Maverick Memories

By Rian Greeff

"I just want to surf," I said.

"Well, you can't always get what you want," Mikas replied.

 

Riaan is a man who knows what he wants.

But, like most people, he has no idea how to get it. That's not going to stop him from trying, though.

When Mikas, Riaan's brother, invites him to go on a sailing adventure to Indonesia via Madagascar, the Comoros, and many other exotic locations, it sounds like a dream come true. Here is his chance to surf perfect waves and have all the freedom he could ever want.

 

So, why is he not happy?

Elizabeth is the most beautiful woman Riaan has ever met. And even though he has no time for a relationship – not now that he'll be going on a sailing trip – he can't help but fall in love. And from the way she's behaving, it seems like Elizabeth feels the same way.

 

But… Elizabeth has a secret. A secret that will change everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rian Greeff
• Release date: Jun 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224568512

Rian Greeff

Thank you so much for reading Stoke is no Joke, a work that has taken over ten years of procrastination and exasperation to complete. Now, thank God, it’s finally complete and I can move on with my life. Hallelujah! If you noticed any jarring errors or story mistakes – please be so kind as to keep them to yourself, I really can’t go back to it now. Not ever.  If, however, you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review or recommending it to family and friends (or strangers). And remember to look out for upcoming books. Which hopefully won’t take another ten years. Thank you again for your support. God bless you. Rian Greeff Thank you so much for reading Stoke is no Joke, a work that has taken over ten years of procrastination and exasperation to complete. Now, thank God, it’s finally complete and I can move on with my life. Hallelujah! If you noticed any jarring errors or story mistakes – please be so kind as to keep them to yourself, I really can’t go back to it now. Not ever.  If, however, you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review or recommending it to family and friends (or strangers). And remember to look out for upcoming books. Which hopefully won’t take another ten years. Thank you again for your support. God bless you. Rian Greeff

Book preview

CHASING THE WIND

Did you know that the great white shark is the world’s largest predatory fish? And can reach lengths of more than six metres and weigh up to two thousand five hundred kilograms, Danie said, reading from the gum wrapper in his hands.

Pfft, tell me something I don’t know, I replied. What else does yours say?

Hey? Oh, nothing, I can’t make out the rest of it, something to do with kiteboarding. And yours?

Hmm, let’s see... I pushed up my glasses and scratched my beard, it was getting long now. Did you know Voyager One is the most distant manmade object? This spacecraft was launched in nineteen seventy-seven and is now ten point four billion kilometres away from the sun.

Jusslikeit, Danie said. And I thought we were far away from everything, that’s max far. He pushed his hand through his short, dirty blonde hair. Ten billion, yoh.

We were sitting in the cockpit of Maverick, my brother’s 36-foot sailing boat. We were about five hundred nautical miles from the port of Richards Bay and another two hundred miles away from our destination of Tulear, southwestern Madagascar. We had been sailing for five days and, if all went well, had another two or three days left to go.

It was the first day of decent weather we had had so far, and we were making the best of it. Mikas, my brother, was inside the cabin checking the charts and plotting our course. Danie and I were outside chewing chappies and reading the random facts to each other. Today was the first time Danie was feeling well. He had been seasick for the first two days of the trip, and then he had been quiet and listless for the next two days. But now he was back to normal.

The first thing he did – after eating of course – was to select a few fishing lures and start trawling. There were now three lines in the water.

It was a cloudless morning, and we were sitting in the shade of the bimini enjoying the cool breeze and gentle motion of the boat going over the swells. The boat was on a broad reach tack sailing at four to six knots. We could hear the slap of the waves hitting the hull and the whisper of the wind through the rigging. It was beautiful, the sort of day that sailors live for.

We’re not going to make it, my brother said as he climbed up the companionway to join us in the cockpit. Beneath his dark curly hair his face looked worried, which was nothing new. His face always looked worried.

I spat my gum overboard. What are you talking about?

I’m talking about our course, we can’t reach Tulear. Damnit, I knew we should have shot across earlier. I’m such an idiot. We shouldn’t have kept so close to the coast.

Well dude, you’re the only one navigating here.

I know, damnit. But I was worried about Danie. Stupid, stupid. Now it’s too late, we’re making too much leeway.

No worries, don’t stress. Just head up a bit and we’ll be fine.

Mikas stepped behind the binnacle and looked down at the compass. He looked up at the sails and frowned. You think I haven’t thought about that? That’s exactly what I mean, even if we took a beam reach, we’re already too far north, and we’re making too much leeway. The best we can do is head for Juan de Nova.

And skip Madagascar?

No, we can still go to Nosy Be. If we wanted to. Or we can go straight to Mayotte.

