Boys Will Be Boys · cigarette, sighed “Aaah, Pikanin” once more, then carefully stubbed out...

Majewta Boys Will Be Boys 1


Boys Will Be Boys

Boys will be boys, and so will a lot of middle aged men.

- Kin Hubbard

“Pikanin!”, a voice called.

I had just succeeded opening the kitchen door to the back garden, for the first time. The door

was split in two; a top half which was kept open during the day, and a lower half which was kept

closed. Seemed like a kind of neat idea.

“Why don’t we have all the doors in the house like that?”, I asked Mummy.

“That’s so we can have more light and fresh air in the kitchen, and keep the dog outside”, she

answered, after considering my question. Okay. So I know what light is. Fresh air is something

we have outside, like the dog. Sometimes we go outside to get some. Fresh air, that is. Our dog

is Tessie, a friendly Rhodesian Ridgeback who lives outside in the light and fresh air. I gave

Mummy’s answer a moment’s thought, and wasn’t completely convinced. “My bedroom could

have a door like that, and then I would have more light and fresh air and the dog wouldn’t be

able to come in”, I suggested.

“One door like that in this house is quite enough”, she replied in that tone of authority, which

indicated that the matter was settled, and further attempts at negotiation would not be

entertained.

So, I had just managed to open the magic kitchen door for the first time. In fact, it was the first

time I had managed to open any door. All regular door handles were too high, just out of reach

for me, but this door had a bolt near the top of the lower half, which was within my grasp. I saw

how Sam and Una lifted the little lever of the bolt so that it stood out pointing at them, and then

slid it to the side and opened the door.

I reached up, positioned the little lever carefully, and pulled it to the side. Wowee! The door

opened slightly, and I pushed it open the rest of the way. I was dazzled by the bright light of the

sunshine that met me.



“Pikanin!”, a voice called.

Pikanin. That’s me. It’s my name in African. Most people have a different name in African.

Meddem is the name they gave Mummy. Masstah is Daddy’s name. I’m not sure what my Big

Sister’s name is in African.

“Pikanin!”.

I couldn’t see who called me. It wasn’t Sam’s voice, or Una’s. Stepping into the back garden, I

put my hand up to protect my eyes from the bright sunshine. Slowly, my vision adjusted to the

brightness, and the joy of seeing the vivid colours of the flowers and the deep green grass lifted

my spirits, already elated at my latest achievement of opening the door all by myself. And there

was Tessie, our beautiful friendly Rhodesian Ridgeback, lying on the grass and wagging her tail

when she saw me.

“Hello, Tessie. What you want, doggy?”, I asked. Tessie lifted her head, turned it slightly to one

side and raised her eyebrows. My Big Sister told me that when a dog looks at you like that, it

means it doesn’t understand you.

“Pikanin!”, the voice repeated. So it wasn’t Tessie.

I looked around the garden carefully. Couldn’t see anyone. Suddenly, as my vision cleared

further, there he was, sitting under the big tree, leaning against its trunk while pulling at a blade

of grass. I went over to him. Never seen him before. He stood up, stretched, sat down again,

leaned against the tree, plucked another blade of grass and caressed his front teeth with its tip,

the same way I have seen grownups doing that with a toothpick.

“Aaah, Pikanin”, he greeted me again.

He knew my name. I looked him over slowly. Same khaki shirt and trousers like Sam. Nothing

else about him looked familiar. But he knew my name, and he wasn’t Sam.

“Who you?”, I asked.

“Gaddenboy”, he answered, “I am Gaddenboy.”

“Gaddenboy”, I echoed, emphasizing the first syllable exactly the way he said it, enjoying the

musical African sound of the peculiar name.

“Yes Pikanin. I am Gaddenboy”, he repeated.

I sat down next to him in the shade of the big tree, and leaned against the tree trunk. He sighed

another “Aaah, Pikanin” and took a small rolled up piece of newspaper from his shirt pocket.

