TOWN
I t's a Saturday morning and Basson Street, which is perpendicular to the main road heading in the direction of the mountains, is hosting its annual traffic jam.
The street sees the occasional rumble of trucks and bakkies off to the Wesgraan silos, but today the pavement is packed with smaller vehicles and school buses with out-of-town number plates: CR, CF, CT, CBY, CJ…
The cause of the jam soon becomes clear: muffled bass from a PA system, pierced by the shriek of a referee whistle. It's Höerskool Porterville's annual Bulfees and people have travelled on empty dawn roads, over passes and across provincial boundaries for the yearly rugby and netball tournament.
The first field I pass is known as the , where spectators are watching primary school rugby. The only person on the field wearing shoes is the ref, who is especially liberal when it comes to playing advantage, calling for a scrum every second or third knock-on. hellbent on grabbing his ankles. He topples over, the ball spills out. Repeat.
