Cape Town has a wonderfully varied, and surprisingly, tolerant population.
Its people come from many different backgrounds and some of its people have
a sense of humour, as unique to them as the Cockney's is to London. Their
wit and repartee are as sharp as any Cockney wit. Unfortunately, those who
are not familiar with the Afrikaans language will be unable to share in the
humour, deliberate and accidental, of these colourful folk.

Picture the scene:

A newspaper vendor is standing at a busy intersection in the main street of
Cape Town selling the afternoon paper, The Cape Argus.
"A'gus, A'gus," he calls incessantly.
A 4x4 bakkie with a Free State registration pulls up at the robot. The
burly, deeply tanned farmer leans out of the cab window and calls to the
paper vendor, "Hey midnight, bring 'n koerant.." 'Midnight' sidles over and
they exchange money and newspaper. The vendor steps back, looks the driver
straight in the eye and says "Djy roep my midnight? Djy's nie so ver van
quarter-to-twelve djouself nie."

Many years ago fish carts used to roam the residential streets. Their wares
were advertised by the vendor blowing a fish horn, "Blaaaah. Blaaaah."
One day, in response to the horn, a fellow with a very flat nose opened an
upstairs window in a rather seedy street.
"Haai, wat verkoop djy?" he asked.
"Stompneus," answered the vendor.
The response from upstairs was sharp and to the point, "djou moer!"

The neatly dressed, quiet spoken, middle aged lady bent down to inspect the
peaches offered for sale by a street vendor, "Is daai perskes soet?" she
enquired.
"Dja ounooi. Kyk net hoe still en netjies sit hulle in rytjies."

Gatiep en Gammat are sitting on a bus in Cape Town when this lady gets on
with a face made up to kill: bloodshot red lips, seven layers of base and
such massive eyelashes that she can barely keep her eyes
open. There are no vacant seats, so she stands, hanging onto the leather
strap.
"Hei Gammat," says Gatiep, "why don't you offer the lady your seat?
"Nei," says Gammat, "a painting moet mos hang