From another pocket, he took a box of matches. Holding the African cigarette between his lips,

he lit a match, brought it quickly to the end of his newspaper cigarette and blew out few puffs of

smoke. Returning the matchbox to his pocket, Gaddenboy took another few puffs of his



cigarette, sighed “Aaah, Pikanin” once more, then carefully stubbed out the lit end of the

cigarette in the grass, and returned it to his shirt pocket. Next, he plucked a blade of grass, and

traced the gaps between his teeth with its tip in one hand, while gently plucking other pieces of

grass with the other hand, dreamily gazing up at the sky.

“What you doing, Gaddenboy?”, I enquired leaning forward, fascinated by this newly

discovered activity.

“Heh, Pikanin”, he answered, “Weeding the gadden.”

Looked like fun. I leaned back against the tree trunk, plucked myself a nice bright green blade of

grass, and touched the gap between my two front teeth with it. Slightly ticklish sensation, but

also quite pleasant. While doing this, I reached out with my other hand and pulled off tips of

blades of grass, one at a time. Gaddenboy stopped his weeding the gadden to watch me, a big

smile all over his friendly face.

“Whatta you doing, Pikanin?” he asked in his singsong voice.

“Weeding the gadden. Same as you, Gaddenboy”, I answered, very proud of my latest

achievement.

“Heh, heh, Pikanin. Weeding the gadden. Heh, heh, heh.” he chuckled, shaking his head

sideways. “Heh, heh, heh.” Suddenly, his chuckles turned to laughter. It was contagious. I also

started laughing, and soon the two of us were giggling uncontrollably together.

Gaddenboy eventually stopped laughing, took out his African cigarette again, lit up, took a few

puffs, stubbed out the lit end, returned it to his shirt pocket, sighed “Aaah” and continued

weeding the gadden. I sat up, leaned against the tree next to him, echoed his “Aaah”, looked up

at the sky through the gaps between the leaves, and also continued weeding the gadden by

holding the blade of grass between my teeth, and my other hand plucking the grass tips nearby.

It was marvelous.

“Tea”, called Una from the kitchen door.

“Teatime, Pikanin”, said Gaddenboy, standing up and stretching. I followed him to the paved

cement area next to the kitchen door, where Una handed him a pale blue cup of tea and a

matching plate with half a loaf of bread on it, and a lump of butter balancing on top of the

bread. I noticed that his cup was different from our usual teacups. Our cups were wide at the

top and narrow at the base, and all plain white. Gaddenboy’s cup looked bigger. It had the same

width at the top and the base, and the both the handle and top rim were black. His bread plate

was not like our bread plates at all. It was much bigger, and deep instead of flat, more like our

soup plates. It also had a black rim which matched the teacup. Una’s cup and plate were similar,

but pale green instead of blue. Sam came outside holding his plate and cup. His cup was huge,

much bigger than Gaddenboy’s and Una’s. It was a cream colour with blue writing on the side. It

had no handle at all. In fact, it looked very similar to the cans that Mummy sometimes buys at



Divaris in Belvedere. But this was different. It was open at the top, and at Divaris the cans are

closed on all sides.

“Hoh, teacup!”, said Gaddenboy to Sam. Sam grinned, raised his enormous teacup, and

answered something in African, but the only words I understood were teacup and Meddem.

Sam put his cup of tea and plate of bread on the floor, and went back inside. Una and

Gaddenboy chatted some more about teacup and Meddem. Sam returned only a moment later

holding a page of newspaper.

“Borodell hossressing”, he announced. The chatter stopped immediately, and Sam had our total

attention. He sat down next to his tea and bread. Well, not really sat, more like he was

preparing to sit by bending his knees so that the top and lower half of each leg were touching

each other, like he was preparing to play leapfrogs. He spread the newspaper out in front of

him, next to his tea and bread. Gaddenboy sat the same way, like another leapfrog player on

one side of him, but Una sat differently, kneeling down on the other side of Sam, with her knees

touching the paving. This was amazing. With them sitting, I was now almost as tall as they were.