What are you guys talking about? Danie asked.

Mikas doesn’t want to go to Madagascar, I said.

It’s not that I don’t want to, Mikas said, we can’t. We’re making too much leeway.

What does that mean?

It means we’re drifting too much, I said. Even though we’re sailing in an easterly direction, we’re drifting north.

So, we’re not going to Madagascar then? Danie said.

We can still go to Nosy Be, in the north, Mikas replied.

There’s no surf in Nosy Be, I said. Why’d you want to go there for? The waves are in Tulear. That’s where the surf is.

I know that, but we can’t get there.

Of course, we can.

We can’t, I told you, we’re making too much leeway. There must be a current pushing us because we’re screaming north.

Okay, I get that, but that still doesn’t mean we can’t go to Tulear, because if we really wanted to go, we could. Don’t say we can’t go, rather say, I don’t want to go.

What are you talking about? I just explained, were you even listening?

Yes, I was.

Then what are you even saying?

I’m saying that if we wanted – if you wanted – we could still go to Tulear. We could always start the motor and motor sail. We have a full tank of diesel. We don’t need to motor the whole way, just enough to keep us on track.

Mikas looked at me in disgust, the fact I had even suggested starting the motor was akin to blasphemy. Which is probably why he hadn’t thought about it. But it was true, it would work.

He thought it over and said, Well... I guess that could work, but the other thing is, it’s already September, it’s getting very late in the season. If we don’t cross the equator soon, the winds are going to change and be against us. And there’s no way you can motor against that. You can’t motor for three weeks straight into the wind – that would be impossible. If we miss the season, we can’t go to Indo. But if we skip Tulear now, head straight to Mayotte, and the wind is still southeast, we could make it across to Seychelles and the Maldives. Then it’ll be easy to get to Thailand and Indo from there. But if we miss the season, we’re screwed. Mikas paused and waited for me to reply. Danie was quiet, the only sound he made was the sound of him chewing.

Yes, I said, that’s true, but then we’ll miss Madagascar, and we’ll arrive in Asia when it’s monsoon season. So, it’s not like we’re going to do any surfing there either, we’ll just be sitting in the boat trying to stay dry. We’ll have to get jobs until the next season anyway. This might be our last chance to get some good waves, I say we do it.

Mikas stared off towards the horizon, doing calculations in his head. What do you think Danie? he asked.

Ja, I don’t know. I’d like to go to Madagascar.

I just want to surf, I said.

Well, you can’t always get what you want, Mikas replied.

Don’t say that, please, I hate it when people say that. It’s so stupid. I mean, if you can’t get what you want, then what’s the point of even wanting anything at all?

Hmpf – that’s why I always say if you don’t have expectations, you can’t be disappointed.

Yeah, sure, and what sort of life is that? So, you’re just miserable all the time. Screw that. I’d rather want something and not get it, then not want anything at all.

Okay, so to be clear, Mikas said, you want us to keep trying for Tulear, and if we must, we’ll start the motor. But we won’t be able to stay long, we’ll have to keep moving. And don’t blame me if we miss the season.

Mikas switched off the autopilot, turned the wheel and set the boat on a more easterly course. Danie winched in the jib, and I tightened the mainsail, watching the tell-tale ribbons until they were perfectly horizontal.

Can I steer a bit? Danie asked.

No, Danie, please not now, Mikas said. He turned the autopilot back on and stepped over to the winch that Danie had adjusted. He looked up at the sail and let the jib sheet out a bit. We’ve got to stay on this course. We can’t mess around.

I don’t want to mess around, Danie said, I want to learn to steer.

Maybe next time, okay. But right now, we first need to make it to Madagascar.

LET’S TALK ABOUT SEX

Let’s talk about sex baby. Let’s talk about you and me. Let’s talk about sex baby, I said in a sing song voice, trying to gain the class’s attention. Eish, I had really hoped I wouldn’t have to do this. In fact, I’d been delaying this for as long as possible, wishing it would go away – but now, the inevitable.

That’s right guys; today we’re going to talk about sex. Now I know what you’re thinking, do we have to do it now, on a Monday? And the answer is, yes. We’re going to talk about penises and vaginas, erections and menstruation, puberty and periods, I said to a remarkably quiet and attentive Grade 7 class. We’re going to talk about it all and then we’re going to write a test about it. So, you better pay attention and not joke around – you hear me? Simphiwe! Did you hear what I said? Simphiwe!

Yes sir, he said with an embarrassed downward glance. You said we’re going to talk about sex.

