In December 1985, I spent my postgraduate vacation with my gorgeous and heart-warming boyfriend, Dolf Claassens, on his father’s renowned farms in Bothaville, in the Orange Free State, South Africa.
Oom Piet Claassens was famous for breeding gigantic South African champion Brahman stud bulls and award winning dairy cattle. For decades, the farm had produced prize-winning livestock, and the walls of the homestead were covered with awards and photographs celebrating those globally impressive achievements. His study and the pristine 1960s-styled lounge were forbidden areas.
Before our visit, Dolf warned me that his father was intensely homophobic and that this had caused an irreparable rift between them after the premature death of his mother. This young farmer was one of the heirs to the family legacy which he had no interest in as a passionate animal lover who cared far too much about the fate of farm animals that he loved like pets. Dolf later abandoned the farms, left Bothaville, and distanced himself from the conservative Dutch Reformed community where he had been raised. He never lost his faith as a devout Christian and asked his younger sister, Annelise to be buried in Bothaville with his favourite copy of the Bible. He passed away at the young age of 33 and could never come to terms with his mother’s passing at a young age as well. They were soulmates and he mourned and missed her terribly.
At the centre of that staunch unforgiving community stood Dominee Pieter Cilliers, whose sermons frequently focused on sin, damnation, and sometimes homosexuality. His fiery preaching made a deep impression on the congregation and reinforced conservative attitudes that left little room for people like us. Pieter Cilliers was extremely brave when he eventually came out of the closet himself and became a gay icon with his successful gay book, titled “‘n Kas is vir klere”, which translates into “A closet is for clothing”. As a television and movie producer he made a formidable impact on the realities of homophobia on all levels, including self-hating homophobia amongst gay people who feared exposure and prosecution. Often such gay people would hide their own homosexuality by being particularly vicious in their condemnation from whichever podium they broadcasted. Naturally as gay activists our paths crossed at times, and we were aware of the positive impact that we both made. I do not recall discussing my intimate Bothaville history with Pieter, which I still hope to address with him. We used to live nearby each other for many years, but he recently retired to an idyllic coastal town.
As a young graduate from the University of Port Elizabeth, I was naïve enough to believe that charm, good manners, and a willingness to engage with people would overcome almost any prejudice. I had little understanding of how deeply rooted some of such negative beliefs could be. Meeting such a stern unforgiving man who was absolutely direct and unapologetic about his stance about our need to straighten out as gay people certainly rattled me to my core! His handshake was strong and his soul-piercing eyes was enough to scare any laid back and naive “coming of age” gay boy who grew up in a laid back surfing coastal town like Port Elizabeth swimming sometimes with thriving shoals of dolphins that got used to him paddling almost daily out to sea with a Kings Beach surf lifesaving rescue paddle ski. Supportive close friends shielded me from the harshness of our intolerant world that has such an impact on gay youngsters. Oom Piet was in his sixties, highly accomplished, while I was twenty-two with barely a penny to my name but my heart was full of joy, and I dreamed of a happy future. Maybe these opposite qualities, age difference but a shared belief in hope and just doing your best helped later to remove some of our barriers.
When I arrived at the Claassens’ homestead, I found myself surrounded by reminders of a lifetime devoted to cattle breeding. Apparently, the forbidden study had the most prestigious trophies, certificates, championship rosettes, and photographs of prize-winning animals that had earned national recognition. This was far more than just another Orange Free State farm next to the Vaal River which is the lifeblood to Johannesburg and the massive surrounding area stretching more than 400 kilometres around it. This dynasty of champions competing with the best in the world was built on generations of hard work and expertise in veterinary practices like artificial insemination with the best DNA from world champions available. The Claassens were a proud but deeply religious and humble family who took no credit for their God-given success.
What happened next taught me a lesson about champion Brahman bulls that I would never forget. I struggled to wake up at 04h00 the next morning but Oom Piet warned me upon my unwelcome arrival that this would not be a holiday but required that I must wake up very early to work as hard as they all did hours before a generous breakfast. One of my first duties would be to assist with the dipping of gigantic Brahman bulls weighing well over 1200 kilograms.
