Rugby and prayer

I don’t have a lot to say about it this time. If you aren’t convinced that South African Rugby players bring honour to God for their talent when they pray on the field and that it is not to get God to turn on the other team, nothing will. Just check Bakkies and Habana, to name but two. They are not afraid to do it with millions of people watching them or reading about it in the papers. So in fact they are heroes. They make mistakes and get angry and hit people and tackle them high and score the most beautiful tries and scrum like animals. So we judge them about it and say that Christians shouldn’t do it. CAN THAT F-ING TAXI JUST GET OUT OF MY WAY??!!!
Seriously, and we say THEY are the hypocrites?
I love rugby, I love rugby players, I am friends with them and i think they are some of the most sincere people in the whole world.

Op die Bokke!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hansie & Grietjie/Hansel & Gretel/Hänsel & Gretl

So, ons almal ken die (tragiese) verhaal van die boetie en sussie wat deur hul bose stiefma die bos ingeneem word, daar agtergelaat word, en wat dan op die lekkergoedhuisie wat deur ‘n heks bewoon word afkom, deur haar gevang word en haar dan op ‘n wreedaardige manier uitoorlê.

Okay, dis baie eenvoudig gestel en ek is regtig jammer as ek basies elkeen wat hierdie lees se kinderfantasie sopas vernietig het. Maar ek is net hier om na die ware feite van die verhaal te kyk. Kom ons kyk of ons tog, deur middel van rekonstruksie, ons onskuld kan herwin…

Reg. Die verhaal begin met Hansie, Grietjie, hulle pa en natuurlik die Wrede Stiefma (want in sprokies is stiefma’s altyd wreed – sorry stiefma’s!). Hulle bly ook, soos so baie mense in sprokies, in ‘n bos of woud. Wat ons laat wonder oor die pa se beroep en oor die afwesigheid van die biologiese ma: waar is sy? Het sy pad gevat, het sy beswyk aan ‘n virus of het die pa se onbehendigheid dalk veroorsaak dat ‘n boom op haar geval het en sy op so ‘n manier die hiernamaals in is? Want, volgens wat ons uit die storie kan aflei, is die pa nogals ‘n lamsak. Ek meen, watter mens laat sy tweede vrou toe om sy kinders (TWEE KEER!) in ‘n bos in te vat en hulle daar te los sodat hulle nou maar kan omkom van die honger? Hallo, al ooit gehoor van die WELSYN?! Sit hulle in pleegsorg of iets as jy nie vir jou eie kinders kan sorg nie, maar moenie hulle in die flippen bos gaan aflaai nie! Dis net wreed. Wat ons ook laat wonder of dit nie dalk eerder die Wrede Biologiese Pa moes gewees het nie.

Elk geval, so die Biologiese Pa en Wrede Stiefma is so onbeholpe en maak so min geld dat hulle naderhand nie meer hul twee kinders kan onderhou nie. Onthou hulle bly in ‘n bos. Met diere en voëls. En bome met vrugte. En bessies. En probably ‘n rivier waar mens water kan kry. So dis nie exactly asof daar niks was nie – hulle het immers nie in die woestyn gebly nie.

Maar okay, soos wat die twee ouers die een aand sit en oor die saak argumenteer oor wat om met die kinders te maak (in plaas daarvan om te besluit hoe hulle ‘n inkomste kan genereer), hoor Hansie en Grietjie, die twee Duitse bloedjies, die geredekawel. Hansie, wat deurgaans in die storie na vorentoe kom as die entrepreneur, innoveerder en eksperimenteerder, het toe sy sussie in die een hoek van die eenslaapkamer huisie getrek en haar van sy meesterplan vertel.

