Boerewors Singel

So, what do you get when one SA family decides to go camping? Every other SA family decides to jump on this ossewa as well. 9 other families to be exact. And that is exactly how it should be. What an amazing long weekend we had…somewhere in the Ardennen, Belgium, close to the French border. Never thought I will improve my French while camping. And I never thought a one-man show can grow into 9 other South African families. But you would not belief...

No one bought a braai. Because of all the admin. Luckily one family did not care about admin. The Bosch Family. Hats off to the Bosch family. You saved us all.

For those of you that do not know,  the Europeans are not fans of a fire-braai. They have laws against it. And in the rare cases where it is allowed, one must make sure you have permission, a working approved A-class brandblusser, and a bucket filled with water with you. (I kid you not) We know this, because like ordenklike mense, we asked if we can bring our braai. The shameful reply shocked us to the core. So we all used the same excuse: “The braai did not fit into the car after all the packing”. Because one does not admit that you on purpose left your braai at home because of all the admin.

All expect the Bosch Family.

They just said: “We first pack da braai, then we pack da rest”. We all can learn a lot from the Bosch family. They are the like the Chuck Norris’s of the camp world. I really really really like the Bosch family. They even shared their braai with the rest of us! And their tent was on the other side of the camp! That braai travelled between the tents, but mostly ended up in our part of the camp. And when it did, everyone was invited to ‘Boerewors Singel’ for a braai. We even invited our neighbors from Finland in the tent across us to join our braai, and apart from the fact that they were vegetarians, they had a great time getting to know how we do things…like peeing outside etc.

When last did you braaied with 9 South African families in a foreign country? It felt like that braai next to Hartebeespoortdam, or the Kruger Park, or that ingeboude braai on your balcony where you always had to make sure the sliding door is closed otherwise all the smoke just waaied in. ‘n Bak chips for the kids on a plastic table, and always a weightwatcher-tannie that made sure there are carrot sticks, diet coke, and potato bake. That’s what it felt like.

Anyways, everyone immediately bonded and we did everything together. Everyone found a new friend. We shared our food, drinks and snacks. The kids played till 11pm because the sun was still up. If you hear someone else is a runner, the next morning you do a trail-run with them. If someone mention they have a bottle of gin, and you add you had some tonic, before you know it you grab your camping chair and off you go and have gin for lunch with a South African you just met. When someone decided they are going to visit an age-old monastic trappiest brewery (the Orval Abbey) the rest of us decided that that is mos ‘n bak plan. When in Belgium, one drinks beer. You know that face you make when you gooied your own dop way to sterk, well, that is how you look like when you taste proper Belgium beer made by monks.

My husband (and a few other men) even learned how to properly blow life into a fire. (from the one and only hoofseun Chuck Norris Bosch off course) (video included). We never knew about this special trick, maybe because we used to stay in Cape Town waar die wind jou stopsels uit jou bek waai and where it obviously is not necessary to have a few blowing tricks in your sleeve. “Pasop, pappa gaan braai”, quickly became the common saying the weekend, and the kids quickly learned not to get in the way when it takes 9 men with a new blaas-trick to stook a fire.

And while the men fed their ‘man-needs-fire’ urges, the ladies fed each other’s kids and our need to sit and klets. We lend and borrowed plasters, panados, pap, panty-liners (great for nose bleeds), and if you had a pannekoek left over, it quickly found its way to a neighbor. As die een ou se bier te warm is dan gaan haal die ander vir hom ‘n koue enetjie. You have your morning coffee and rusk each day on a different tent se stoep. We ended up with more cutlery, glassware and mugs than what we started with, and not one teaspoon. I found a boy’s shoe size 6-year-old and a rugby ball under my bed(?). We chatted like old friends with brand new friends while washing up in the ablusieblokke. We washed our dishes more than our own children. I even walked back to my tent in someone elses plakkies. It felt so right.

One morning, someone’s child begged me for a sweet treat. 15 minutes later him and his friends decided our tent is the place-to-be, and all my koekies disappeared and no one knew anything. Nou kyk nê, no-one steals my pack of PMS-koekies. My mom always said: “In Ingels kan jy dalk skel, maar in Afrikaans, kak jy uit”. The truth of that saying… They frightfully mumbled “sorry tannie”, and skedaddled. I felt sorry for the poor oukie when his dad got hold of him later. All I heard from their tent was a loud angry whisper: “Mens steel nie ‘n ander tannie se koekies nie!”. Later the day a pair of dirty little hands handed over a full pack of cookies. Eyes down casted, the leader of the pack apologized: “Sorry tannie, steel is verkeerd en lieg ook. Kan ons tannie se tent vee”. His gang right behind him supporting him all the way. One even gave him a thumbs up. I gave them a broom and a hug, and we ate the pack cookies together. I even found the owner of the shoe and the rugby ball. (He got a skewe kyk + one raised eyebrow.) That same night we sat around the fire and giggled lekker about hoe de moer daai skoen en bal tot in ons tent gekom het.

I am so going to miss these past 5 days of South African awesomeness, 5 days of going back to basics and boardgames. 5 days of about nine South African polisie perde wat hul braai-skills afshow. (My wors is beter as jou wors.) And 5 days of lepel-lê-ing with your husband to warm up your lady-bits because in Europe it is always 1 degree in the early morning hours. Even in spring. Oh, and don’t forget the 5 days experiencing the smell of long-drops in die ablusieblokke when you go for that early morning pee. Because you had to knyp the whole night because it was just too cold to get up and fall over a tentpen.

I learned a few things too. I learned that ching-chong-cha can solve the most heated arguments, and a few other life-saving parenting skills. I learned that ‘n opvoustoel is not a good idea for a time-out chair. I learned that ‘n ander tannie se uitkak soms die beste medisyne is. And I learned that if you give a child a village, he soon forgets about his iPad. It finally felt like a village was raising my children again. It felt like home.

And I realized that that is what I miss the most. All of us expats need Boerewors Singel moments in our new foreign countries. I think I found mine. I encourage you to find yours.

Zalea (May2022)