrate maak. En dat Afrikaans ook ’n bevrydingstaal kan wees.”

What with Afrikaner dumplings Kriel and Roets and that vrot-looking wingerdstok Jaco fighting off the white genocide with MAGA soos 'n handvol vlieë, Vrye Weekblad should be alive and well to counter their propaganda. In Afrikaans. Maar, toe nou. Al dra 'n aap 'n goue ring, hy is en bly 'n lelike ding.

No one is going to rain on my begrafnis parade! Dis net Jakkals wat trou met Wolf se vrou. You cannot kill an idea; you cannot cancel VWB 1.0, 2.0 and 3.0; you cannot police Afrikaans; jy kan nie Afrikaans koloniseer nie and you certainly can’t use it as a prop for your victimhood. Skaam jou. Het jy 'n klap van die windmeul weg? 😄

I will always be extremely proud of being part of Vrye Weekblad and this mad, madder, maddest family. My hoogtepunt was ongetwyfeld VWB 3.0 en die vryheid wat ek gehad het om myself te wees (plus 'n ekstra dosis artiste drama obvs). Die ervaring om by ander buitestanders aan te sluit om van 'n padda vere te probeer pluk, het waarde toegevoeg tot my redelik kleurvolle lewe. Om bymekaar te kom is 'n begin; om saam te bly is vordering; om saam te werk is sukses.

As Deborah said last night:

Ek weet! I wanted time to explore AI (which for some unbelievable reason cannot just be AI, but must be KI for kunsmatige intelligensie, eyeroll), make a digital directory of all our artwork, write about A Day in the Life as Mother of an Autistic child; and How Leon Tusk’s autism plays out on the world stage; white privilege ... I was just getting going with my cultural Afrikaners too, like who’s who in the Afrikaans theatre zoo, maar nou soek ek vir content soos wors in die hondestal.

Like the vibrant language we script, sketch and sculpt each day, our team and our readers are a bit of everything and a lot of one thing: loyal. Dankie. A volle doos sjokolade including that smug one filled with dessicated coconut (we’ll call it Roodt although it’s not so much a teamster or reader as much as a Koekeloer). Sy turf sit.

I delight in Afrikaans. Bromponie. Godverlate. Kattekwaad. Dwaal. Armsalig. Verpletter. Papbroek. There are no papbroeke here. Dit gaan maar broekskeur.

Ons weet nou dat 'n lepel in die dak gesteek is, maar ek sal nooit 'n gegewe perd in die bek kyk nie. Vir my was VWB 3.0 'n tyd van leer en groei, professioneel en persoonlik. I love that this was the time I chose not to be anyone’s doormat; in neither English nor Afrikaans. I feel accomplished, devastated, valued, die moer in, grown up, tough, exhausted. What I have learnt from my colleagues is onskatbaar. Even stuff I never thought I needed to know (veel meer as 7 goed). Soos Marc Lottering sê: #justavessel

From Gaza to the Union Buildings, from Clarens to Cullinan, from Alzheimer's to Parkinson's, from Humperdinck to Riku, from Sudan to Mooirivier, from Potus to Macrobiotus, from happiness to grief, from Jo’burg to Auckland, from the ICJ to the ConCourt, from outfits to outings (en dis net die oortjies van die seekoei) … ons het met hart en siel gewerk en nou is die koeël deur die kerk. Wie slaap, verloor!

My tribute goes to those at VWB who have endured the stuffy engine room. They are unseen and only raise their voices (Hans) in extreme circumstances. Thank you to Elmari, Hans, Corné, Linda, Dave and Sybrandus for your eagle eyes, open minds, long hours and niche knowledge. Every sub is a writer who actually types the en-dashes as they go. Thank you to RH for hours of hilarious (and intense) video chats from Day One (and for guarding our servers and database) and for having die geduld van Job no matter the inane query. Thank you to Vivien for being our permanent Navrae desk.

“Vrye Weekblad het die Afrikaanse taal van die kansel en die politieke kateder af geklap en vlerke gegee. Dit het ander Suid-Afrikaners gedwing om heeltemal anders na dié taal en sy praters te kyk.” – Max, 2005

Mense, luister. Wees vigilant.
Each One. Reach One.
Each One. Teach One.
Pass it on cos ou liefde roes nie.

Dit is die klein jakkalsies wat die wingerde verniel.

Over. My Dead. Body.
Oor. Jou. Dooie. Liggaam.

Love you, bye.

♦ VWB ♦

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