She is a terrorist, torturing me with all the possibilities of how she could kill me right now. I’m not going to sit here! With an abrupt push, I open my door and fall out into the wet straw. Immediately pulling myself up, I scramble into the back of the truck.
“Get back in the truck and floor it while I fend them off!” the Drill Sergeant bellows. I haven’t heard this tone from him since the crocodile incident on my first day.
The Drill Sergeant launches rock grenades at the elephants. With trumpets blasting, trunks firing, and the Drill Sergeant shouting, I jump back into the cab. Through the side mirror, I catch a glimpse of Kittibon’s trunk moving toward the open window again. I turn the key while jamming it into first, and the ever-faithful Harrison charges forward.
“Go, go, go!” screams the Drill Sergeant from the back of the truck. I push in the clutch, shift into second, and throttle the gas. I dare not look back. I try to find the gate far ahead while trying to find some semblance of a road while swerving around potholes the size of craters.
There are loud smashing noises coming from the back of the truck, and I catch a glimpse of a telephone pole bouncing out of the bed, that one shortly followed by another one. I search the mirrors for the Drill Sergeant and see that, miraculously, he has managed to stay on board. The ellies are charging after the truck—warning sign number three. As the poles catapult from the back, the ellies stop to inspect them, after all, the poles belong to them. This allows us time to escape.
By the time we reach the gate, there are no poles left in the back of the truck, just an angry Drill Sergeant. I stop the truck once we are safely through the other side. The Drill Sergeant jumps out and motions me to get out of the driver’s seat. I do not speak or look at his eyes. The familiar veins in his forehead are bulging and his face is the darkest shade of purple I’ve seen to date.
Through clenched teeth he utters, “I told you, elephants never forget.”
With that, we call it a morning.
12
Deciphering the Local Dialect
The Drill Sergeant has accused me of not following orders, being disrespectful, and has even gone as far as calling me a renegade, saying that my actions would be considered treason in some countries—this all over a small elephant incident that can hardly be blamed on me. How does he expect me to follow his orders, when half the time I can’t understand what he says, and those words I do understand have a completely different meaning than what I’m used to? I could argue that he is just prejudiced against me for not understanding his jibber jabber, but he probably wouldn’t understand my exposition spoken in plain and simple English.
Instead, I have been forced to study his local dialect because an all out war is on the horizon—a clash of cultures caused by misunderstanding, miscommunication, and ignorance… on his part, of course.
Interpreting his expressions hasn’t been easy, since there’s no such thing as a direct translation. The vocabulary is wrapped in cultural nuances and then further entangled in customs and traditions, which one needs to be immersed in to fully comprehend. I am nowhere near this point, but I am, at the very least, able to make some sense of the basic demotic vernacular that I am exposed to daily. During this exploration, it has become apparent that words that have a specific meaning in other parts of the world mean the exact opposite here. This knowledge has come at the high cost of frustration, and even, at times, humiliation on my part.
South Africa is a diverse and culturally rich country and for this reason, they call it the rainbow country. It has eleven official languages: Afrikaans, English, Ndebele, Northern Sotho, Sotho, Swazi, Tswana, Tsonga, Venda, Xhosa and Zulu. In this farming area, I’ve mainly been exposed to Afrikaans, a rudimentary form of the Dutch language, born here in the 17th Century with the influx of Dutch immigrants.
I have compiled a small sampling of the most common phrases and sounds I have been exposed to at the game reserve. There are many more that I have not listed, as I am still trying to figure them out myself—a task not easy to undertake.
• Ag Shame — It doesn’t mean too bad, or that’s a shame, as it does in the rest of the world, instead it means “sweet” or “adorable.”
• Howzit? — How are you? Spoken very quickly, with no delay in between “how” and “zit.”
• 100% — Common expression meaning that’s excellent or utter perfection.
• Ayoba — You are ayoba or that’s ayoba. This means “totally awesome.” It is the highest compliment to be called ayoba. So far, I have not received this compliment.
• Braai — Literal translation in Afrikaans is, “roasted meat,” but in practical terms it means barbecue. Braais are very popular in South Africa and are a rich part of this country’s culture. Ostrich and Kudo make for excellent grilling meats, I’ve heard, but wouldn’t know from practical experience.
• Lekker — This means “the best.” For example: the braai last night was lekker. The current volunteer is lekker—even if her immediate supervisor doesn’t realize it yet.
• Hectic — Brutal, terrible. It doesn’t mean crazy busy, as it does back home. Once, I told the Drill Sergeant that it looked like it was going to be a hectic day with all the work we had to do. He didn’t understand what I meant by that, and he told me to have a positive outlook and not denounce things before they started.
• I dare say — The Drill Sergeant uses this at the beginning of nearly every sentence, regardless of the content. For example, “I dare say you are one of the most hectic volunteers I’ve ever seen.” I know this is used in many other places, but I’ve never seen it used as much as it is here, and in such loose context.
• I promise you — Also very common, this can be translated as, “I am serious,” or, “I mean it.” But when the Drill Sergeant says it, there is no sincerity in it whatsoever. He may as well be saying, “I don’t give a damn about you,” or, “I curse you.”
• I must say — If the Drill Sergeant doesn’t start a sentence with one of the above, it is always started with this one. At first, I was awaiting some grand revelation to follow this statement, but it was usually followed by something like, “I must say, the bomas need a deep cleaning tomorrow morning.”
• Buy a Donkey — The only Afrikaans word the Drill Sergeant has taken the time to teach me. It is really spelled baie danke. It means thank you very much, and I dare say I haven’t had much practice in having to use these words with him.
• Where’s that funny old… — While on our morning patrols, the Drill Sergeant always says, “Where’s that funny old lion?” Or “Where’s that funny old buffalo?”
• Where’s that silly old… — When looking for lost tools, the mileage book (that is supposed to be filled out daily, but hasn’t been once since I’ve been here), or any material item, the Drill Sergeant uses this expression. For example, “Where’s that silly old machete?” or, “Where’s that silly old shovel?” I can only hope he doesn’t use this expression when he’s referring to me, such as, “Where’s that silly old volunteer from the city?” But I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he does.