(Pause net eers. Vir almal wat al Fiela Se Kind gesien of gelees het, lui hierdie nie ‘n klokkie nie? Lukas van Rooyen, Nina die boskind…funny, tussen al die Van Rooyens se gekrepeer kon hulle hul kinders behou…)

Hansie het gehoor dat die ouers saam besluit het om hulle die bos in te vat en daar te los. Vir hierdie plan om te slaag moes (a) die bos vrek groot gewees het en hoe sou die ouers dan hul pad teruggekry het; (b) hulle die kinders geblinddoek het; of (c) Hansie en Grietjie nooit buite gespeel het en die bos leer ken het nie. Wat dalk die waarskynlikste opsie was. Want sien, Hansie was ‘n boekwurm, versot op lees. Sy intelligensie en planmaakvermoë het gekom uit al die speur- en aksieromans wat hy voor brekfis verslind het. Hy was versot op enigiets van Fritz Deelman tot Clive Cussler tot Dean Koontz tot Michael Crichton tot Wilbur Smith. Hoewel hy nie regtig van Wilbur Smith gehou het nie – teveel detail beskrywing.
Maar ja, dit en sy voorliefde om met hoenderbeentjies te speel sou hom later handig te pas kom.

Grietjie, aan die anderkant, was die klein huisslafie. Sy het alles gedoen: kos maak, wasgoed was, huis uitvee, die blare hark en die geut regmaak. Sy moes ook, wanneer haar Wrede Stiefma en Biologiese Pa wou bad, die gat in die sinkbad met haar hand toe hou. Wat veroorsaak het dat sy haar onskuld en ongemaklikheid met persoonlike nabyheid op die rype ouderdom van drie en ‘n kwart al verloor het. So sy was gemaklik met enigiets. Regtig enigiets. Niks kon haar naarmaak, afskrik of omverwerp nie, nie eens twee ouers wat haar en haar ouboet in die bos wil gaan los nie. Die stories wat sê Grietjie was ‘n bang klein dogtertjie, lieg.

Waar was ons? O, ja: die plan. Die meesterplan. Soos wat Hansie hoor dat die ouers besluit om hulle in die bos te los (seriously? Ek kom net nie oor dit nie!), werk sy kop in vyfde rat: Hoe maak mens as jy ‘n pad terug soek, maar dit nie ken nie? Die logiese antwoord is: jy volg die bordjies, of in hierdie geval, die bakens (lees: wit klippies) wat jy skelm-skelm agter jou los.

Nou, gelukkig het dit so uitgewerk dat daar iewers naby die huis ‘n plek was waar Hansie ‘n klomp wit klippies in die hande kon kry. Wat natuurlik die teorie oor die rivier wat water kon voorsien, versterk. So toe, terwyl almal slaap, gaan hy stilletjies en versamel genoeg klippies om vir hulle die pad terug huis toe aan te dui. Hoe hy geweet het hoeveel om op te tel, weet net Hansie, maar gelukkig was hy ‘n entrepreneur, innoveerder en eksperimenteerder en daarom kon hy dit met ‘n formule in sy kop uitwerk.

Die volgende oggend breek toe aan en daar trek die Biologiese Pa, die Wrede Stiefma en die twee Duitsertjies die bos in. Hansie laat val sy klippies skelm en Grietjie act ‘n Oscar los om dit te laat lyk asof sy so bang is sy kan doodgaan. Eventually is hulle ver genoeg na die Biologiese Pa en Wrede Stiefma se sin en op die telling van drie los hulle die kinders daar en hardloop terug na hulle boshuisie toe. Die Biologiese Pa het in die hardloop op die grond gekyk en elke nou en dan ‘n wit klippie gesien en gewonder of dit wat hy die vorige aand skelm geëet het hierdie gryserige putty veroorsaak het. Hulle was mos immers brandarm en wie weet op watter plekke sy broek orals stukkend was…

Back to Hansie en Grietjie. Daar sit die twee in die middel (of wherever) van die bos en pondereer. Hulle het eintlik nou veelvuldige opsies gehad: hulle kon die wit klippies gevolg het terug na die armsalige houthuisie en hul ewe armsalige bestaan toe, of hulle kon uiteindelik verlos gewees het van hul Wrede Lui Ouers en die wye wêreld ingegaan het en John en Joan Cusack geword het. Ek meen, Grietjie kon immers ‘n barshou act.

Maar, soos ons almal maar is, het familie nou maar eenmaal ‘n trekpleister op ‘n mens tot ‘n mindere of meerdere mate en buitendien het Hansie ‘n paar van sy favourite novels by die huis vergeet. Grietjie het nog nie die vorige dag se skottelgoed gewas nie, maar sy kon nie minder omgee nie. Hansie het egter ‘n belangriker rede as ‘n paar novels gehad om terug te keer huistoe.