I tried sitting the same way as Sam and Gaddenboy. It was uncomfortable and difficult to

balance. I stood up again, proud of my new height.

At the top of the page there was a picture of a horse with someone riding it. Sam pointed to the

first line on the page below the horse picture, with Una and Gaddenboy carefully following his

movements.

“Dark Night at three two one”, he read.

“Aaah”, said Una and Gaddenboy together.

I know three two one. That’s called counting. I start at my thumb with one, then the next finger,

two, middle finger, three, continue with four for the next finger and end at five on my baby

finger. Three two one is when you count from the baby finger back to the thumb. You start at

five on the baby finger, then four on the next. So the middle finger is three, the finger next to

the thumb is two, and the thumb is one. It doesn’t matter which direction you go. Each finger

always has the same number. So I started from my middle finger back towards my thumb, and

counted for them.

“Three two one”, I counted for them loudly, touching each finger correctly in turn.

“Heh, Pikanin”, said Gaddenboy, looking up at me for a moment. I think he was impressed. Sam

and Una didn’t even notice. Sam pointed to the next line. Una and Gaddenboy watched his

finger.

“Soopa Sprint at five two one”, he read.



That’s wrong. They are missing some numbers in the newspaper, and Sam didn’t even notice. I

checked with my fingers. Start at the baby finger, five, then four, three, two, and ending with

one at my thumb, same as usual. That’s it, they missed four and three.

“Five four three two one”, I corrected Sam. “You forgot four three”.

Sam, Una and Gaddenboy looked up at me, raised their eyebrows together, and then looked

back at the newspaper. Sam was pointing to the beginning of the line, getting ready to read it

correctly this time.

“Fleet Flyer at eight two one”, he announced.

“Hoh, eight two one”, said Una and Gaddenboy in surprise together. Sam didn’t even notice that

both of them caught him out on his counting mistake. He carried on, making more counting

mistakes, and no amount of “Hoh”s or “Aah”s from Una and Gaddenboy seemed to help. I was

surprised at Sam making such mistakes. In fact, it was beginning to get annoying. I left them

with their tea and newspaper and counting mistakes, and went back inside.

Must have been a day or two later, I was in the kitchen again. The top half of the kitchen door

was open, letting in light and fresh air, and keeping the dog out.

“Zakanaka”, a voice called from outside. Sam looked over the top half because he is tall enough

to do that, and answered “Mangwanani”. A tall African boy replied “Mangwanani”, and then

there was a short exchange between them with lots of handshakes and quiet clapping where

both Sam and the visitor seemed to echo the other. It ended with sighs of “Heh” and “Aah” on

each side, when the visitor lifted a parcel wrapped in brown paper, tied with string crossing the

middle of each of the four sides.

“Meat”, said the visitor, handing the parcel to Sam. He disappeared for a moment and returned

to the door with another similar parcel while Sam put the first one on the kitchen counter.

”Another meat”, he announced as he handed the next parcel to Sam. He disappeared again, and

I expected him to come back with another parcel, but instead he returned with a book and a

pen.

“Meddem”, called Sam, “Meat”.

Mummy came into the kitchen. She looked at something written on the parcel, went to the

visitor, and had a look at the page he showed her in his book. She took his pen and wrote in his

book. That’s what grownups do. Mummy does not let me write in my books. Only grownups are

allowed to do that. But once she did give me a colouring book with crayons. You are not allowed

to write with a pen in that book; only with coloured crayons. I helped Una to use crayons in the

pictures of the colouring book.

I went to look at the second parcel that Sam put on the kitchen table. In the middle, where the

lines of string crossed each other there was something stuck there. It was bright dark red.



