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Excerpted from Sarah Britten’s The Art of the South African Insult

Choking on broccoli
Chris Chameleon once said that singing in Afrikaans was like choking on broccoli. Nobody seemed to mind as much, though, as they did when the Bible of global cool, Wallpaper magazine, described Afrikaans as “one of the world’s ugliest languages” in its September 2005 edition.

Johan Rupert, who is also the CEO of Richemont, responded by withdrawing millions of pounds of advertising for some of the world’s most desirable brands, effectively telling this nauseatingly self-regarding bunch of ponces to stick their Philippe Starck up their Rem Koolhaas. In our globalised society, Rupert showed us that the best way to get your own back is to use your status as a captain of industry at the helm of a huge marketing budget to further your own personal agenda. It makes more sense than writing letters to the Sunday Times.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before Steve Hofmeyr, having fathered half the Afrikaner nation (Wie’s jou papa? as the jokes go), crowned himself defender of the volk. Thus Afrikaners now have a choice, if one can call it that, between Steve and the Don of Dainfern, Dan Roodt. At least Dan wouldn’t be caught dead in a brown patchwork leather jacket. Continue reading »

Excerpted from Sarah Britten’s The Art of the South African Insult

“I’m prejudiced because it’s good for survival.” Eric Miyeni

WHEN THE honourable Cape Judge President John Hlophe denied telling attorney Joshua Greeff in 2005 that he was a piece of white shit and it was time he went back to Holland, he may or may not have been continuing a proud South African tradition.

We may not be very good at soccer. Or cricket. Or sticking to the speed limit. (In fact, if we are going to be honest with ourselves, it does seem, from time to time, that we are not very good at anything except inventing automatic pool cleaners, perfecting chutney recipes and carrying out cash in transit heists.) But, at any given point in time, we are very good at calling each other names.

South Africans are, after all, a bunch of Dutchmen and Souties, Charras and Hotnots, Shangaans and the Xhosa Nostra, Bushies and Afs, Goms, Porras, Lebs, Crunchies, Zots, Mlungus, Japies, Boers, Chinamen, Makwerekwere, Rooineks, Rockspiders, Makwankies, Hanskhakis, and yes, (even though we know of course that nobody except Australian cricket supporters use it) Kaffirs.

It’s what defines us as a nation. Continue reading »

Thank you to author Sandra Wilson for providing this excerpt from her new book Taj.

Although Nur Jahan had always been determined to have her own way, Khurram was only now fully aware of his stepmother’s fierce intention to have everything as she wanted. 

Because she no longer needed to weave her web of charm around him, Nur Jahan met him with a straightforward stance.  Momentarily stunned by the force she emitted, Khurram took a deep breath and prepared himself for a verbal battle with his father’s wife.  He knew he had to wrest himself from the security of her support if he were to sit comfortably on the throne as he intended.

Nur Jahan raised her eyebrows slightly, waiting for his response to her initial words.  At exactly the same moment, Khurram swept his arm to offer her his place on the stone bench.  She did not move.  Rather, she folded her hands together at her waist, looked at him, and frowned.

“As Your Majesty pleases”, remarked Khurram smoothly, accepting  that their conversation would take place between standing participants. Continue reading »