Die ding was: Hansie het potensiaal in sy pa gesien. Granted, die man was lui, oorgewig, humeurig en bietjie van ‘n suiplap elke derde vrydagaand, maar Hansie het geweet dat sy Inner Lion net moes ontwaak om hom in die Goeie Gawe Kêrel te laat verander wat hy in der waarheid was. Daarom het hy Grietjie bietjie gepush en haar omgekoop met ‘n perd wat hy van hoenderbeentjies gemaak het. Griet se gesig het opgehelder en aan die moontlikhede van sprokieskryf gedink en besluit om tog maar saam met haar broer te gaan.
“Op een voorwaarde,” het sy toegegee.
“Wat?” het Hans gevra.
“Ons raak van daai bitch van ‘n stiefma ontslae. En ons torture haar. Ek gee jou die hele pad om aan iets te dink. Anders gaan ek in anyway f-of en dan kan julle self kyk wie die bad se lek gaan toehou.”
Hansie was keen en daar cruise hulle terug huistoe, al agter die wit klippies aan.

Nou, hier is die vraag: hoekom het Hansie, as hy dan so slim was, nooit die klippies opgetel en saam teruggevat huistoe nie? Nêrens lees ons dat hy dit wel gedoen het nie, so ons kan dit nie in die storie inlees nie. Dit sal tog net verspot wees.

So kom hulle toe laat middag by die houthuisie aan en verras die Wrede Ouers. Die stories sê dat die Biologiese Pa baie gelukkig was om hulle weer te sien, maar ek is nie so seker nie. Ek meen, hy is skaars ‘n dag in gedeeltelike vryheid en hier is die meulstene om sy nek alweer terug. Of so het hy geredeneer. Moontlik. Dat die Wrede Stiefma nie te ingenome was met hulle terugkeer nie, goes without saying.

Hans en Griet was terug by die krot en dinge het by die dag slegter gegaan. Die Biologiese Pa en Wrede Stiefma het gefigure dat dit dalk nie die brightste idee in die hele wêreld was om hulle in die bos te los nie en ander opsies begin oorweeg. Maar omdat hulle skynbaar van die buitewêreld afgesny was en daarom nie ‘n telefoon of kommunikasie van enige soort gehad het nie, het hulle seker nie van die welsyn geweet nie en kannibalisme was (dank Vader) vir die Biologiese Pa nie ‘n opsie nie. Ek meen, mens abandon net jou kinders. Jy eet hulle nie op nie.

Hansie het alles in sy vermoë gedoen om sy Biologiese Pa se Inner Lion wakker te maak, maar niks wou werk nie. Wild At Heart, Mannekampe, Rhino Horn, Viagra, you name it – alles tevergeefs. Griet het intussen begin om in haar gedagtes ‘n Sprokie uit te dink en sy het geweet dat daardie een beslis meer vreugde en plesier as haar eie lewe sou bevat.

Die Wrede Stiefma was, sad but true, regtig ‘n bitch in die ergste sin van die woord. Met die Duitse huppelkinders se terugkeer het sy hulle erger laat werk as tevore en Hans se leestyd is dramaties ingekort. Sy was ook dead set dat die bos tog die regte opsie was en het op ‘n manier die opsie op die Biologiese Pa afgedwing.

Die lewe is soms soos ‘n wrede siklus en partykeer voel mens vasgevang in die Deja Vu wat dreig om jou te verswelg. Dis seker hoe Hans en Griet moes gevoel het toe hulle een oggend wakker word en besef dat hulle wragtag weer oppad na die middel (of wherever) van die bos toe is. Hansie het yskoud geword en besef dat hy nooit daaraan gedink het om weer klippies te gaan optel nie en het inderhaas ‘n stuk droë brood van die kombuistafel afgegryp – die krummels sou maar net moes doen.

Weer is hul op die telling van drie agtergelaat en weer het hul alleen agtergebly met ‘n wêreld vol keuses. En weer het hulle terug huistoe gedonner…hierdie keer was die pad net moeiliker om te kry. So moeilik, in fact, dat hulle verdwaal het. Persoonlik glo ek nie die twak dat die voëls die broodkrummels opgepik het nie. Probeer ‘n slag broodkrummels af en toe in ‘n donker bospaadjie laat val en kyk of jy dit met die blote oog kaan raaksien? Jy kan nie. Hans en Griet kon nie die krummels kry nie want die goed het weggeraak. Punt.

