Zimboes are brought up tough and they remain tough.
Ages ago, I stood next to a guy at an auction whom I know well enough to chat with casually. It was a little chilly that day. The wind blew through the auction house and seemed to make it worse.
“That’s a nice jacket,” I said to him.
He nodded.
We waited a bit while the auctioneer did his thing, and since we weren’t interested in buying anything…he decided to tell me the story behind the jacket.
“You know us Zimboes are tough, hey?” he said and I nodded.

And its true. Our kids too, and its partly our fault. When they came in sniveling cos they fell out of the tree mother said, “Hey, stop that racket. Go wash it with soap.” No plasters or red mooti the kids in town got. When they came home from boarding school with that stuff on them, I always scrubbed it off, with one of those green brillo pad things. Next time Sr (T)ucker tried to put red stuff on…my kids gapped it.
Ant fell off the truck “Well, that will teach you to bugger around on the back hey?”
“But Mom…”
And not only the boys either, hey. I have an equal opportunity husband don’t forget.

Back to the tough Zimboe and his jacket…

It was white, probably once upon a time, whiter. It was soft, and from the little feel I had of it, I guessed that it was wind proof and probably also rain proof. It seemed to have some sort of a lining, but not too bulky. I liked it. I thought it was a mooshi jacket for the day.
“You see, I had to go to Europe. And since it was early January, I thought I’d best pack my warm stuff. I put it all in my rucksack, cos hey, I was only going for a few days and I didn’t need all the stuff the missus put out for me. I certainly didn’t need the socks she had put out, after all, I had my fellies.”
I nodded. I know about fellies. Guys wear them everywhere. Hubby even used his Courtneys to bowl with, said he couldn’t find any of the new type to get his swing going????? Is a bit disconcerting for the batsman to see a six five guy racing up to the crease with huge brown fellies. That phlatt phlatt noise is a bit off-putting…it’s a real no nonsense noise.
Fellies often gape at the front, but hey, it lets out the sand and grass seeds, (and the fragrance.) That ‘gape’ is, however, an advantage in a ‘down down’ competition.
Fellies are never worn with socks. When they fill up with grass seeds and such, all you need do is remove them, shake them out, put them back on. Fellies don’t come in the house. They live at the door for the maid to scrape out with a metal ruler. If you feel the need ever to look smart, you tell the maid and she puts sadza on them.



“So. I go through customs and all, and head for the exit. Schiphol Airport has one of those glass doors that open and shut when you come towards them.”
I nod again. Only for encouragement, mind. Here we push the door handle down and heave.
“So I step out the door cool as can be, ready to check out this place. No word of a lie, I couldn’t breathe. The cold just shut off my throat. It went right through, through my jeans and my favorite jersey. I might as well not have been wearing my fellies. My eyes got stuck in one position, and I had only been out there for a second or two.”
He decided he needed to go back into the terminus to reevaluate his situation. Half way through his turn, he noticed a large sign in English about one hundred meters down the road. “Warm clothing.” He made it there, he said. Just. He stumbled in and the guy had a pile waiting for him on the counter. “Thermal underwear, double socks, trousers with linings. Gloves. Water proof shoes and this jacket,” he told me proudly stroking the arm.
“I think that guy sat there waiting for idiot Africans in their Fellies, rubbing his hands together….”

Please have a look at my books


2 responses »

  1. You give a good image of this man….I can just imagine his favourtie jersey being hand kintted too, by his mother zonks ago! Well done.

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