[Only South Africans will understand this!

Those Cape Coloureds are cheeky, and hillarious! Jan]

Cape Town has a wonderfully varied, and surprisingly, tolerant
population. Its people come from many different backgrounds and
some of its people have a sense of humour, as unique to them as
the cockney’s. Their wit and repartee are as sharp as any cockney
wit. Unfortunately, those who are not familiar with the Afrikaans
language will be unable to share in the humour, deliberate and
accidental, of these colourful folk.

Picture the scene. A newspaper vendor is standing in a busy
intersection in the main street of Cape Town selling the afternoon
paper, The Cape Argus.

“A’gus, A’gus,” he calls incessantly.

A 4×4 bakkie with a Free State registration pulls up at the robot.
The burly, deeply tanned farmer leans out of the cab window and calls
to the paper vendor, “Hey midnight, bring ‘n koerant.”

‘Midnight’ sidles over and they exchange money and newspaper.
The vendor steps back, looks the driver straight in the eye and
says, “Djy roep my midnight.

Djy’s nie so ver van quarter-to-twelve djouself nie.”

********

Many years ago fish carts used to roam the residential streets.
Their wares were advertised by the vendor blowing a fish horn,
“Blaaaah. Blaaaah.”

One day, in response to the horn, a fellow with a very flat nose
opened an upstairs window in a rather seedy street.
“Haai, wat verkoop djy?” he asked.

“Stompneus,” answered the vendor.

The response from upstairs was immediate and to the point,
“djou moer!”

*******

The neatly dressed, quiet spoken, middle aged lady bent down to
inspect the peaches offered for sale by a street vendor.

“Is daai perskes soet?” she enquired.

“Dja ounooi. Kyk net hoe still en netjies sit hulle in rytjies.”

********

The trek fishermen use a rowing boat to catch a fish they call
harders.

The boats are launched from the beach and the fish are caught
close into the shore. Frequently the fish are tied in bunches
and sold at the roadside.

A Transvaal Mercedes stopped next to a fisherman holding a bunch
of harders and enquired, “Wat vra jy vir daai harders?”

The fisherman looked at the fish, then stretched out his arm and
held the harders a few inches from the driver’s face,
“Ek vra hulle f*kk*l. Wil djy hulle iets vra?

******
Gatiep en Gammat are sitting on a bus in Cape Town when this lady
gets on with a face made up to kill: bloodshot red lips, seven
layers of base and such massive eyelashes that she can barely
keep her eyes open.

There’s no vacant seats, so she stands, hanging onto the leather
strap.

“Hei Gammat,” says Gatiep, “why don’t you offer the lady your
seat?”

“Nei,” says Gammat, “a painting moet mos hang.