Maar hulle kry toe wel ‘n oopte in die bos en…drumroll…’n huisie wat van lekkergoed gemaak is!!! Okay, dit moes paradise gewees het vir die twee Duitsertjies wat skynbaar van hoender, water en die occasional stuk droë brood geleef het.

Die soorte lekkergoed waaruit die huisie bestaan het, verskil letterlik van boek tot boek, van vertelling tot vertelling. Net ‘n paar gedagtes: sjokolade smelt, koek droog uit, versiersuiker word hard en smaakloos en as dit reën word beskuitjies extremely mushy. En hitte laat suiker en sulke goed smelt (waar dink julle kry ons spookasem vandaan?) en hierdie magic huisie het ‘n oond ingehad. Seriously, net ‘n paar gedagtes.

Hulle begin toe soos honger kinders te vreet en natuurlik moet Die Heks nou ‘n entrance maak:
“Knibbel knabbel knuisie, wie knabbel aan my huisie?”
En Hansie se comeback (waar Grietjie hom waarskynlik oor geklap het) is:
“Die wind, die wind, die hemelse kind.”
For crying out loud.

Nou, ek het ‘n teorie wat ek al van kindsbeen af glo en wat jy op raar geleenthede tog in weergawes van die verhaal sal opspoor: Die Heks en die Wrede Stiefma is een en dieselfde persoon! Die huisie was obviously ‘n lokval en háár Meesterplan om finaal van hulle ontslae te raak. Dís hoekom die Biologiese Pa nie vir sy gesin kon sorg en sy Inner Lion kon release nie, dís hoekom Hansie van die klippies vergeet het en dís hoekom sy aangedring het om hulle weer bos toe te vat. Maar op hierdie stadium in die storie weet ons dit nie.

Die heks kom uit en vermom as ‘n ou tannie nooi sy ewe vriendelik die kinders in om binne toe te kom. Binnekant verdwyn al die maskers toe natuurlik en verander sy in Die Heks wat sy nog die heeltyd was.

Belangrik om te weet is dat hekse in hul eie omgewing nie hulself kan regtoor nie, daarom kon Die Heks nie so goed sien nie en het sy nie ‘n bril gehad nie en het haar kannibalistiese sy tog na vore gekom en was dit die rede hoekom sy vir Hans wou opvreet. Hy is summier in ‘n hok gestop met tralies en slotte en alles en Grietjie is in die werk gesteek (ek bedoel sy het werk gekry om te doen, vergeet die steek).

Vir hoe lank hulle nou eintlik Die Heks se gevangenes was, is onseker, maar Hans moes iets vermoed het toe hy ALWEER hoender vir aandete gekry het op presies dieselfde manier as wat die Wrede Stiefma altyd gemaak het. En Griet moes self suspisieus geraak het toe sy die einste stukkende sinkbad buitekant by die agterdeur sien staan het. Maar soos ons mense nou maar is, lieg ons om ons swakhede weg te steek en hoewel Die Heks teen dié tyd geweet het die kinders weet wie sy is en dat hulle weet dat sy weet dat hulle weet wie sy is, het almal mooi hulle pose gehou. Hans was agter tralies, Griet was besig om die vloer te mop en Die Heks het…ek weet nie presies wat gedoen nie. Hoender gekook.

Kannibalis wat sy was het Die Heks elke dag aan Hansie se vinger gevoel of hy vetter word sodat hy vet genoeg vir haar kan wees om te eet. Seriously? Sy vinger? Hoe sy ooit gedink het hy vet gaan word op hoender is…wel, ‘n vraag wat TUKS se koshuiseetsale haar kan beantwoord: met liters en liters olie! Die Heks het egter nie van sonneblomolie geweet nie en die goed was maar meeste van die tyd op die kole gebraai.

