An open letter to Steve Hofmeyr

Howzit boet,

It’s good to see you and Sunette Bridges getting involved in this statue business. The revolution needs white people who can sing. It will keep our morale up while we form a laager with our station wagons. Or drink lager at our wagon stations. Bear with me. I’m new to this.

But how about that Sunette, hey? Phwoar. I wouldn’t mind if she chained herself to me. Fifty shades of khaki or what. I don’t know why you haven’t made a baby with her yet. When it comes to creating the perfect Aryan progeny, you and her would put Dr Josef Mengele’s best efforts to shame.

Why are these black okes gunning for Oom Paul Kruger, anyway? Cecil J Rhodes I can understand, because he discovered Rhodesia. It was a kak country to start with and it’s even kakker now. But Oom Paul? All he did was discover the Kruger Park and invent Kruger Rands. I think he also stayed in Krugersdorp. That’s what you call real suffering.

The best thing about Oom Paul is his top hat. It makes me smile every time I see it. Maybe that’s why he wore it. He was hoping the British would die laughing. I also quite like his Dopper suit. I have a similar one. I call it my Dopping suit. It’s waterproof. Well, beer-proof. Ten minutes after leaving the pub, I’m completely dry. You should get yourself one.

I must admit that I haven’t been back to Pretoria since I was in the army. Sorry. All practising white South Africans should make a pilgrimage there at least once a year. I tried to defend it, I swear. I was on guard duty for two years and I didn’t sleep once. The city was safe in my hands. But then the darkies were given the vote and I was outnumbered so I sold my rifle for a bottle of brandy and a train ticket back to Durban.

Who were those okes in old army browns standing behind you in Church Square on Wednesday? The one had a beard and a giant boep and the other looked a bit like a car guard. Someone said they were from the Commando Corps. I don’t know about that. They were so pale it looked like they came from the Commando Corpse.

I was a bit disappointed to hear you shouting in English. Oom Paul must have turned in his grave. Did you know he went into exile and died in Switzerland rather than have to learn English? Shame. He must have suffered terribly sitting on his stoep looking out over Lake Geneva with a big lump of hash in his hand-carved pipe and only his male “secretary” to speak mongrel Dutch to.

Are you aware that Oom Paul and Jacob Zuma have a lot in common? Not so much the dancing. But neither of them had an education to speak of. Kruger had 16 children, Jacob has a few more. Kruger believed the earth was flat. Zuma believes he’s a brilliant president.

I liked that moment when Sunette was prowling, cat-like, microphone in hand, snarling about something or other when an indigenous protestor dared to interrupt her. “I have permission to be here and you don’t,” she barked. I don’t think she meant Church Square. I think she was talking about South Africa. And she got permission from that guy in the sky who helped the Voortrekkers win the battle of Blood River.

If Oom Paul had been around on Wednesday, though, I bet he would’ve given her a light whipping with his kudu belt, impregnated her, confiscated her shoes and packed her off to the nearest kitchen to whip up a rudimentary yet filling snack for the four commandos who could be found crouching at his feet at all times.

I thought she demonstrated a particularly fine grasp of white entitlement when she demanded the immediate arrest of Julius Malema. Doesn’t she know there’s a queue? Get in line, lady.

I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about this, Steve, but you and Juju are kindred spirits. You’re both narcissistic sociopaths simply operating from different ends of the political spectrum.

I have a dream that one day you and Julius will fall in love and get married and I, as a lay preacher who hardly ever gets laid, shall bless this magnificent heteromorphic union. That’s the kind of transformation we all want to see.