Tannie Amanda se Toyota Camry

 I was baptised in the Dutch Reform Church but after a turn towards the Bohemian, my family didn’t attend services 1999 onwards. My primary school was opposite the church (NG Kerk Die Vleie) and my best friend’s mother was the receptionist. Besides delighting us with colour print ing and the latest in chain letters, hanging out with tannie Nellie introduced me to a spectrum of off-piste Afrikaans women who had years of experience in helping young gay men navigate Afrikanerdom. In collusion with some amazing teachers (Juffrou Brenda, Juffrou Alida, Juffrou Estelle) (fag hags for the under 12s) those years were my introduction to the communion of making do. Behind a veil of endless pancakes and women’s mornings my mentresses lived manifold versions of Steel Magnolias: long red nails, short red hair, and illicit slim cigarettes. Operating through a circular economy of Honey catalogues and jewelerry businesses these women were a window into camp extravagance via saying with a cousin in Strand. You can stop and Afrikaans man in the arts (if you studied finance that’s on you) and ask them “who was she” and receive a story, like clockwork, about learning to cook, sew, or back issues of Rooi Rose.