Town Ships

Town: verb 1. To participate in sexual intercourse without the use of protection, usually that of a condom.

Other forms: towning, townable, towntalk, towner, townist.

Eons ago, when the indigenous people of South Africa were able to freely roam the vast and abundant pastures of its land, ignorance was the greatest bliss. Strandloopers would play with the Koi-San, Xhosas would play with sticks, and Zulus would play with their foreskin. All the land was our’s, as far as the eye could see (you still had it even if you were Ray Charles to the distribution of land). During these times, towning was not an unpopular choice. It was the only means of having, and/or enjoying sex.

Skip forward to 1652 and Jan van Riebeeck, the sailing Dutchman, arrives at what would soon be called The Cape Colony. He introduced us to Bibles and mirrors, and forced upon us what his society perceived as right and not-so-right.  Interestingly enough, it seems as though we indoctrinated the Bible and mirror religion whole-heartedly, and with it, lost our blissful ignorance. Who would have thought that grown men would be taking selfies (pictures of themselves) today?

We could no longer just town anyone we wanted in the hope of them not knowing how beautiful they were or without them bringing up the moral or ethical values of casual coitus. We lost a large amount of our land and were banished to the outskirts of major cities (commonly known as townships) and Lesotho, because let’s face it, Lesotho is just a shorter way of saying Drakensburg Mountains.

In steps father Democracy in his knight and shining armour in 1994, expected to fix the injustices perpetrated in South Africa’s troubled past. President Nelson Mandela, being a symbol of reason and forgiveness, does not exact revenge on all white women and children. Instead, he promises equality for all and happily ever afters. Land reform policies follow suit, without much success. But there’s also a new kid on the block that’s been brewing for a decade or so, AIDS. And boy, it’s a killer.

Gone are the days where our forefathers could just happily town and reproduce without fear of child support payments or death. We can no longer town without consequences. South Africa now has one of the largest proportion of infected populations in the world. On top of all this, WE STILL DON’T HAVE OUR LAND BACK. I think it’s time. It has been 19 years and father Democracy is taking his own sweet time. I’m not saying we revolt against every white-owned establishment across the land. There just isn’t enough good land left for all that, and I’m not about that war life. I propose we take to the sea.

Money acquired from corrupt government tenders would raise enough money to build massive yachts. Almost like cruise ships, like the ones that have golf courses and extra-marital affairs on them. They would set anchor at every major city across South Africa, even makeshift ones in Gauteng and Bloemfontein. These yachts will be free to board by any indigenous South African citizen and will be equipped with the latest in medical technological devices. Scanners at boarding gates will detect any STDs instantaneously, in which case you are not allowed on board. Ankle bracelets will be fastened on every passenger, rendering them infertile for as long as they have it on. Milk, peanuts and bananas will be on the house while everything else will be generously subsidised.  

Cabins will have numbers. These numbers, instead of increasing in sequence, will state how many people can comfortably have sex in that cabin. Naturally there will be a lot of twos, but if patrons are feeling extra feisty they can opt for rooms numbered 3 to 8. The homosexuals will have their own wing, on top, or the bottom. Passengers will be able to disembark at any time they wish by just walking off the yacht, and handing in the ankle bracelet.

I would like to call these the new, and improved, Town Ships. No longer places of civil unrest and xenophobia, but vessels of unrestrained, yet consensual towning. Without consequences beyond that of a bit of chafing and classy walks of shame from exquisite yachts. Towning without consequences... it's beautiful, like drinking without hangovers.