“Why do you race bakkies in our crossing path?” The signboards show the warthogs’ crossing, not a zebra crossing (Lol).
Last week, a white double-cab rammed into a kindergarten of piglets during a dazzling sun. “Let me not expose the galloping and skirting car, which my bundle of joy mistakes for a desert horse. If that car was a tainted window’s Mercedes, it wouldn’t have bumped my kiddies. The BMW brakes in a blink without making us sniff the tyres, Pattex (Lol). The road markings pictured a warthog combined with a hairpin. “Hairpin? Yes, hair and pin, unless you bought your license. But the driver’s boots got stuck on the speed pedal, and he hooted like an owl, confusing the playful piglets from which direction he was coming from.
I peered through the Y-shaped branches when the police arrived at the carnage.
The officer handed the driver a Christmas gift for not reading the road signs. However, the driver cried for 50% discount because he was broke.
“Apparently, his grace-period license expired upon impact (Liar). Then he complained about his Mac-Rims that cost him an arm and a leg, as he limped. Afterwards, he tickled me when he stuttered warthogs’ teeth, instead of tusks, (Go back to school).
“We may not be an endangered species, but we’re an in-danger species.
How dare you call a rhino endangered, but not us (Apartheid)? You even poach our nephews for what you call horns.
“Do horns grow at the tip of the nose?” I bet a regular bunker knows that rhinos evolved from us, without skipping classes.
“It’s a bushveld riddle of who came first: a warthog or the B1. But I read the classic, The Origin of Species. You guys think we are dirty, but we roll in the mud the same way you apply sun cream lotion against the skin-blistering sun. In fact, we roll in the mud to get rid of stinging bugs. Call it mud-bathing, but it’s no different from sunbathing.
Lastly, warthogs don’t have brakes, and our stubby tails weren’t made for an emergency U-turn at 60km/hour, nor do we have reverse gears. I suspect the driver was snoring like us before the crash. Please, stop calling us names. We are Phacochoerus.
I wrote this letter in grief after hearing the driver blame the litter of ugly piglets under his car. Shame, they’re not litter, their six precious lives lost to a breathalyzer-puffing driver. The officer on a two-way radio shouted,
“No fatalities!” Seriously, six precious piggies. He continued, “No blood donation needed. Please, sir, “What colour is a warthog’s blood?” (Colour blind).
Warthog?
Lost love
-Mungambue@gmail.com
