Attempted suicide

Local Stories

An attempted suicide

While living in a rural village in the Overberg district at the southern tip of Africa, I got acquainted with some local characters who on passing my home would stop and chat. This area is true wheat, sheep and barley growing country. South African Breweries, now owners of American Miller Beer, has a barley development program here, as this is major barley growing land. I hope they are not doing genetic modifying. Beer drinkers will get stunted growth and go sterile.

The local labor comprise mainly of building trade folks and farm labor. Most were born and raised on farms, and have marvelous stories of their youth, alas, including a lot of community alcohol abuse resulting in the dreaded fetal alcohol syndrome which is so tragic. They do not have an easy life but humor always remains.

One of my colorful character friends is Sanah September who regales me with stories about her family. Sanah is in her 50s, a tiny slip of a woman, who has produced 7 children and now has a plethora of grandchildren some of who she is raising alone. She is one of the most special, uncomplaining souls I have ever met., and her life is a continuous struggle.

Sanah is probably the only local woman who rides a bicycle, when it is not in some state of disrepair. One morning she was cycling back from the village with a 5year grandchild on the back carrier. In the distance she saw a commotion, police van and ambulance whiz by and so she furiously rang her bicycle bell, tring, tring, tring, and tore up the gravel track, before realizing the incident was very close to her own home.

It was indeed in her yard, already filling with neighbors looking at a crumpled human for on the small patch of grass. Sanah pushed through the crowd and there on the lawn lay her son. He managed to open one eye, gazed at her briefly and said “Ma” (mother) before retuning to a state of oblivion, and being put in the ambulance and trundled off to hospital.

Here is how it happened. Her son enjoyed his sweet wine, as we say here, was often ‘full of dop’. He had visited his girlfriend, as he wanted to see his child. (Obviously not married and might indeed have a few kids scattered around hither and thither.) Anyhow she denied him access to the child, and so in his hazy wisdom decided to commit suicide (besluit om selfmoord to pleeg). He went into the small house and sat on a gas cylinder (propane tank), which he proceeded to light. (this is true, nobody could make up such a story)

He was subsequently blown directly through the roof and landed on the patch of sand and whisps of dried grass. Theoretically he should have died. His mother then said she raised her hands in praise to the Lord. According to Sanah he lived through this because she had old rotten asbestos roof sheets that crumbled. If she had replaced them with new zinc corrugated iron, when he hit the roof it would have broken his neck, rather than been shot out like a rocket .

(Ek het vir God, Jesus en die liewe hemel mos bedank die feit dat my dak ou vrot asbestos was, en nie die harde zinc plate. As dit nie asbestos was sal hy seker sy nek gebreek , maar daai ou vrot dak het mos net stukkend gebreek(shattered) en sy lewe gered. Dankie Jesus)

She said, Thank you God, Jesus and heaven for the fact that the roof sheets were rotten asbestos. If it had been zinc sheets he would certainly have broken his neck, and instead the asbestos just crumbled saving his life.


I listened intently and had questions to ask but decided to accept it all. However I did waft my hand in the crotch direction and asked what happened ‘down there’ and if he had been badly burned by the gas tank. She laughed and said Jesus had taken care of it all and he hardly had a burn mark and the tackle was all still intact. Miracles do happen. He spent a bit of time in the local hospital then was taken to a very nice rehab/neuroclinic center for a few months. He is now perfectly fine except for the continued indulgence in sweet wine. Works on building sites when opportunity arises.

This rather reminds me of that crazy character, Dale, in that fabulous series from America, and we get it here, “King of the Hill”.