"Exactly. So, tell me, what do you guys know about sex? Nothing right? Well, that’s all going to change. After today – and the rest of this week – you’ll know it all. You’ll be able to go home and tell your mom, dad, or legal guardian; ‘mom, dad, legal guardian, I know everything about sex. I learnt it at school, the government taught me.’ And you thought school was boring and useless – hahaha, well not anymore, because this week we’re going to learn about sex.

Okay guys, I said having gotten their full attention (amazing how the word sex has that ability), "now please take out your Life Science books and open on page forty-three. Yes, that’s right, that’s the page with the pictures of the naked people on it, I know you’ve looked at it before, the heading is Human Reproduction."

I wrote the directions on the blackboard as I spoke. And remember to include today’s date, okay. What is today’s date anyway? Anybody, anybody, today’s date?

Sir? a student asked.

Yes, my dear child?

Do we have to underline, sir? After we’ve written the heading?

What do we usually do? Do we usually underline, or do we write wherever we want? I asked.

We usually underline, sir.

Okay good, then do that, same as yesterday, and every other day before that. Don’t worry my child, nothing has changed since yesterday, you can still underline as always. And tomorrow, we’ll probably do the same as today. So, don’t stress, nothing’s changed. As soon as the government says we don’t need to underline the heading – I’ll let you know, okay? I shook my head, already doubting the success of the impending lesson on sex and human reproduction. Eish.

Like I said, I didn’t want to do this, I had to – I was being paid to – it was my job. Mrs Holloway, our H.O.D insisted; It’s in the curriculum, Mister Riaan, it’s a part of the new CAPS syllabus, they’re going to be tested on it.

Great, just flippen great. The Grade 7s will be writing a sex test, and I have to prepare them for it. Teaching Grade 7 math is difficult enough (especially fractions), teaching Grade 7 English even more so (especially grammar), but sex? Eish, what do I know about sex? Probably even less than these kids. I mean, I haven’t had sex since I had a girlfriend in varsity. Seven years ago.

I scanned through the pages in front of me. I guess I should have done this long ago – at least then I would have been better prepared. But as I’ve mentioned, I never planned on doing this lesson anyway. Like most important issues in life, I was going to ignore it and hope it goes away by itself. Because as far as I was concerned Sex-Education could be summed up in a single sentence. A single celibate sentence of, Just say no. A sentence indeed. But no, Mrs Holloway mos insisted; It’s going to be in the test, she said. You need to teach it.

Great, just flippen great.

Sir? another student said without raising her hand.

Yes, my angel?

Sir, must I use a pen? she asked while blatantly chewing on a chappie.

Well, unless you’re going to lick your page and write with that blue tongue of yours, then yes, my dear, you will need to use a pen. Here, I said, lifting the bin to her chin, spit it out.

Sir, can I use colour pencils? she asked, spitting out only half her gum.

No, I said, still holding the bin to her chin. "I’m sorry my dear, you cannot use colour pencils, the government won’t allow it. We’re going to write about sex, not draw pictures of it, okay? Just use a pen, include the date, and remember to underline. Does everybody understand now?"

Sir? another student began.

No, I asserted with authority. No more questions. Now read, start at the top, there where it says, human reproduction. Okay, go, start.

As the child slowly read aloud, I quickly skimmed ahead – trying to get an impression of the lesson. What am I supposed to teach these children?

Page 43 had two diagrams of a nude little boy and girl. Or perhaps not so little anymore, seeing as the girl had some newly developed breasts and the boy had a bit of pubic hair above his penis. I couldn’t quite tell the race of the diagrammed children though, as they both appeared to be an inoffensive pinkish-brown colour with strangely Caucasian features. It was like a government ideal of some future, as of yet, non-existent race. The diagrams included labels and descriptions pointing out the various body parts. Breasts, penis, foot, eye, nose, etc.

Uh huh, good, yes, I said, encouraging the reader. Carry on, I added as I turned the page and – Oh, Good Lord, No! Page 44 had another two diagrams – close-ups this time – of each gender’s private parts. Ovary, scrotum, fallopian tube, urethra, uterus.

I studied the images closer; the female sex-organ looked like the head of a lion or something, with those two weird looking things on the side leading down to the labia. And the male penis, well the penis just looked limp, but then again it was sectioned and cut in half.

Darn it, it looks like they’ll be drawing pictures after all – with labels. Man, I hate it when that happens; when I have to tell them to do something after I already told them not to do it. It makes me look uninformed and unprepared – which, of course I am, but that just makes it even worse. What would the government say? Darn it indeed.

I noticed that it was quiet. A little too quiet. I looked up from the book in my lap to see the whole class looking up at me – silently, quietly, almost creepily so.

