THE first dog we had was called Swapo.
From what I remember Dad telling Uncle Elmo, he named it so because ‘the terrorist’ destroyed everything; ‘flowers, hosepipes, doormats, car mudguards, you name it…, and left landmines everywhere’.
Dad was always yelling at Swapo and mom threw a shoe at him whenever he dared coming too close to the back door.
I, however, loved him and vowed to save Swapo before my sister if there ever would be a Noah’s Ark-grade flood in the Free State.
Luckily for my sister, mom’s Tuesday night prayer group’s pleas for rain went unanswered or else she wouldn’t have been with us today.
The devil
Swapo was my shadow and followed me everywhere, and when I started school at age six it took him only two days to figure out where I was.
Luckily the childless Mrs Barnard had a soft spot for animals and soon Swapo had his own spot behind the door and was getting fat on peanut butter and jam sandwiches.
He was living the ultimate dog’s life, until one dreadful Monday morning.
We had assembly in the school hall and the principal, on the stage, had just finished reading something dreadful from Proverbs and was trying his best to apply it to 600 primary school pupils.
Then everybody started laughing at him…
He didn’t see Swapo sitting behind him, licking dog testicles, so assumed the devil has gotten into us and panicked.
When Mrs Barnard shouted ‘Swapo’ (the devil’s other name) at the top of her voice, and pointed, his panic became blind fear and he dove for cover under the nearest chairs.
The children and teachers were in stitches, Mr van Rensburg was humiliated by a dog and I was in serious trouble.
Banished
My parents were called into the principal’s office where they had to explain why the family dog was named after the antichrist.
They were made to promise that it will never happen again, which meant no more jam sandwiches for Swapo.
But true to his name Swapo didn’t care for borders and rules and kept on showing up at school just after first bell, as always.
The only solution was to banish him, so I was told that he had to go live in the location with our gardener.
‘They value dogs very much,’ I was told, and actually believed it.
Yes, poor people might like dogs but only because they can kill animals which can be eaten.
That’s the only reason, nothing else, and Swapo was a terrorist, not a hunting dog.
If you’re poor, really poor, then you don’t even keep a dog for security because you have nothing anyone will want to steal.
Today I know Swapo was given away, like old clothes.