Ou Hans, die entrepreneur, innoveerder en eksperimenteerder, het elke keer net ‘n hoenderbeentjie uitgesteek as Die Heks aan sy vinger wou vat en intussen aan die binnekant van sy hok goeters uitgekrap soos Hansie Was Here en sulke dergelikhede (vergelyk die Afrikaanse Jeugboek Buys). Intussen het hy en Griet afgespreek en sy het stelselmatig die pad tussen die hok en die vuur skoongekry. En glad ook, sy het immers die mop gehad en dit wás ‘n lekkergoedhuisie – daar moes iewers stroop gewees het. Toe Die Heks/Wrede Stiefma dus weer eendag aan Hans se vinger voel (ewww!!) en uitfreak omdat hy nie vetter word nie en na die oond toe draai om te voel hoe warm dit is, gryp Griet haar kans aan en stamp Die Heks/Wrede Stiefma in die brandende oond. Die ou ding het met ‘n geskreeu en ‘n gekrys tot as verbrand – tipies aan haar einde gekom soos wat met alle hekse gebeur. Vra maar die Kerk van die Middeleeue. Hulle ken van brandstapels.

So Hansie en Grietjie was uiteindelik vry. Dit moes sad gewees het om van die lekkergoedhuisie afskeid te neem, maar nou ja versoeking bring mens ook net so ver en dan moet mens aan beweeg.

Omdat Die Heks/Wrede Stiefma nou dood was, was die magic op die bos verbreek (ja julle suckers natuurlik het sy die bos getoor!) en kon hulle redelik eenvoudig hul pad terug kry na die houthuisie toe. Die Biologiese Pa se Inner Lion het ook intussen uitgekom en uiteindelik kon hy vir sy kinders begin sorg. Hy het vir hulle klere en haardye gekoop, die houthuisie vaarwel toegeroep en oor die straat gestap Hollywood toe (HollyWOOD – dis ‘n bos, hallo!). Daar het die kinders toe ‘n loopbaan in drama gevolg en dis hoekom ons vandag movies soos Runaway Jury, America’s Sweethearts, Con Air, Grosse Point Blank, Raising Helen, Friends With Money en so aan het.

So, ouers, die lessie wat julle moet leer, is dit: leer julle kinders vroegtydig om ordentlik keuses te kan maak sodat hulle nie altyd terug na julle toe hoef te foeter nie.

Fluit fluit my storie is uit!

About a dog (the Spirit of the Great Heart)

After last weekend you probably expect me to write something about the rugby and the world cup and SA, the Springboks, winning it again after 12 long years. It really was tremendous and I probably will write something about that sooner or later.

But what I do want to write about today, is not sports. It’s about a dog. Two dogs actually. Or three.

There is this book, most of the South Africans know it, about a gold prospector/journalist/transport rider and his dog and their adventures in the Eastern Transvaal about 100 years or so ago. Yes, I’m talking about Jock of the Bushveld and Sir Percy Fitzpatrick. I read the book and saw the movie (the one with the sad ending) when I was small, the last time about 10 years ago. So when I saw the dvd available, I decided to buy it – true Africana!

I watched it with memories running through my head. The last time I saw it, was at veld school in the same Pilgrim’s Rest where the events took place and the movie was shot. I enjoyed it, watching the bushveld unravel before my eyes: impalas galloping, giraffes, elephants, hippo’s, crocs…wonderful scenery! We really do have a beautiful country. I can’t say that enough.

But about half way through, my mom phones me: a snake (probably a puffadder) has bitten Milo, one of our Jack Russell’s back at home in Vryheid, and by the time they got him to the vet, it was too late and he had to be put out. My heart sank in my shoes. That wasn’t good. That was really terrible. You see, the other Jack Russell male we had, Rassie, my dad had to shoot because he started to chase sheep and when that happens, you don’t ever get it out of them and the risk of other people sueing you is just to big.

So now both our Jack Russell males are dead, and the movie wasn’t finished yet. I knew the ending, I knew what was waiting for me after 90 or so minutes.

But it happened earlier than I expected. I started crying already when Jock got kicked by a kudu and lost his hearing. Then Fitzpatrick and his team lost their oxen due to sleeping sickness and he lost his friend (that was going to marry the girl HE loved and lost, too) to the same sickness or malaria or something. Then his frontman, Jim Makokel, had gone away and Fitz went back to work in the bank. Jock was sent to his friend Tom to stay on the farm, because his deafness caused him to be in danger in town.

So by this time I was sobbing like a baby. And then the ending followed, with Tom accidently shooting Jock, mistaking him for the chicken killer-dog that Jock already took care of.