Suddenly I realized what it was. It looked the same as when you fall and there’s blood. Then you

put a plaster and the blood dries and it becomes a scab. The boy who brought the meat must

have had a sore, but couldn’t find a plaster, and the blood fell on the parcel.

“Look”, I said, “there’s a sore. But it’s dry already.”

“Mummy rushed over to me and looked at my hands, arms, legs. “Where do you have a sore?”,

she asked, gently stroking the side of my face. I showed her the sore on the parcel string.

“That’s not a sore”, she replied. “We are only allowed to eat kosher meat. So the butcher closes

the package of meat with red sealing wax before he sends it to us. If we get a parcel without the

red sealing wax, then it means it must have been opened, and we can’t be sure whether the

meat inside is kosher, and we can’t use it.”

“Oh”, I said, not quite sure what she really meant. Well, sure, I know all about kosher meat, and

different plates for meat and milk as well as different shapes of spoons and forks and knives (I

am not big enough to use a knife yet). But ceiling wax is something new. Sam sometimes uses

floor wax or furniture wax. But I have seen that kind of wax. It is in a big green and white tin box

with a picture of a snake on it. Sam said it’s called Cobra. But inside the tin, the floor and

furniture Cobra wax is white. The floor itself, and the furniture, are dark brown. I looked up at

the ceiling. It was white. I guess that’s it - maybe you need white wax to polish dark floors and

furniture, and dark ceiling wax to polish the white ceiling. So the ceiling wax must be dark red so

that you can polish the ceiling nicely. Mummy took a knife and cut the string on the parcel and

threw it away.

“Sam”, she said, “are we ready to begin kashering the meat.”

“Meddem”, Sam answered. I think that Meddem is not only one of Mummy’s names, it is also

another word for “Yes”.

“Mummy”, I said wanting to let her know that if she threw away the ceiling wax, Sam would not

be able to polish the ceiling.

“I’m busy”, she said. “Do you want to help me and Sam kasher the meat?”

“Meddem”, I answered, using my new word instead of “Yes”.

She stopped what she was doing, looked at me, then turned her head slightly sideways and

lifted her eyebrows the same way Tessie does. I know that kind of look from Tessie, when she

doesn’t understand me.

“Yes”, I explained to Mummy, wandering what new exciting things I would be doing next. She

took a bucket and an enormous bowl from under the kitchen sink, and filled them with water.

Next, she took the bright red meat from the parcel, and slowly put each piece into the water.

She cut the string of the second parcel and threw it away. I wanted to warn her again about



throwing away the red ceiling wax, but I already know that I may not disturb Mummy while

she’s busy, and I’m waiting impatiently for my turn to help her. She finished putting the meat in

the water, while Sam cleared away the brown paper from the parcels.

“Well, that’s it for the moment”, she said, turning to Sam. “Put out the racks, and we’ll salt in

half an hour’s time”, she added, while looking at her watch.

“But what about my turn?”, I complained.

“Your turn for what?”, she asked, surprised.

“My turn to help”, I explained, pouting. “You said so!”, I added defensively, my arms

automatically folding across my chest, my shoulders involuntarily rising once fast, and then

dropping in an uncontrollable shrug of disappointment.

“Of course you can help”, Mummy said gently. “Take the racks from under the sink, and give

them to Sam. Then you can go outside, and we’ll call you to help with the salting.” I looked

under the sink. The only things down there were shiny shelves like we have in the oven and

fridge. “These?”, I asked Sam.

“Yes”, Sam replied. He didn’t realize that I would also have understood him if he would have

answered me “Meddem”.

I gave him the racks, one at a time. Then I went to the kitchen door, raised the little lever so it

was pointing at me, slid it to the side and pushed open the kitchen door.

“Pikanin”, a voice called.

