GROOMING, GARNISHES AND THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL
Tessa Dowling

The Sunday Independent
August 5 2007

It was a balmy day kwaMzoli, and Bra Thomas the German and Bras X and Z, the alpha males of our group, were admiring Sis' Dikeledi's curvy form as she moved sexily to the music.

"Ama-reverse akhe mahle! (Xhosa/Zulu: Her behind is gorgeous!)" sighed Bra Z. "Ewe," agreed Bra X, "Unekaraven. (Township slang: She has a caravan = nice bum.)"

"Heyi, sisi," he shouted out, keen to get her to sway a little closer to his own rather portly form, "Okgabane! (Sotho: You are outstandingly beautiful!)"

Sis' Dikeledi tottered over to us. Her jeans were so tight she couldn't really bend her knees, and her feet (usually in comfortable meqhatatso, a Sotho word meaning "flip-flops") were squashed into izihlangu zoothikoloshe (Township slang: the shoes of the tikoloshe = very pointy shoes).

"Do you think so?" she asked rather humbly. "It must be all these new clothes I have bought. Eish, and now I am paying for them! My Tswana friend Kefilwe is in town, and, I am telling you, that girl can spend! She buys so many clothes on account she now has garnishes!"

Bra Thomas took off his amaday-and-night (Township slang: glasses with a thick brown frame that you can wear in the day and at night) and rubbed his puzzled eyes, "Vot is a garnish? I vos all zis time sinking zat ze garnish is parsley... you know, such sings zey put ON your zandvich not IN your zandvich...?"

Bra X came to his rescue. "Urayiti, mfowethu! (Xhosa: You are right, my man!) but the Kalcha (Township slang: Khayelitsha) garnish is definitely not parsley! No, no, no! No, the Kalcha garnish is the money that your employer must take OFF your pay BEFORE you GET that pay. It is the money that must go ngqo (Xhosa: straight) to amaTruworths, amaFoschini, ooWoolworths, njalo njalo (Xhosa: etc, etc), from your umvuzo/ moputso/ tuelo/ iholo (Xhosa; Sotho/Pedi; Tswana; and Zulu words for "salary") because you yourself were not in the habit of paying those accounts. This garnish thing is se-ri-yas! It is a bloody court order!"

"And Kefilwe has so many garnishes she is practically a herb garden." Sis' Dikeledi started coughing nervously and scratched her head, which had also recently undergone expensive salon treatment. She was sporting a Carrot Cornrow - braids that start small and tight and then get bigger. She used to have just some simple imirobhozo (tight rows of hair) but Sis' Kefilwe, the Trinny and Susannah of the townships, convinced her to go more stylish.

"O mein Gott!" Bra Thomas was still horrified about the concept of a garnish. "So you mean zey don't even trust people to pay zeir own accounts?"

"Well, my bru, if you look at most of our ladies" chipped in Bra V, "you will see they do not wear Fongkong! (Township slang: fongkong = from Hong Kong = cheap and nasty clothes). From top to toe they are stylish. Look at Sis' Fezi at the bar there!" We all phosa-ed our amehlo (Xhosa-English: threw our eyes = looked) in the bar's direction and checked Sis' Fezi out. She was wearing a tight, slightly flared black skirt, and her white, romantically crinkly shirt was nipped in at the waist by a belt with a huge buckle. "That buckle could be used to knock you out," whispered Bra V. "It is called a 'khunqubelt' (figure belt), and that one probably cost Sis' Fezi about half her salary."

"But vot about money for a rainy day?" Bra Thomas was always deeply intrigued by any conversation that featured money. "Er liebt Geld (German: He loves money)," mumbled Bra X under his breath. Bra X's aunt was a nun in a German order and had taught him some useful German phrases like, "Eine Wurzel alles Bosen ist die Geldliebe (German: The love of money is the root of all evil)," which he confessed he would come out with when his BMW dealer became impatient for payment.

"Luister, my bru," interrupted Bra February, who, of course, had been listening on the outskirts of the conversation, "A. We don't got too many rainy days here in South Africa, although Cape Town is the inspection (Bra February's word for "exception". Shame.). B. The banks mos charge you to save here, my bru - today, tomorrow, together, simpler, better, faster, motivated, involved, jou ma se ... rubbish! They give you fokol help unless you is a millionaire. C. If you saves your money at home it will be stolen by your wife or your laaitie. So I says, 'Sis' Dikeledi, get yourself a garnish and go bevok, my girlfriend. Moenie worry about tomorrow!' As the Bible say, the Lord will provide. He slash She even know how many hairs is in your extension!"

The conversation ended (as usual) with everyone shouting everyone else down, but from the corner of my eye I could see Sis' Dikeledi taking off her high heels and surreptiously slipping on her flip-flops. "I would rather spend my money on a good steak - without a garnish!" she announced, and we all agreed. Clothes don't always maketh the man, but a garnish can be the undoing of a girlfriend.

Tessa Dowling is a director of African Voices, a company that produces materials for the learning and teaching of South Africa's African languages, and that's the ungarnished truth.