After reading the comments aimed at the lady who doesn’t use toilet paper; who rarely takes a bath and uses no deodorant; who grows veggies in effluent from a septic tank; who never uses a razor – and who must surely be the scariest person on Earth to get stuck with in a lift – I was reminded of an extremely nauseating experience I have had.
Last year I bought a new house, and, in a moment of weakness – after being stupidified from reading an article on organic *horticulture – I decided to buy “organic compost” for my garden and lawn.
Visions of lush grass, **weed, and blooming flowers sprang to mind as I “researched” this greenie-beanie system of growing plants. No more superphosphates or man-made fertilizers for me!
My research turned up all sorts of useful information: “It can be expected that insect, fungal, and other problems will plague plants grown organically. However, pheromone traps, insecticidal soap sprays, and other pest-control methods are available to organic farmers.”
Farmers? Great! I was going to be a farmer! Malema was going to sing: “Kill the Boer” for me!
But that’s not all!
First, I get to breed insects, fungus, and other pests – right here on my own little farm – and then I get to kill them! Just like those evil Western Cape farmers who allegedly kill their poor, underpaid farmworkers.
So, off I went to the local nursery with a ***boeresong in my heart. I bought twelve bags of organic compost. (It would have been more – but that was all I could fit in the boot of my car.)
Back on my “farm” I got dressed in my best AWB outfit: two-tone boere-shirt (made in China), jeans (made in China), takkies (made in China), and baseball cap with the “Proudly South African” logo (also made in China).
Due to financial constraints, I don’t employ any wekkas on my farm. If something needs to be broken or stolen, I’m the best man for the job. Why pay someone with no qualifications to do the job, I always say.
Man! Organic compost is heavy! But finally I had all the bags unloaded and lined up against the garden wall. The great moment arrived at last! I was going to contribute to nature’s astonishing miracle – growing green stuff!
With a trembling hand, I opened my ****knipmes, cut the first bag open, and started spreading the organic compost over the lawn – with my bare hands.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Or, to put it mildly: Pigshit! Pigshit! Pigshit!
The organic stuff must have been VERY fresh from the pig’s organ: dark green, bubbling, and smelling – one would imagine – like a toilet-paperless person does – on a good day.
I nearly died! Words from the Old Testament came to mind: “Unclean, unclean!” and, “Beware thee the organic stuff from the grunting, oinking beast with the cloven hooves and corkscrew tail! Thee shalt wash thyself seventy-seven times seven – in other words – three hundred and sixty-five times, henceforth one calendar year, in yonder river Jordan. Thou shalt stinketh no more!”
I’ll spare you the rest of the gory details. (And my wife’s hysterical laughter coming from the house.)
Suffice it to say, this incident brought my career as a shitsistence farmer to an untimely end. Nipped in the bud, so to speak. It took two bottles of Dettol and several kilolitres of water to get rid of the smell. And that was just to get my hands clean. The garden has been placed under quarantine – like Chernobyl – unsafe for 50 000 years. We don’t go there anymore.
I donated the rest of the bags of swine manure to a friend who runs a gardening service. He has since stopped talking to me.
I still wonder why.
*horticulture – From Latin hortus and cultura, meaning: Beware of Organic Compost”
**weed – From ancient Greek, meaning: the Oracle’s Smoke of Choice
***boeresong – A song sung by farmers: “Have You Ever Seen the Rain”
****knipmes – Traditional weapon, also known as a “Boere panga”
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