I don’t know that voice. Sam was inside, so it wasn’t him. It didn’t sound like Una, because it was

a man’s voice. Then I saw him sitting in the shade of the big tree, leaning against the trunk. He

was wearing khaki clothes. He stood up and called me again. But this was not Gaddenboy. This

man was shorter, and he had no hair on his head. He also knew my name. But I did not know

who he was.

“Who you?”, I asked him.

“I am Gaddenboy”, he answered.

“Gaddenboy?”, I repeated incredulously, trying to reconcile the changes to his face, height and

voice.

“Yes Pikanin. I am Gaddenboy”, he repeated.

I sat down next to him in the shade of the big tree, and leaned against the tree trunk, carefully

watching to see if this was really Gaddenboy or not. He took a small rolled up piece of

newspaper from his shirt pocket, together with a box of matches. He lit a match, brought it

quickly to the end of his African newspaper cigarette and blew out few puffs of smoke. After



another few puffs of his cigarette, he sighed a long “Aaaaah”, carefully stubbed out the lit end of

the cigarette in the grass, and returned it to his shirt pocket. Next, he plucked a blade of grass,

and traced the gaps between his teeth with its tip in one hand, while gently plucking other

pieces of grass with the other, dreamily gazing up at the sky. No doubt about it, this was

Gaddenboy. Even if he looked different.

“You weeding the gadden, Gaddenboy?”, I asked.

“Yes, Pikanin. Weeding gadden”, he confirmed.

I decided to show Gaddenboy that I could help. While leaning against the tree trunk next to

Gaddenboy, I plucked a nice long blade of grass, and tickled the gap between my two front teeth

with it. With my other hand, I reached out and pulled off tips of blades of grass, one at a time.

“Look, Gaddenboy”, I said, “I’m also weeding the gadden.”

“Ye-e-e-s, Pikanin”, he replied, drawing out each word slowly. I don’t know why, but today he

didn’t think it was as funny as yesterday. So we carried on weeding the gadden in the shade of

the big tree, by tickling our teeth with grass tips and enjoying looking up dreamily at the sky

through the leaves, until Mummy called me.

“We can begin to kasher the meat”, she explained as I entered the kitchen. Sam was already

taking dripping pieces of meat out of the bucket of water, shaking off the water from the meat

over the bucket, and putting the meat on the racks on the counter. The water in the bucket had

become red. Must have been from the colour of the meat. Mummy told me to push the chair to

the kitchen counter next to Sam, and to stand up on it. She came a moment later with a box

from the pantry.

“What’s that?”, I asked.

“Salt for kashering the meat”, she answered.

I’m not really sure that this is salt. Salt is on the diningroom table next to pepper. Salt is almost

exactly like pepper. They are both brown, about as tall as a colouring crayon, but much, much

wider. Daddy showed me that the only difference between salt and pepper is that salt has one

big hole at the top, and pepper has many small holes.

She took some white stuff from the box and spread it over some of the meat.

“Look”, she said, “we must cover all the meat with salt like this.”

I put my hand in the box and took a handful of its contents. But this wasn’t salt. It was a pile of

tiny white stones. I looked through the doorway to the diningroom, and confirmed what I

thought.

“But Mummy, this isn’t salt. The salt is in its place on the diningroom table”, I pointed out to her.



“We can’t use the diningroom salt. That’s for eating with food. This is special salt to kasher

meat”, she explained. So I helped her and Sam kasher the meat by spreading the special salt on

it until all the meat was covered. The sun was shining through the kitchen window, turning the

top of the meat into a shimmering bright white sparkle, with sparks of vivid colour appearing

momentarily in various places, before disappearing and sparking somewhere else. It was

breathtaking; I couldn’t turn away from the sight.

“Take your lunch break now”, Mummy said to Sam, while looking at her watch. “We’ll rinse the

salt off the meat when you come back.”

“Meddem”, agreed Sam.

Mummy took my shiny plate with the picture of the rabbit on it, and put some pieces of

cucumber with cream cheese on the plate, and put it on the low table for me, next to a cup of

water. I ate my lunch without needing any help, and went to my room to have a rest like I do

every day after lunch.