So I cried for Rassie and Milo and Jock. And I cried because of the extreme losses we experience throughout life. I cried because we can’t control what we lose: our hearing, our friends, our loved ones, our team mates, our possesions.

But (and there is always a ‘but’) there are some happiness yet to be found. Fitz ended up marrying Lilian, the girl that he lost to his friend, eventually. And years later, when he told the tales of him and Jock and their adventures in the Bushveld to his children, his friend Rudyard Kipling convinced him to write it down in book form. And we read the tales. And we got to learn about the “Spirit of the Great Heart”.

Awesome.

Jokes

‘n Vergadering waar besluite geneem word sonder ‘n kworum is ‘n freakin joke.

Mense wat ‘n eed sweer terwyl hulle lag maak daarvan ‘n freakin joke.

Iemand wat “prestasie” vertaal met “prestation” in plaas van “achievement” maak ‘n freakin joke.

Maar mense wat my nie ernstig opneem nie, maak my woedend.

He came, he conquered, he left

As soon as I heard the news I just had to come and write it down: our House father is going away!!! Now, this is exclamationmarks of excitement, or shock or something, not of sadness. I’m still not sure how I feel about the whole thing.
You see, I’ve been in res even before he got in, so I saw his whole term through. That was probably one of the most (if not THE most) turbulent periods in the 92 year history of our residence. He introduced a lot of changes at an exhilirating pace, causing most of the guys to hate his guts. He was an unconventional man and, that I have to give to him, quite brave. They endured a lot of mockery and vandalistic behaviour, him and his family too.
But I’m having a meeting with him in 15 minutes time, just to chat about stuff. You see, in essence I am the only guy that walk the Republic of Kollegetehuis path with him, one way or another.
I’m still a bit shaky.

Cleaning up

Yesterday when I was still suffering from the staying up all night-blues, I saw some trophies of our res that needed cleaning. But really, they needed cleaning! I think the last time that trophies had seen any polish at all was back in 1985.

So I got some cloth and polish and started working my way through them. I had time to kill and didn’t want to go to sleep too early, for fear that I might wake up at an unhumanly hour or something.

I sat in our museum annex, which is cluttered at present because of revamping that is taking place in the res’s museum itself. At some point, a second year came by and wanted to know what I was doing. He stepped in and started to help me. After a while, our res’s president organized a first year to also come and give a hand.

They both asked me the same question: why do I, a fifth year, spend my time polishing trophies – a job that is good and messy and gets polish stuck underneath your nails and that is very tiring on your hands and arms? My answer was simply that sometimes you do things that will not necessarily bring you some shine. Sometimes you do the jobs that no one else wants to do, but still needs to be done. Sometimes you serve other people without getting something back…

You know where this is going. Use the metaphor any way you like. Point is, I enjoyed living in that place, the Republic of Kollegetehuis, so much and I got so much good and bad from it that I don’t mind getting dirty for it and the people in it from time to time. It helped me to get cleaned up as a person; I’ll help to clean up the place with a smile.

How to get wrinkled good and ugly…

So last night after the Springboks finally made it to another World Cup Final, I arrived back at res at about 22h45, my mind set on going to bed, maybe watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy or something before falling asleep. Mondays is my off-days, I do laundry and all that kind of crap because it has to be done sometime.

Anyway, on our corridor I meet my friend Shaun du Toit and he makes the suggestion that we go and sit on the “klippe” outside and have a drink. The “klippe” (translated: rocks) refers to a few big rocks outside of our res which is like a common gather-around area where we sleep outside during rag-week at the beginning of each year and where first years are not allowed.

I thought: well, I do have a beer or so left in my fridge and it has to be drunk sometime, so we went outside. On our way, we passed our res’s roman bath, known as the “Orgbad” (literally ‘Orgy bath’ !) and we see that it has been filled up. Now that looked very promising, but at first we decide to leave the idea of getting in suspended for awhile. Some girls from the ladies res Asterhof came to sing for us, because it was the beginning of our pre-rag week (“zoep”-week) and they always do that kind of thing. Some of the second years joined us on the klippe and we sat there listening to the girls.

