16 Afrikaans words that can be lost in translation


Donner
A rude word, it comes from the Afrikaans “donder” (thunder).
Pronounced “dorner”, it means “beat up.” A team member in your rugby
team can get donnered in a game, or your wife can donner you if you
come back from a braai at three in the morning.
Eina
Widely used by all language groups, this word, derived from the
Afrikaans, means “ouch.” Pronounced “aynah”. You can say it in
sympathy when you see your friend the day after he got donnered by his
wife.
Hey
Often used at the end of a sentence to emphasize the importance of
what has just been said, as in “You’re only going to get donnered if
you come in late again, hey?” It can also stand alone as a question.
Instead of saying “excuse me?” or “pardon me?” when you have not heard
something directed at you, you can always say: “Hey?”
Izit?
This is another great word to use in conversations. Derived from the
two words “is” and “it”, it can be used when you have nothing to
contribute if someone tells you something at a braai. For instance, if
someone would say: “The Russians will succeed in their bid for
capitalism once they adopt a work ethic and respect for private
ownership.” It is quite appropriate to respond by saying: “Izit?”
Ja well no fine
This is another conversation fallback. Derived from the four words:
“yes”, “well”, “no” and fine”, it roughly means “OK”. If your bank
manager tells you your account is overdrawn, you can, with confidence,
say: “Jawelnofine.”
Klap
Pronounced “klup” – an Afrikaans word meaning smack, whack or spank.
If you spend too much time in front of the TV during exam time, you
could end up getting a “klap” from your mother. In America , that is
called child abuse. In South Africa , it is called promoting education.
But to get “lekker geklap” is to get motherlessly drunk.
Lekker
An Afrikaans word meaning nice, this word is used by all language
groups to express approval. If you enjoyed a braai thoroughly, you can
say: “Now that was lekk-errrrrrr!” while drawing out the last
syllable.
Tackies
These are sneakers or running shoes. The word is also used to describe
automobile or truck tyres. “Fat tackies” are really wide tyres, as in:
“You’ve got lekker fat tackies on your Vôlla, hey?”
Dop
This word has two basic meanings, one good and one bad. First the
good: A dop is a drink, a cocktail, a sundowner, a noggin. When
invited for a dop, be careful! It could be one sedate drink or a
blast, depending on the company. Now the bad: To dop is to fail. If
you “dopped” standard two (Grade 4) more than once, you probably won’t
be reading this.
Bakkie
This word is pronounced “bucky” and can refer to a small truck or
pick-up. If a young man takes his “girl” (date) in a bakkie it could
be considered as a not so “lekker” form of transport because the seats
can’t recline.
Howzit
This is a universal South African greeting, and you will hear this
word throughout the country. It is often accompanied with the word
“Yes!” as in: “Yes, howzit?”. In which case you answer “No, fine.”
Tune grief
To be tuned grief is to be aggravated, harassed. For example, if you
argue with somebody about a rugby game at a braai and the person had
too much dop (is a little “geklap”), he might easily get aggravated
and say.: “You’re tuning me grief, hey!”. To continue the argument
after this could be unwise and result in major tuning of grief..
Boet
This is an Afrikaans word meaning “brother” which is shared by all
language groups. Pronounced “boot” but shorter, as in “foot”, it can
be applied to a brother or any person of the male sex. For instance a
father can call his son “boet” and friends can apply the term to each
other too. Sometimes the diminutive “boetie” is used. But don’t use it
on someone you hardly know – it will be thought patronizing and could
lead to you getting a “lekker klap”.
Skop, Skiet en donner
Literally “kick, shoot and thunder”, this phrase is used by many South
African speakers to describe action movies. A Clint Eastwood movie is
always a good choice if you’re in the mood for of a lekker skop, skiet
en donner flick.
Vrot
Pronounced – “frot”. A expressive word which means “rotten” or
“putrid” in Afrikaans, it is used by all language groups to describe
anything they really dislike. Most commonly intended to describe fruit
or vegetables whose shelf lives have long expired, but a pair of old
tackies (sneakers) worn a few years too long can be termed “vrot” by
some unfortunate folk which find themselves in the same vicinity as
the wearer. Also a rugby player who misses important kicks or tackles
can be said to have played a vrot game – opposite to a “lekker” game
(but not to his face). A movie was once reviewed with this headline:
“Slick Flick, Vrot Plot.” Could also be used as an expression” I got vrot last night” (drunk)
Rock up
To rock up is to just, sort of arrive (called “gate crash” in other
parts of the world). You don’t make an appointment or tell anyone you
are coming – you just rock up. Friends can do that but you have to be
selective about it. For example, you can’t just rock up for a job
interview.
Scale
To scale something is to steal it. A person who is “scaly” has a
doubtful character, is possibly a scumbag, and should rather be left
off the invitation list to your next braai.
Ja-nee
“Yes No” in English. Politics in South Africa has always been
associated with family arguments and in some cases even with physical
fights. It is believed that this _expression originated with a family
member who didn’t want to get a klap or get donnerred, so he just
every now and then muttered “ja-nee”. Use it when you are required to
respond, but would rather not choose to agree or disagree.