A couple of days later, Mummy and Sam were in the kitchen, putting fruit from a huge pot into a

long row of tall glass jars. Mummy was explaining to Sam what to do. I also wanted to help.

“Not this time”, said Mummy. “This is glass, and it could be dangerous, so we have to be careful.

Why don’t you go into the garden?”

I know about dangerous with glass. Once my Big Sister was allowed to drink from a glass, and

she dropped it and started crying. It broke and there were lots of pieces of it spread across the

floor, shimmering with brilliant sparkles and changing colours, almost like the salt when we

kashered the meat. She reached down to get some pieces to start to fix it, and then she got a

sore and cried louder. Mummy dashed across the room and picked her up. Una ran to me and

picked me up.

“Sweep it up quickly please Sam”, Mummy said, carrying my Big Sister out of the room. My Big

Sister came back by herself after Sam finished sweeping. Una put me down.

“I got TWO plasters”, she said proudly, showing us her hand. It was impressive. She wasn’t

crying anymore, so two plasters must have made it better. Maybe Mummy also kissed it better,

like she does for me when I fall down, but kissing better doesn’t always work by itself, and

sometimes you need both a kiss better and a plaster also.

She was wrong with her counting. She had a plaster on finger two, and another on finger three. I

showed her.

“You have three plasters, not two. One two three”, I counted from her thumb, and then her

second and middle fingers.



“My thumb doesn’t have a plaster”, she answered. “One two”, she counted starting from the

finger next to the thumb, touching its plaster, and then touching the plaster on the middle

finger.

You’re not allowed to count like that. You always have to start at the thumb. She told me so,

one day when we went to Jannisburg to Saba and Savta, and our cousins also came there that

day, and she counted how old we are. She started at her thumb. My Baby Brother is one year

old. Next finger is two, my Little Cousin. Pointing to her middle finger she counted three; that

was me. My Big Cousin was four on the next finger, and my Big Sister was five. She showed me

herself how to count properly.

“One… two… three”, I explained to her again, this time slowly, showing her with the fingers on

my own hand. She still didn’t grasp it.

“You’re silly”, she accused.

“You silly”, I countered.

“No, you!”

“No, YOU!”…

Anyway, when Mummy said about dangerous glass, I didn’t want to have crying and sores and

kisses better (which don’t always work) and plasters that no one can count properly. So while

she and Sam were putting the cooked fruit from the pot into the glass jars, I decided to go to the

garden. I am already an expert at opening the kitchen door.

“Pikanin!”, a very deep voice called me. A man’s loud, deep voice.

Another voice that I don’t know. Sam was inside, so it wasn’t him. It didn’t sound like Una,

because it was a man’s voice. It wasn’t Gaddenboy’s voice.

There he was, sitting in the shade of the big tree, leaning against the trunk. He was wearing

khaki clothes. But could this possibly be Gaddenboy? This man was huge, very fat, with a clear,

loud, deep, musical, singsong voice. He knew my name, but I did not recognize him. I came

closer to get a better look at him.

“Ehhhh, Pikani-ini”, he sang in that delightful musical voice, his large, open smile pushing,

straining his very chubby cheeks to each side of his enormous face. He removed his khaki hat,

revealing thick hair, a mixture of black and gray, covering only the sides and back of his head,

but not the top. The top of his head was smooth, very dark and shiny. He had a lot of creases

and wrinkles on his face above his eyebrows. He also had a small wisp of a gray beard at his

chin. Definitely not Gaddenboy.

But wait, what was he doing? From a fold inside his hat, he removed a very small piece of rolled

newspaper. From one of his pockets he removed a box of matches, and lit the end of his African



newspaper cigarette and blew out few puffs of smoke. After another few puffs of his cigarette,

he sighed a long “Aaaaah, Pikanin” in that captivating voice, carefully stubbed out the lit end of

the cigarette in the grass, and returned it to the fold in his hat, and put the hat back on his head.