So after they were gone, we reconsidered the whole Orgbad-idea and decided to go for it. Now, as the water was already cold, we had to drain about half of it to make space for some hot water, the source being the shower pipes on the first floor, connected by a long black plastic pipe. While the water was pouring in, Shaun and I was walking all along the insides of the Orgbad to ensure the hot water mixing properly and quickly with the rest of the water.
Now, those of you who has seen it, knows that the Orgbad is a big thing. The record for the most people in it is 50-something (but that is not necessarily a safe way – people will drown!). So it takes up a LOT of water, might as well be close to 4000 liters.

And as things go, we started chatting and talking about our plans for next year and the prospect that we might end up living close to each other. The conversation went on to all sorts of subjects – the res, our dreams, rugby, our holiday plans, rugby, our studies, rugby, and some more rugby! Well, Shaun is a fitness and conditioning coach so obviously we were going to talk about sports and the like.

We chatted about our lives and where we grew up and common friends we had. We grew up during our primary school years in two towns not far from each other and I found out he lived on the same street as my cousins.

As we talked, the water got hotter and we decided to stop walking and started relaxing, floating around in the hot water. Then, one of the second years (or “semi’s ” as they are also known) and a third year came along and joined us. The third year, Gerrie, is the minister of internal and external affairs of the residence, meaning he is responsible for the clubhouse, meaning he has access to free booze that must be finished so that it won’t go to waste because all the socials for the rest of the year is finsihed. So he went to fetch us some six packs of Hunter’s Extreme to enjoy in the Orgbad. This must have been around 1 o’ clock or something. So the four of us sat and floated and drank and chatted and laughed and got out to pee and talked some more. We had such a great time! And although we were drinking the Hunters Extreme (which, by the way, is an alcoholic ENERGY drink, no wonder we stayed up so long), we were not drunk, because it was over a really long time and we were in the water pretty much all of the time.

A while later (at about three o’ clock), some of the girls came quietly (actually to bring us sweets!) and the semi, Rudi, mistook them for someone else and started to shout at them, calling down first years to catch the girls. Gerrie had to hurry to fix the situation, not to get the girls, trying to spoil us, upset too much.

But one first year came down, Graham Raper, and he sat with us at the Orgbad (he is not allowed to get INTO the Orgbad until his second year).

So we were a first (Graham), second (Rudi), third (Gerrie), fourth (Shaun) and fifth (Me) year, sitting there, having the time of our lives. The stories we told took on such extreme proportions that it got really ridiculous – pidgeons the size of turkeys, people getting tackled THROUGH a Weber Braai, and, and, and…

When we started to hear the birds chirping, we realized that this has been going on for a really long time, but no-one wants to be the first to give up and go to bed – typically male! So we lingered on and on and eventually, when the sun was long risen at half past seven this morning, we got up and out of the Orgbad, having had a legendary time. The water was sif and as we used up pretty much all the hot water of the entire res, we didn’t go to shower for we knew there would be no hot water – a nasty surprise for the other 210 people living there…!

But it was not over yet. The main reason for getting out was that we were starving to get something to eat. We weren’t up for the dining hall’s crap so we got onto my bakkie and went to Spur in Hatfield Square. We got there as soon as they opened and had to wait awhile before we got served the breakfast special – eggs, bacon, toast, coffee (as if we did not have enough caffeine already!!!), rashers and croissants.

Tired as we were, this has been so much fun.

It was not the fact that we drank an entire case of Hunters Extreme between 4 and a half people (Graham wasn’t there the whole time, remember), it was not the fact that we stayed up all night, it wasn’t the fact that we looked like Mother Theresa (according to Gerrie, refering to our bath-wrinkles!) that made it a remarkable experience. It was the fact that people from different backgrounds, from different ages, from different social standings, could just get together and enjoy each other’s company, laughing and talking the night away.

In “The Heart of Christianity” the author writes about “thin places” – places or moments in our lives where we experience God more intense than other places or moments. Looking back I realized that last night, wrinkled up as I was, I was experiencing a “thin place” – experiencing God through relationships with other people, with close and less close friends.

So, yeah, go out and have a few beers with your buddies, go throw some meat on a fire or grab some pizza and a movie, but go and LIVE a relation-full life (that is a word, I promise.), for vark-sakes!!
And seriously, how many times in your life do you REALLY stay up all night in water?
Peace out!