In that year, the Lord came unto Noah, who was now living in South Africa, and said

In that year, the Lord came unto Noah, who was now living in South
Africa, and said, "Once again, the earth has become wicked and
over-populated, and I see the end of all flesh before me.  Build another Ark
and save 2 of every living thing along with a few good humans."
He gave Noah the plans, saying, "You have 6 months to build the Ark before I
will start the unending rain for 40 days and 40 nights."
Six months later, the Lord looked down and saw Noah weeping in his yard -
but no Ark.  "Noah!" He roared, "I'm about to start the rain! Where is the
Ark?"
"Forgive me, Lord," begged Noah, "But things have changed. First, I found
that I needed a building permit. I've been arguing with the inspector about
the need for a sprinkler system at numerous lunch-meetings.
My neighbours claimed that I've violated the neighborhood zoning laws by
building the Ark in my yard and exceeding the height limitations. We had to
go to the Metro Council for a decision, -- only at their next
Break-away session!
Then ESKOM demanded a bond be posted for the future costs of moving power
lines and other overhead obstructions, to clear the passage for the Ark's
move to the sea. I told them that the sea would be coming to us, but they
would hear nothing of it.
Getting the wood was another problem. There's a ban on cutting local trees
because the Nature Conservation authorities say it will upset the balance of
the local ecological system.  I tried to convince them that I needed the
wood to save us all from extinction - but no go!
When I started gathering the animals, the SPCA prosecuted me. They insisted
that I was confining wild animals against their will. They argued the
accommodation was too restrictive, and it was cruel and inhumane to put so
many animals in a confined space.
The traffic authorities said it would take six months after completion of
the ark to plan a route to the sea. I told them also that the sea would be
coming to my back yard. The Metro Police threatened to have me committed.
Then the Department for Environment ruled that I couldn't build the Ark
until I had arranged and conducted an environmental impact study on your
proposed flood.
I'm still trying to resolve a complaint with the BEE group on how many
affirmative action persons I'm supposed to hire for my building crew.
The Department of The Internal Affairs has insisted that I provide
them with a list
of the people who want to work so that they can check that they are not from
the non designated group. COSATU say I can't use my sons. They insist I have
to hire only Union workers with Ark-building experience.
To make matters worse, SARS seized all my assets, claiming I'm trying to
leave the country illegally with endangered species. So, forgive me, Lord,
but it would take at least 10 years for me to finish this Ark."
Suddenly the skies cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow stretched
across the sky. Noah looked up in wonder and asked, "You mean you're not
going to destroy the world?"
"No," said the Lord. "The SA Government has beaten me to it."

For similar articles and updates be sure to connect with GetPetrol on Twitter or Facebook