Er uhm, I said clearing my throat, that was very good, yes, very good indeed. Okay who’s next, yes, carry on.

Sir! the whole class said in unison, you didn’t answer the question.

Huh? What? What question?

Here sir, the reader said, "it says here that, when girls reach puberty, they start to menstruate, or have their periods, and boys are likely to start experiencing wet dreams. Sir, what are wet dreams, sir?"

Of course, they all knew what a period is. According to their understanding a period was every girl’s full proof plan to leave class whenever she wanted simply by saying, May I be excused, I’m having my period. After this lesson though, things may well change.

But wet dreams, this was new to them. So far, no boy had ever been known to be released from class by saying, May I be excused, I’m having a wet dream. But you can never be too careful, ignorance is more dreadful than disease, and the main cause for so many... Therefore as Grade 7 Science Teacher, I was called to educate them, to dispel all myths and bring true knowledge to light.

Er, uhm, wet dreams are... wait, I said, trying to find the place that she was reading from. "Ah yes, spontaneous nocturnal emissions," I read, continuing where she left off.

Still that silence, that creepy quietude. I could hear the fan turning from the ceiling above my head, but I couldn’t feel its breeze. Is it just me? Or is this class getting very hot suddenly? I could sense myself sweating, ever so slightly. Thirty-six pairs of prepubescent eyes stared back at me, waiting for me to continue.

Erm, a wet dream is kind of like peeing in your sleep, I said, discerning their confusion, "only it’s not pee that comes out, but spermatozoa, or semen. A wet dream is when a boy pees sperm in his sleep. Do you understand now?" I asked hoping they would say yes.

Ah sir! Eew, that’s gross! Khaye said with an outright laugh. He was one of the smallest and least developed boys in my class, so he probably didn’t have this problem yet – yet.

"But hawu! sir, what are we supposed to do if we get these sperm dreams? Hayibo!" He said as if he was genuinely concerned, and utterly horrified, about this ever happening to him.

My boy, I said with a small smile of sympathy, you thank God you’re not a girl. They have periods. Every month their vagina leaks blood for a whole week, with belly pains and bad moods. As a guy, well, you just get an occasional wet dream. That’s about it. You just wake up in the morning, have a surf, I mean a shower, have a shower and feel fresh after a night of wet dreaming, it’s really not that bad... all things considered.

He nodded solemnly as if he truly understood, at least he’s not a girl. It could’ve been a lot worse.

But the girls were having none of it, Hawu sir! why you say like that?

Because it’s true, I said and then reminded them, but it’s not without its own benefits. Remember, when a girl has a period, she can leave class to go to the bathroom or the nurse – or more likely, just walk around the halls.

I returned to my desk and took out my cell phone, my direct line with the government. So, whether you’re a boy or girl, just remember puberty sucks for everyone.

Tittle de doo, tittle de doo, tittle de do, the phone rang in my hand. Right on cue.

Shhh! Quiet guys, I said, you know what this means. I straightened my collar, moved my palm across my hair and faced the security camera mounted in the corner of the classroom. I answered the phone.

Hi, hello? Yes, this is Mister Greef’s classroom. Yes, uh huh, okay, yes, no, of course, okay. Bye bye. Thank you for calling. Oh, and please give my regards to the President. Amandla! I said, saluting the camera with a shout before putting back the phone.

Okay guys, that was the government, I said facing the class again, "and yep, it seems we still have to underline the heading. But... they said we can use colour pencils. That’s right guys, take out your colour pencils, we’re going to draw pictures of penises and vaginas. And no messing around. It’s for marks! It’s going to be in the test!"

But sir, you haven’t even answered our questions, another student said.

What questions? We’re drawing the pictures, what more do you want? I asked, anticipating their agenda. I knew what this was about, Mrs Holloway had warned me already. Her class had asked the same questions.

Sir? Simphiwe said with a mischievous smile, raising his hand ever so politely.

Yes, my boy. What do you want to know?

Sir, why do women scream during sex?

BOOM! And there it was, he skipped all the warm-up questions and went straight for the main grenade, causing an explosion of shouts and laughter.

After about five minutes of waving my hands, I managed to calm them down.

"Boy, are you serious? Are you trying to be funny? That’s it, lesson’s over, take out your math books. We’re doing fractions today. Improper fractions. And it’s going to be difficult, so pay attention and concentrate. No more messing around."

But sir, the whole class backed him up. "Sir, Mrs Holloway told her class. Please sir, tell us, why do women scream during sex?"

Oh really? I said with a smirk. Well maybe you’d like to be in Mrs Holloway’s class then. I can always arrange a transfer you know... No. Take out your maths.

But sir...

