Saturday, July 2, 2016

When a quinuagenarian retire in Gansbaai

Ons is nou vir die derde keer in Gansbaai. Nie om te leilatov of laag te lê nie, maar om huis te koop. Ons eerste aanbod om te koop, is aanvaar, maar toe verkoop ons huis in Bloem nie betyds nie.
Die eienaar van die tweede eendom waarvoor Christo ‘n aanbod gemaak het, het onwettige aanbouings gedoen en wou ad-infinitum hê om ‘n ander vakansie-huis te soek . . . terwyl ons R30 000 betaal om ons meubels te stoor. En intussen weet ons nie wanneer ons ons eie huisie-by-die-see sal kan okkupeer nie. En nou is ons by nommer drie. Met 6 ander op die kortlys.
Toe byt ‘n spinnekop my. Op 6 plekke op my lyf. En ek jeuk my malle-maai af.

Ekt geen saak met gasstoofplate of ongeglasierde vloerteels of groen-verhitting nie. Ek jeuk. Ek smeer salf en sluk pille, maar ek bly jeuk. Later begin die blasies bars en lek, en ek jeuk. Rooi bult-stepe loop onder my vel, en ek jeuk. My dokter gee antibioltika, en ek jeuk. Die apteker halfwegoppad na Gansbaai gee salf, maar ek jeuk. Nou krap ek sommer ongeskik en onbedek, want ek jeuk. Tot ver verby malwordenstoe verby; ek jeuk myself mal.

And Google translated it as follows. . .
We are now for the third time in Goose Bay (or rather: Gansbaai). Not to leilatov or layer to lie,(or rather: relax) but to buy a house. The first offer to buy was accepted, but on the condition that the buyer sold his house in Flower (or rather: Bloemfontein) in time.
The owner of the second property that Christo had made an offer on, made illegal additions to the property and wanted ad infinitum to find another vacation home. . . while we pay R30 000 to store our furniture. And do not know when we will be able to occupy our own house-by-the-Sea. And now we are at number three - with 6 others on the shortlist.
When a spider bit me. 6 places on my body. I itch my crazy-reap (or rather: like crazy).
I don't care about gas cookers or unglazed floor tiles or green heating. I just itch. I apply ointments and swallow pills, and I itch. Later my skin blisters, bursts and leaks, and I itch. Red upheaved trails run under my skin. But I itch. My doctor gave antibioltika. But I itch. The pharmacist halfwegoppad (or rather; halfway on route) to Gansbaai gave ointment. But I kept on itching. I scratch rudely in public. Far beyond malwordenstoe (or rather: crazyness) past; I itch myself crazy.