Those with eyes to see - White students continue to dominate matric results

For almost 30 years I have debated the subject of matric results with
many different people from different walks of life. One thing that
strikes those with eyes to see is that white students continue to
dominate and outshine the ranks of matric super-achievers followed by
so-called Indians.
There is a perception that African students are the worst performers.
If you look at the faces of smiling and happy pupils who have
obtained more than six distinctions in matric this year, they are mostly
white.
Of course, that tells us something not about who has superior
intelligence but who is willing to put their shoulder to the wheel.
After all, the greatest determinant of how many distinctions a
student is going to get at the end of the year is the amount of work
they are willing to put in.
One thing that has struck me over the last 15 years is that
African students seem to be more interested in song, dance, fashion
and booze than self-discipline, focus and hard work.
Of course this is a generalisation that makes the innocent suffer
but one needs only visit festivals, nightclubs and other places of
entertainment to find out which direction African students channel their
energies.
The reality of the situation is that white and Indian pupils are
too few a minorities for them to dominate matric results.
It is time that we asked a hard question of African students: how
long are they going to depend on affirmative action to make headway in life?
Of course, it is a justifiable government policy to demand that
tertiary institutions make special provision for African students to be
enrolled at universities. But who should be given special treatment
between a super-performing white student and a time-wasting African
student with low marks?
I would be wary to answer, without any reservation, and with the
deepest conviction of my heart and soul that the opportunity should go
to an African student.
It is time that special focus was put on matric results and the
performance of African students at high school level and beyond.
Since 1994 African students have had the power to choose to be
great super-achievers or mediocre talents. Their parents and government
continue to make huge sacrifices, huge amounts of money for them to
attend the best former whites-only schools under the best conditions.
It is just an excuse for us to accept that African students face
racism, victimisation and that we continue to blame white teachers and
principals for their poor performance.
Fundamentally, African students are the product of what they choose
to be. Their matric results have very little to do with their genes or
the upbringing and environment they live in.
Certainly, the issue of language, genes and culture, if you like,
often influence how students learn but this does not predetermine their
results. The excuse that African students are so-called Historically
Disadvantaged Individuals has been bandied about for far too long, now.
The essence of the difference in matric results between White,
Indian and African students is simply a matter of self-discipline, focus
and hard work.
It is time more was demanded of African pupils rather than encourage
them to continue to believe that they future is secured simply because
of their skin colour.
This whole attitude of entitlement makes it easy for conservatives
to say that affirmative action is reverse racism. African pupils make
choices based on the values they learn from their families and communities.
African leadership and management at family and institutional
level is, largely, a product of a culture of entitlement. This misleads
the youth. The ability of pupils to reinvent themselves and surpass all
expectations in matric performance is what this country needs,
especially from African youth.
The best gift that the white and Indian youth have given this
country is the example of focused, disciplined and hard working young
people.
Let us not discriminate against them, later, to make way for African
youth who are not a source of pride for this nation. It is time that
merit and a willingness to work harder were the new criteria to decide
who gets an opportunity in the New South Africa and who does not.
African pupils must choose whether they want to succeed or perish as
fools.
If they choose the latter, they must face the consequences of their
own choices. The future of Africa deserves better quality leadership
than our youth are putting on the table.

An open letter from David Bullard to Zuma


JOHANNESBURG - I'm thinking of taking a couple of extra wives this
year. I got the idea from the president himself and I think it's
brilliant. It's a bit like having different cars. For example, I've
got a double cab bakkie to take garden stuff down to the dump and to
go on fishing trips . I've got my gayboy Mazda MX5 which is great for
zipping around town and going off to choose curtain fabric and I've
got a much more sensible MPV with five comfortable seats and a large
loading bay. That's perfect for going on holiday packed with stuff and
meeting people at the airport.

Currently my first wife drives that as her everyday vehicle but she
may have to drive the bakkie if subsequent wives want to drive the
MPV. Of course, this doesn't include the procession of test cars
delivered to the old homestead, ostensibly to be driven and evaluated.
This week it's an Audi Q7 and unless I misheard the phone message
there should be a Ferrari on the way.

I have always been under the impression that polygamy is illegal in
this country but maybe I was confusing it with bigamy. Obviously it
can't be illegal because the president has just got married again and,
as we know, nobody is above the law in this country. There will be
those who will try to argue that it's a Zulu cultural thing but that
doesn't really convince me. For example, it's a cultural thing for my
lot to ride around on horses hunting foxes but that's not even allowed
in England. And it's a proud South African tradition to drive drunk
but surely that doesn't qualify as a cultural right?

What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander and if President
Zuma can have multiple wives then so should the rest of us be allowed
to should we so choose. The fact that the SA taxpayer may not be
meeting the bills for our second, third and fourth wives may influence
many people's decision to lead a life of polygamy but what the heck.
The great political pundit and restaurant reviewer Justice Malala
often writes about his "lovely wife" when he attempts to describe to
us what he has been blowing his Financial Mail expense account on. I
hadn't thought much about this until this weekend but maybe Justice is
also a polygamist and mentions his "lovely wife" every week to
differentiate her from his other, less lovely, wives. Although I
imagine wives number 2/3/4 would probably get a little miffed at wife
number 1 being referred to as "lovely" while they never warrant a
mention.

This then is the essential difference between multiple cars and
multiple wives. Cars don't get jealous but wives do and it is a
demonstration of his diplomatic mastery that Jacob Zuma has been
through this before and will almost certainly get married a few more
times. Maybe he does it for the wedding presents.
The obvious problem with polygamy (a bit like cars actually) is you're
bound to have a favourite wife. One you want to drag to the marital
bed for some energetic rumpy pumpy on a regular basis. So what do you
do with the others as they sulk in the sewing room, mending the holes
in your leopard skin underpants? Do you promise them the same
treatment at some vague distant date in the future or do you fob them
off with a promise that they will attend the next opening of
parliament? Tiger Woods would probably have a solution for this but he
has more experience at playing 18 holes then the rest of us. For the
average male polygamist it's a problem.