No, it just couldn’t be, could it? He reached for a stalk of grass, plucked it, and started to pick at

the gap between his front teeth with its tip. While glancing up dreamily through the leaves

above, his other hand tentatively plucked at nearby tips of grass.

“Gaddenboy?”, I ventured hesitatingly, sitting down next to him and leaning against the tree

trunk. He looked at me silently, and smiled.

Gotcha, you crafty rascal! You managed to trick me once before, but not this time. Very, very

clever disguise, but I saw through it.

“Gaddenboy!”, I repeated, this time more affirmative. “You”, I pointed at him, “are

Gaddenboy!”, I accused.

“Yes Pikanin. I am Gaddenboy”, he admitted.

“And you’re weeding the gadden”, I told him, realizing too late as I said it, that I had just

revealed the secret of how I caught on to his trick.

“Yes, Pikanin. I am weeding the gadden”, he said in a tuneful singsong to me, using his new

voice.

“I want to help”, I offered, reaching for a long blade of grass, plucking it and tickling the gap

between my two front teeth with it, while I pulled off tips of blades of grass, one at a time with

my other hand.

Sam came outside to us, greeted Gaddenboy, chatted for a few moments (“Zakanaka”, several

handshakes, a few echoes of “maskati”s, long “ohhh”s, “ehhh”s and “aaah”s) and then finished

with an single word announcement of “lunch”.

“Lunchtime, Pikanin”, explained Gaddenboy.

I don’t need an explanation of lunch; I’m not that dim, to quote Mummy. I went to the kitchen,

while Sam and Gaddenboy went in the direction of the kaya, where their rooms are. Una was in

the kitchen putting my shiny rabbit plate on the low table. She had made me a sandwich. The

bread had four sides, but she cut it so I had two breads, each with three sides. Get it? Four, two,

three. But that’s not the right way to count. You must always start with one, and then continue

to two, three, and only after three you can count four. So what you need to do is this: Put the

breads back together, and get your fingers ready for counting. On your thumb, you count one -

sandwich. Move the breads away, and on the next finger count two sandwiches. Then you touch

each of the three edges of one of the sandwiches, and count three on your middle finger. After

that, you put the breads back next to each other again, like they were at the beginning, touch

each of the edges of the square, and count four on the next finger. Easy. One, two, three, four.



But you must remember that there’s no five to count on your baby finger. That’s wrong, and it’s

called a mistake.

So I had my lunch, and decided to go outside again before going to have a rest. Or maybe that

happened the next day…I’m not sure. So, after lunch, I opened the lower half of the kitchen

door and went outside. There was a strange smell in the air. I saw Sam cooking something on

two paraffin Primus stoves nearby, in the shade next to the kaya. Una and Gaddenboy were

sitting on the grass in the shade of the house, leaning against the outside wall. Gaddenboy was

wearing a new face that I had not seen before, but I knew it was him, because he was wearing

his khaki clothes, said “Ahhh, Pikanin” when he saw me, and was doing weeding the gadden

with the piece of grass between his two front teeth. He’s very sneaky, but the clues were so

obvious by now. But I hadn’t realized until then, that you could do weeding the gadden

somewhere else, even when you are not leaning against the trunk of the big tree.

The cooking smell was horrible. It smelt of a mix of Africa, a fusion of rich soil, of smoke and

paraffin fumes, of kaya, a deep, raw, musky odor, overpowering but riveting at the same time.

“What you cooking, Sam?”, I asked, trying to breathe only through my mouth, and avoid having

to smell this strange concoction.

“This one is sadza”, Sam answered, referring to the open pot he was stirring slowly with a long

brown wooden spoon. “Nearly ready. And the other one”, he continued, referring to the closed

pot on top of the second Primus, “is boys meat”. The lid on the boys meat pot lifted gently by

itself, expelling another concentrated waft of its gagging fragrance in my direction.

