The Keeper of the Kumm. Sylvia Vollenhoven

      “Jy moet maar jou lyf solank vet smeer, meisiekind. Waar het jy daai vuil maniere, sulke lelike taal opgetel?”

      My grandmother’s suggestion of rubbing fat onto your body in preparation for a beating does not help. I toy with denying the secondary charge of foul language but I know that nothing will deter my mother from laying into me with that brown leather strap in her wardrobe. As I grow older, my mother’s furious beatings with the strap that leaves long welts hurt less and less. I begin to enjoy the feeling of self-righteous defiance.

      I also enjoy the look of fear on the faces of the girls Karen and I beat up. Occasionally her cousins Bernard and Tommy help us. We become a dough-nose kaffirtjie gang that intimidates everyone, even the kids in the older classes.

      When I beat up a girl two grades ahead of me, I know I’ve arrived and the secret is out. Almost-white kids are wimps.