Then imagine what it must be like driving from KZN to Pretoria with
three map reading wives in the car. As all men know, one map reading
wife is bad enough. They have to hold the map upside down because
that's the direction the car is traveling. Which means that they can't
read the street names and that eventually ends in disaster and lots of
yelling. The sat-nav has saved many a marriage, even if it is a
woman's voice telling you where to go. I have programmed mine to speak
in Italian because being told that you're off route and need to do a
U-turn sounds much more erotic in Italian.

Then there's the problem of meals. Which wife cooks the food?
Obviously the hot wife is excused culinary duties because she needs to
preserve her energy for the bedroom but do the three other wives all
prepare a separate dinner and then get upset when you choose one over
the other? Or do they all resign themselves to the fact that "hottie"
is tonight's choice yet again and just get on with preparing the food.
Which means you also need to employ a food taster because with one
happy and three unhappy wives it's only a matter of time before one of
them accidentally adds hemlock to the recipe.

No, I think that after much consideration maybe I won't proceed with
the polygamy plans after all. Forgetting one wedding anniversary is
difficult enough. Can you imagine what it must be like forgetting
five?

*After 24 years as a trader in the global financial markets David
Bullard decided to opt for an easy life and became a journalist. His
iconic "Out to Lunch" column has been running for 15 years and is as
offensive as ever. Not that he gives a damn...

Riding the Anaconda - with worsrolletjies

I am a father. So,sometimes i need to do stuff that fathers do. In the 
old days, it was marbles and tolle and ketties. Things have changed.
So,two weeks ago,the fucking bright sparks over the road here,whispered 
the words "GOLD REEF CITY" into my laaities ears,and what can you do?You 
go to GRC.
Ok,so i checked the website...nananana,looks like piss,hier en daar n 
fokken ride or two,and i wanted to go down the mine. So ek trek my 
plakkies aan, kam my hare, and off we go.
We got there early. Ek kap manhaftig twee worsbroodjies weg, en n 
halfliter melk, and followed my son to the first ride...called Runaway 
Train.
We get on, and i thought these things were for kids and stuff,and off it 
went. I did not like it. It was going sideways and shit,and i was queasy 
when i got off.
What bothered me though was the sound coming from behind me somewhere. 
Dit klink soos n fokken boeing wat land. And then i saw it. Big 
signwriting...ANAFOKKENCONDA.
I had to keep face, i wear the pants in this family. Ek maak my arms 
bak, en ek loop fier en regop teen die dekplank op. Ek gaan die donner 
ry, what can go wrong?
There was a queue and the fuck up with that is, you can see what the 
thing does to people.
When it came in the second time,and a young student dude, met spiere 
waar ek voue het, got out, and kots oor die reling, toe weet ek, my kak 
is uitgeknip vir my.
Then it was our turn.Jono chickened out, BUT my wife was checking me 
out. This is where you have to be nonchalant,and manly. I kept my chin 
up, en my hol toegeknyp.
You get into this thing, and you hang. The safety bar didnt want to go 
over my hoenderborsie, so i pulled a Ville Valo, and made myself thin, 
and hooked a clip too close....i think.
KLANG KLANG KLANG KLANG....en kom ons fok nie rond nie....skielik is ek 
so bang dat ek n bliksemse nieraanval kry.....
dan draai die etterse ding en dan......P@$S HY NA BENEDE....MET DIE 
SPOED VAN DIE HEILIGE FOKKEN WIT ELAND.
I shit you not, forget any car,bike,plane or whatever the fuck you 
measure your manliness by....it accelerated like nothing i have ever felt.
But if this wasnt enough, gaan donner die ding onderstebo met jou. I 
feel the worsrolletjie. No wait, i feel the texture of the 
worsrolletjie, every fucking fibre of the worsrolletjie.
Kerels, we came out that first loop met die spoed van fokken wit lig. I 
wanted it to stop.I havent prayed in 22 years....i did then. We levelled 
out,and then it hit the second loop.
Shorter radius than the first. Ons fok daardeur,en ek verloor my 
plakkie. Onderstebo, and then around 2 flat corners wa ek 10 jaar ouer 
word, and then....the fucking thing corkscrewed.
Klits daai fokken broodjie en die melk laat dit lyk soos daai kak wat jy 
oor bobotie gooi, and another,en fok dit, toe skree ek soos n Namibiese 
vlakte vlermuis wat se sonar gekak het.
And into the station at 200kmh, and just for shits and giggles, they 
stop it in 10m flat.
I just sat there. Stunned,and my wife is oooh and aaaahing, en 
lets-go-againing....sy moet haar jags hou.

