Dummies' guide to farming

After many years of deceiving people in Windhoek and other urban centres that I am a farmer of note, I came to realise that what I know about farming is as fatal as a black mamba’s bite! Loosely interpreted - I know jack about farming. I tell you, there must be some college where Piet van der Merwe or Japie van Zyl teach Namibians how to walk, talk and live farming! Farming generates more than just money - it gives one a sense of respect. Oh yeah, farming is indeed the in thing. And they are all into it: politicians, ex-convicts, young professionals, Grade 6 dropouts, the lot! I have always wondered how my unschooled goat herders could tell their animals apart. I mean, Tjikondavirongo cannot even count! “Muhona (boss), no two animals are the same. Never! It is the first fundamental rule of creation. Just take a close look at them and you will see the difference,” he said. I didn’t quite get what Tjikondavirongo was getting at. I mean, I look at my goats and all I see is a herd of white goats with brown heads. How on earth are they different? “Mbuae, look closely at the neck markings of this one… now look at the other one. Do you see the difference in the patterns of their markings? Also, this one has a broader chest compared to the other one,” Tjikondavirongo went on explaining. As far as I was concerned, my goat herder could as well be speaking Greek! Just so you know, I had a serious problem with those games in the Edgars Club magazines back in the day in which we had to spot the difference between two pictures! So, if I couldn’t tell that the colour of the clown’s hat is different in the second picture - how on earth am I supposed to tell the difference in neck markings on a goat? I have also learnt that farming gives one a superior thinking ability that remains unmatched to this day. The other day, a white lawyer friend of mine pleaded with me to take him along to see my humble farming activities. We had barely arrived when I saw an enraged neighbour, who owns an adjacent communal homestead, approaching my place. I quickly told the story about what had happened between us to my lawyer friend, who offered to help me deal with the situation. After exchanging greetings, my lawyer friend got down to business: “Sir, I do not think that it’s right for you to keep the calf of Mr Tjatindi simply because the cow had given birth to it on your land. That is truly a travesty of justice and inhumane to say the least.” After thinking about what was said, my neighbour replied: “Okay, here is what we will do. We will use the ‘three kicks’ method to determine the true owner of the calf. Since you are representing this man, you will stand in for him in the game too.” “What is a ‘three kicks’ method? I am not sure if I am familiar with it,” my friend asked. “Well, it is pretty simple. I will give you three kicks to your body and then you do the same to me. We carry on until only one of us remains standing.” Thinking he had the better of the old man, my friend agreed. The farmer prepared himself and with unstoppable might landed a huge blow with his big velskoen into the lawyer’s groin. It must have hurt as hell, as my friend rolled around on the ground in agony. After regaining his composure, he was prepared for the second kick. Again the velskoen went flying - this time to the head. That was just too terrible to watch! But true to his word, my friend decided to get up for the last kick. The farmer did another ‘Chuck Norris’ on my friend, which left him searching for his teeth in the thick Kalahari sand! After composing himself, my friend said: “Good grief, you can really throw a kick for such a frail old man! Okay, now it is my turn.” “Are you crazy?” the old farmer said. “Hell no, you keep the damn calf. You win.” Therein lay the difference between inherited and acquired wisdom. Until then…