I’m still sitting in the shadow of Table Mountain, but with no view of the mountain. Bummer. All the windows face the busy, noisy street. Whoever designed this residence did not care for a view, or maybe it was seen as a distraction. Something to be avoided completely.
Yes, in case you wondered, I did say residence, and yes, I am back in the koshuis. It’s been almost 30 years since I last set foot in one of these establishments, and it is with great befuddlement that I can inform you here today that very little has changed.
Which is nothing short of a socio-cultural and architectural wonder considering that the two establishments under discussion are not even located in the same town. When the mould was designed, the purpose was clearly to standardise studying conditions across the land, or so it appears.
Much like tinned baked beans. No matter where you go, it’ll always look and taste the same. If you find comfort in that sort of predictability, then good for you. I don’t, so I feel a little bereaved and miffed. Someone is missing out; it is either them or me, and since there are so many of them and only one of me, I suspect it is me. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me backtrack to what has stayed the same.
Architecture aside, students – for one – have not changed that much. One example: They eat often, they eat a lot and they are always looking for something starchy. At a reasonable price, of course. On one of only two occasions I made it to the breakfast room, I was joined at the table by two jolly fellows, both half my age but double my size.
Each had a tray with the kitchen’s finest: One mini pizza with one fried egg on top; four sandwiches consisting of eight slices of bread with peanut butter and mixed fruit jam (known in our family as ‘rooi bekruip’); three bowls of cereal (one of each of the three varieties available) with sugar and milk; juice; flavoured yogurt, and tea with plenty of sugar. And to make sure they did not skip any food group, they shared an apple between them.
It sure is difficult to find something healthy here in the corridors of gloom and gloop, and I have been avoiding breakfast since then.
Back in the day, lunch would have been the highlight of the day. In fact, it would have been the only time of day when koshuis kos was really kos, and not just scoops of starch on a plate. It had meat, and that was the good news. The bad news was that Bethuel Sibuta controlled the meat supply. Fresh from Mom’s kitchen in Namibia, I was shocked at what Bethuel considered a decent portion of meat. If he was in a good mood, he’d be a little more generous with the sauce, but never with the meat. Only a fool with a death wish and a starving Mongolian horseman with his throat slit would have tried to convince Bethuel to give him more meat. I was neither.
Bethuel was quite a man. For starters, he knew everyone’s name, and if any of your ancestors had ever lived in the residence, he’d remember their names too. He simply called me Windhoek.
I always thought Bethuel would have made a great minister of finance. He had the accuracy and precision of a neurosurgeon, the temperament of an accountant, the wisdom of an emperor and the kindness and tenacity of the great Nelson Mandela himself. Behind the meat counter, he moved with the grace of a Shaolin monk. He was in charge and we all knew it.
If steak was to be had, it was always on a Monday. Come Wednesday or Thursday, that same steak would have made it way into a koshuis classic, Bruin Stowe. To this day, the exact contents of this contentious dish is unknown, but we were convinced that all the left-over food from our plates earlier the week found their way into this ubiquitous stew. But what Bruin Stowe lacked in finesse, it made up for with volume.
I often wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that Bethuel’s day off always coincided with Bruin Stowe day.
But things have changed a lot too. These days, there is always Uber Eats or Woolworths Food at the petrol station if you have spare cash.
If you have access to a kettle, you have access to the whole ramen revolution. Recipes and resources are cheap and abundant and the corridors here are buzzing with ramen wisdom. Just in case you wondered what this superfood is, its pre-revolutionary name is two-minute noodles. Just like Ernesto Guevara de la Serna became Che Guevara.
There is one more way the koshuis today is different from back then. Other than the official notices about the drought and saving water, there are no struggles up on the walls. Not a single save this or voetsek that; and there is no Bob Dylan. No angry prophesies to welcome you back from a dreadful day in class.
But there is a sign on the tuck shop door:
Closed for the holidays! Have a merry Christmas!
By order: Management.
Zebra Stewed in Red Wine
Ingredients:
• 1 kilogram zebra shoulder, cut into cubes
• 100 grams smoked bacon, cut into cubes
• 10 pearl onions, peeled, left whole
• 15 button mushrooms, left whole
• 1 carrot, finely chopped
• 1 celery, small stick, finely chopped
• 2 bay leaves
• 4 sprigs flat-leaf parsley
• 750 millilitres red wine