Oh Lord, I sighed. Give me the strength.

Like I said, Mrs Holloway had warned me already. She told her class, Women scream during sex because there’s a sudden release of pressure. She said I should say the same.

I asked her, Will it be in the test?

No, she replied, of course not.

Good, I thought, in that case I’ll skip it all together, and if the kids ask, I’ll say; No, take out your math.

The truth is it confused me this question. Because, well, I may not be an expert, but I have never heard a woman scream during sex. My ex-girlfriend would only ever moan a little. Actually... she moaned a great deal. About everything. Not just sex.

I tried to imagine Mrs Holloway having sex and screaming after a sudden release of pressure. She’s 63 years old – I stopped imagining immediately. Not the sort of thing I wanted to be thinking about. Eish! But it gave me the answer I was looking for. I couldn’t pass on second-hand knowledge, nooit ek sê. As a teacher I had a duty to tell the truth.

So, you want to know why women scream during sex? I said.

Yes! they all eagerly replied. I don’t think they really cared for the answer, they just didn’t want to do fractions.

"Well, guys the truth is... they don’t! That’s right boys and girls; unless they’re being assaulted, women do not scream during sex. It’s a lie. They only do that in the movies. And you shouldn’t watch movies like that anyway. It’s not true."

But of course, they didn’t believe me, because that’s not what Mrs Holloway’s class told them. They didn’t come right out and say it, but their disappointed stares showed it clearly enough... They seemed to be insinuating something... perhaps women don’t scream during sex, you know... with Mister Riaan.

Think about it, guys, I said. "Have you ever heard your mom screaming in the middle of the night? No, of course not. But believe it or not, I hate to break it to you, but yep, your parents have sex every other night. And that’s the truth."

Ew sir! they all yelled in dissent. No, that’s gross!

Yes! I said with a small smile of victory. "But of course, when mommy and daddy do it, it’s not called sex, it’s called making love. Now, are there any more questions about what your parents do in private? Or can we go on with our assignment?"

But they just sat there in silence – a miracle in itself – and continued copying the drawings from their book.

Thank God.

WELCOME TO MADAGASCAR

You should have been here last week, Pete said without the slightest tinge of irony. Actually, all of last month. Ja, the guys from Zigzag were here. We scored some sick waves – it will be in the next issue. It was amazing, we discovered this new wave, like a mini-Tahiti, it was the best waves of the season.

And that was our introduction to Tulear when we were greeted by Pete, the captain and owner of the only other boat anchored here, the Endless Summer a 40-something-foot, fully kitted out surf catamaran. As soon as we dropped anchor, he came over on his dinghy to say hello. And now he was telling us how they recently completed a ten-day surf charter with a bunch of South African pros and photographers. And how good it had been. Emphasis on had been.

Did you, did you get barrelled? I asked, stuttering with excitement, I mean, did you surf it, was it good – did you get barrelled?

Ja, the pros surfed it – it was heavy. I did paddle out, I got a good backhand tube. I’m not that good at backhand barrel riding. But I got a good, long barrel. Ja, it was sick – like I said the pictures will be in the next issue.

Wow, so the waves were perfect, and uh, it’s still good right?

Ja, I don’t know, Pete said scratching his chin. There hasn’t really been any swell since then. And the wind already shifted, you’ll notice it’s onshore a lot. But who knows, you might still get lucky.

Great – just flippen great.

Anyway guys, welcome to Madagascar. Unfortunately, I can’t stay, I’ve got to get going, we’re busy building at our house, but I’ll come around next week. I’ll show you all the spots.

And with that Pete got into his rubber duck and drove back to his boat and a moment later left for shore. We waved as we watched him go.

Should we launch the dinghy? I asked. Go to shore, go buy some food and beer?

No, not yet, Mikas said. I’ve got to go to customs and immigration before we go anywhere else. But before that, we need to clean this boat. This whole place is a mess.

Okay, that’s cool, I said, but we don’t all need to be here for that. Let’s launch the dinghy and then you go clear us in, Danie and I will stay here and clean up and then later we go get something to eat and drink.

I’m not staying here, Danie said. I’m getting off this boat. I have to get off.

No one’s going anywhere, Mikas said, first we’re going to clean up and then after that we’ll see.

Mikas tidied up inside while Danie and I sat in the cockpit and washed the dishes in some buckets of sea water.

This is bullshit, Danie said between drying the plates. Why can’t we go to land? We’ve been at sea for a week and now we have to sit here and wash the dishes while the land is right there? This is bullshit.

That’s how it works, dude. I dipped my hands in the bucket and fished out the next item to wash. "When you arrive in a new country the crew has to stay on the boat while the