As it was so early, I just threw on anything I had which was quite embarrassing as this happened to be an old washed-out slogan T-shirt that had the hardly visible slogan “Sex instructor, first lesson free” printed on it. Talk about making a good impression! This same t-shirt when it was still new and clearly legible got me thrown out of one of my first classes I attended as a first-year student by the strict Doctor Scharf who looked like a member of the Gestapo with his blond brush cut. A cute surfer, Sean Mostert, a Rob Lowe lookalike seated next to me thought it was hilarious. We became friends over the years, and he had a gay brother that he wanted to introduce me to. Clearly, he saw right through me. I still wonder what would have happened if he’d moved in the right circles in Hollywood.
The Brahman bulls were standing quietly but nervously in a separate enclosure from the cattle dip when I first saw this grumpy bull. Even from a distance, his size was intimidating. As a beach-loving city boy with little experience of champion stud cattle, I had no idea that within minutes this powerful bull would break through the enclosure and swing those massive horns at my ribcage. Being half asleep I suddenly sensed danger when I noticed this large herd massive stud bulls were becoming more nervous and exhibited all the signals that all animals do when facing anything threatening or uncomfortable to them. I may be more at home in the ocean than on land but my frequent encounters with dolphins and sharks taught me a lot about animals and distress signals. My rare encounters with killer whales were beyond scary and I doubt whether these oceanic apex predators were intimidated by anything.
Brahman bulls are highly intelligent and trainable but remember any past experiences well which made them potentially unpredictable and dangerous with their sheer size. Being sensitive and intuitive they would never be intimidated by ignorant handlers, and they responded instinctively rather than deliberately aggressive. Spanish fighting bulls are aggressive, but half their size. I was stunned when this angry bull charged through the safety fences as though they did not exist and swiped his massive head at my chest with dangerous horns that shredded my favourite old T shirt in half missing my heart by millimetres. Leaping back saved me as I fell helplessly into a urine-filled cow dung pond with just barely my head sticking out. Not a pretty picture of human humiliation encountering one the largest and most powerful species of bulls who snorted triumphantly and strolled away proudly. Later I learned that Brahman bulls are naturally quite docile and would most likely not proceed with a deadly attack even though they were larger than black rhinos and bison. Their calm natures made them popular as stud bulls at shows due to being easily trained to behave when facing noisy admiring potential buyers. After my close shave with serious injury or death we were all stunned in shocked silence until Oom Piet and I started laughing uncontrollably until we both had tears running down our cheeks! Oom Piet who spent millions on air-conditioned tractors and livestock removed his pair of glasses, repaired with cello tape, to wipe away the tears. Suddenly I guessed that this encounter may have removed some of the huge barriers between our completely opposite world views. Dolf was furious and shouted at us that we were both completely insane as this was not funny at all as I could have been dead and stormed away from the two laughing nutcases!
