Commentary

Two comments have hit me in the gut this week.

First Comment:

Made by: Doctor
Known about Doctor: Married, Young, 1 infant, Devout Christian

Doctor comes to our bistro quite regularly. Mostly he comes early in the morning at about 7am. The other day we realised why he was there so early. He goes to "Male Bible Study" at 5.45 am twice a week. Yes. He emphasised that it is a male only group. In Otjiwarongo, this is not a peculiar thing. My father belongs to a 'male only' club. They get together and get drunk. I don't know what further purpose his "Harde Horing" Club has. Yes. Really. Harde Horings they call themselves.

Anyway, to get back to the point. The Doctor has recently been sitting by the 'toonbank', the bar where most regulars drink coffee in the mornings. The reason for his sudden appearance at the 'regular' table is that he was the doctor on attendance when friends were recently involved in a car accident. Our friend died. Her husband remains, critically, alive.

So. Now that he's part and party to the regular's table we talk to him.

And somehow the conversation the other morning turned to psychology and hypnosis. And people who murder. And homosexuals. And he casually mentioned that for a long time he believed the theory that homosexuality was genetic, such as depression etc, but he realised recently that "God maak nie foute nie"(Translation for those who do not read Afrikaans: God doesn't make mistakes"). So, homosexuality was created after birth by turning 'keys' in an individuals mental makeup and thus the 'fout' (mistake) was created.

I almost chocked on my coffee. And, as usual lately, I remained silent, got on my bike and pedalled to work.

Second Comment:

Made by: miniboer
Known about miniboer: Works with coal, divorced, father of 2

The second comment came today, again from a regular, again at the Bistro's bar. The 'regular', let's call him miniboer (make of that what you will, but the mini does not refer to his rather huge, flappy stomach) was going through a Times magazine. One feature had a large picture of a woman in a miniskirt and torn pantyhose, sitting on the floor with her legs folded under her. As he saw the picture he piped up: "And they wonder when they get raped".

Luckily I had finished my coffee by then. Yet again, I said nothing, ignoring my beating heart and the furious anger inside, got on my bike and pedalled to work.

I do not have to say anything further.

It occurs to me however, that Danella and I will certainly not be bringing home any boys from the 'dorp' anytime soon. Conversation would soon give way to homicide. The question remains, who will grab for the knive first?