I’m not sure what sadza is. But I do know that I’m a boy, and I know what meat is. I helped

Mummy and Sam to kasher the meat the other day. Una and Gaddenboy brought their plates

and Sam served huge lumps of white sadza from the first pot, and then some boys meat from

the second pot, on top of the steaming sadza in the plates. Then Sam served himself in his own

plate. Gaddenboy picked up a lump of sadza from his plate, blew on it, then squeezed it and

started making a bowl shape from it in the palm of his hand, like we can do with plasticine. Then

he broke off a piece of meat, put it in the piece of bowl-shaped sadza, and popped the meat and

sadza into his mouth.

“Aaaah, Pikanin”, said Gaddenboy, his mouth full of food. Mummy said we’re not allowed to talk

with food in my mouth. But Gaddenboy talked with food in his mouth. Maybe only grownups

are allowed to talk with food in their mouths. “Aaah, sadza’nboysmeat”, he sighed with

satisfaction, while he chewed and shaped his next piece of sadza. He dropped a small piece of

meat on it and offered it to me.

“You want some sadza’nboysmeat, Pikanin?”, asked Gaddenboy, extending his hand with its

pungent contents towards me. I didn’t want, but I couldn’t even answer him as I was suddenly

overwhelmed by the fumes drifting in my direction.



“You don’t eat that meat”, Sam quickly interrupted, “that’s boys meat”.

“I’m a boy”, I proudly let them know, still breathing through my mouth. I noticed that Una’s

food looked identical to Sam’s and Gaddenboy’s. She was also shaping the sadza the same way,

and putting meat on it.

“Una”, I asked suspiciously, “what are you eating?”

“Sadza’nboysmeat”, Una answered.

“But you’re not a boy”, I cried out, horrified that Una could make such a simple mistake. Sam

and Gaddenboy laughed. They must have thought that Una was quite silly, making such a

mistake. Even Una began to laugh at her blunder.

“Boys eat, boys meat”, said Gaddenboy in a singsong rhyme, and we all laughed.

“You are maJew-ta”, said Sam to me. “You only allowed to eat kosha meat. We kasha the meat

to make it kosha. That takes out the blood. maJew-ta are not allowed to eat blood.”

“Kosha meat, kasha the kosha”, sang Gaddenboy bursting into a new fit of laughter, in which

Una and I participated.

“iwe ! tsotsi !”, Sam said to Gaddenboy, who was laughing so much that the features of his face

were changing. It was such fun. That’s how he does it, I realized. If he laughs enough, he can

change his face.

“Kosha kasha iwe tsotsi”, I echoed, enjoying the jovial atmosphere, and also curious to see if I

could help Gaddenboy change his face again. Sam and Gaddenboy burst into a new fit of

laughter, but Una stopped.

“Hoh, Aaaeeeey!”, she shrieked, standing up, straightening her apron and waving her finger

number two at Sam and Gaddenboy. She jabbered away at them, shouting in African, but her

only words I could understand were Pikanin, Meddem, kosha, boysmeat and sadza. They

seemed to enjoy it, continuing their laughter. But Una was not amused.

“Come”, Una said to me gently, but with one of the sternest looks I have ever seen on her face.

She took my hand and led me away from the fun, back inside the house. “You will have your rest

now, and have nice dreams”, she continued in her soothing musical voice, as she took off my

shoes while I lay down to rest. Then she hugged me and told me again to have nice dreams. I

hugged her also, before drifting off to sleep.

I like Una so much, even if she isn’t one of us boys…

Boys Will Be Boys · cigarette, sighed “Aaah, Pikanin” once more, then carefully stubbed out...

Documents

Transcript of Boys Will Be Boys · cigarette, sighed “Aaah, Pikanin” once more, then carefully stubbed out...