It fucked my whole day up.

South African Xeno-Flippen-phobia "Hak af dat ons ry"

Arachnophobia is being shit scared of spiders. In all honesty, I think it is a basic human condition, we should all be. However, to diagnose it as a phobia in all cases would be incorrect. Yes, I am sure that there are people that are struck down with fear and yes they need help, but I am assuming that this would be a formal condition, diagnosed by a professional, over time with a plan of action going forward. 

Any phobia is a serious thing. I remember running onto the rugby field and almost pissing my pants because the opposition was twice my size. You never get use to that feeling and it never gets better. I still remember my first rugby game against a “black team” in 1993. It was the first Black/White game in our city. Yes, I was shit scared at the beginning of the game (but that was normal for me), and maybe I had a little Xenophobia.

However, in sport there are rules and laws and if you want to participate, you need to follow them. You trust the other team to do the same. If you don't trust the other team, you trust the ref. In short, the offering is structured and you know what to expect. The fear does not disappear, but you know that you can apply your skills with confidence.

However, during the length of this game, the referee continually missed offenses from both teams. Maybe he was shit scared? It resulted in frustration and aggravation and both teams took matters' into their own hands.

We all need to play by the same rules. It is however inevitable that if the ref don’t apply the rules and laws as written that people will take matters into their own hands. We almost lost that game and I am 100% sure we lost the fight.

Please apply the law as it is written and make sure that when you write a law that you have the manpower and infrastructure to implement it, alternatively, the people will. 


PS: “I write it like I see it” Welcome to comment below if you agree or disagree – thanks a mil. Ek dink in plat Afrikaans maar tik in Engels sodat almal kan verstaan wat ek sê.

So as jy hier wil kom bly, volg die reels anders hoort jy nie hier nie, hak jou goed af en ry, anders gaan die mense dit vir jou doen. Moet ook dan nie kanse vat nie, want jy gaan die fight verloor pappie. As jy my nie vertsaan, gaan kyk n rugby game of twee.

So ja my maat, doen n slag iets and druk die flippen knoppie. Druk gerus op like, tweet of share onder

According to Wikipedia I am a White South African


According to Wikipedia I am a White South African. It continues saying and I quote: “It is a term which refers to people from South Africa who are of European descent and who do not regard themselves, or are not regarded as being part of another racial group, for example, as Coloured."

So, yip I am a white South African male and Yes, I have not moved to Australia, New Zealand, England or any other country….YET! So I am not an Expat, but some of my school friends are.

It is a weekday and I am braaing chops. R75 per kg at Spar, special price. I braai as often as I can, mainly because whiskey and a beer goes very well with a braai and it is the AFRIKANER thing to do, or being politically correct, it is an AFRICAN thing to do. We are all Africans in Africa unless you are a white male, then affirmative action applies.

My dad was a teacher. Taught me how to braai. Later I realized that I liked it medium rare, he liked it well done, but for the first 18 years of my life I only knew well done chops, so what was the difference? I didn’t know any better. Nor did I know anything about Nelson Mandela, the ANC and apartheid until the 1994 election.

Tonight I will braai my chops well-done! In memory of my dad. No, he’s not dead, still “with us”, but he has alzheimers. Looking at him I sometimes wonder if he’s stuck in 1976. They say the 70’s were the best decade to be alive. I’m thinking that black South Africans would disagree? Is it therefore “politically correct” to say that the 70’s were the best years?

I gaze into the flames (sipping on whiskey) and think back on the week, the half week, the month, the year, the past 5 years, the past 10 and so on. For some reason I remember more people, old friends sitting next to me, agreeing with glee, some drunker that others. I miss my old friends, even if they were full of shit.

That said, braaing chops well done is not easy. You need to “forget” about turning them and keep adding salt. Maybe my dad would be better at this? Just add salt to the problem and forget about turning it. This was the way they solved problems in the 80’s

Maak my sommer die moer in dat iemand ooit kon gedink dat dit reg was.

Ek dink in plat Afrikaans maar tik in Engels sodat almal kan verstaan wat ek sê. Ek skryf elke week iets nuut so kom gerus terug.