Henceforth Oom Piet and I crossed our irreconcilable Rubicon, and we bonded in a strange inexplicable way. Oom Piet was a highly educated man, and we would sit late into the night discussing anything from Descartes to the economy. Our first discussion was about artificial insemination with semen that he primarily imported from countries like the USA, and he thoroughly enjoyed teaching me more about his favourite passion breeding champion livestock. He was very proud of his son Japie who had studied post grad in agriculture where he learned about all the latest scientific techniques applied by veterinary surgeons in agricultural artificial insemination under laboratory conditions. My interest in this unfamiliar subject was triggered, and I looked forward to learning more fascinating deeply layered from this wise old man and his son Japie. It was completely different to what I learned at university studying psychology while working night shifts in a psychiatric ward during vacations. I majored in Psychology, Sociology and Philosophy and loved deep conversations with highly complex antagonists like Oom Piet who was also an outspoken conservative politician. Our mental chess games regularly went on deep into the night without a drop of alcohol which was strictly verboten. Almost no topic remained unexplored, and we even argued sometimes when I forgot my place as a humble guest in his house. He graciously tolerated my disagreements, and we mutually accepted each other even though we came from opposite sides of the Universe. He even chose to remain silent most of the time about my relationship with his son Dolf and chose not to delve too deeply. Being a pragmatist I guess he thought I was one of the better choices of a bad bunch of guys. Maybe he secretly acknowledged our unconditional love that Dolf and I had for each other. Dolf was my first love and helped me through my own inexperience dealing with the barriers of self-acceptance of my undefined fluid sexuality. He taught me how to navigate the stormy waters of ignorance and supported my new quest in learning to deal with experiencing more perspective and self-tolerance. These encounters with Oom Piet, Dolf, Doctor Stuart Gatley and several other life altering mentors defined my life over decades of navigating tough obstacles we face for being different. Dolf tried to prepare me for the nasty experience of going to the army as a conscript for National Service in the South African Defence Force. This however is almost impossible to portray in words. In June 1985 I spent a month in Europe and applied for post graduate psychology studies at the University of Vienna that passed my application which convinced me that this military obstacle would never materialise. All good things come to an end and it was with a heavy heart and tears when Dolf and I bade farewell to Oom Piet, one of the most interesting antagonists I’d met in my life, the huge Brahman bull that took pity on me and Dolf’s sweet sister Annelise as well as the warm-hearted Claassens family. I am still in contact with Annelise who supported and nursed Dolf until his sad premature death.
We headed back to Port Elizabeth to my charming huge poolside cottage where I lived with another dearly beloved family, the Gatleys. Stuart’s obese Corgi, Yah-Yah loved to swim, and I had to get her butt out of the pool regularly. Being a highly intelligent dog, she must have realised that I needed to be around when she went for her regular swims. Stuart also gave me strict instructions to look after her and to ensure her safety when swimming. I paid a miniscule rental as Stuart really appreciated my presence on the property with his elderly parents and the obstinate Yah-Yah, while he regularly travelled overseas. Dr Stuart Gatley was the first and most confrontational gay activist I had ever met. Initially when we negotiated the terms of my occupation which we agreed upon verbally, he made it clear that as a lecturer he had no fondness of students and that it would be best if I kept a low profile and did not interfere with his daily life. I was to remain single as the cottage was for one person and not two people, to which I objected because what would happen if I met someone that I really like? He replied that we all have needs but most of the people we encountered would hardly make good partners even when we were blinded with rose coloured spectacles. In his experience the illusion would quickly shatter. If I did encounter the odd guy I fancied, he preferred not to see them or hear us. which was rather strict instructions for an 18-year old whose judgement would be impaired by an abundance of hormones. I carefully kept my romantic encounters out of Stuart’s way, and all went well while I enjoyed my daily swimming training in the large pool in front of the cottage which Yah-Yah could not resist. Like all water loving Corgis she paddled very well with her short muscular legs.
Gradually Stuart and I grew closer and started becoming friends. He taught me how to debate with the most formidable opponents like some of his lecturer friends who enjoyed a more casual intellectual debate with a student next to Stuarts sunny pool while nursing some wine. I always looked forward to our unexpected sun downer walks along the beach front promenade having fascinating conversations and indulging in delicious vanilla soft serve ice cream that we both craved. I truly enjoyed my three-year stay in Stuart’s sunny, yellow-painted cottage in Humewood next to the beach front. I regularly went to Cape Town by train with my Yamaha 125 safely stored in the carriage. These were marvellous working trips as a waiter or barman at low wages supplemented generously with tips from customers. It was always great to return to my beach life of paddle skiing and swimming as a lifesaver with plenty of eye candy and training exercises with athletic young guys. Frequent encounters with schools of dolphins at sunrise were experiences I truly cherished. An idyllic life with no material benefit that set you free like a seagull, enjoying these special moments and not caring about challenges that you sometimes faced. Experiencing my first love was incredible but also sad. Fortunately, I had no idea about the horrendous army challenges that soon blocked my path to bliss.
Dolf was not too happy about Vienna as he could not face me leaving him for so long as he also had to return to the farm. When I arrived at my cottage there was a scary brown official looking envelope which required my presence at the military train that would transport me in two days to Kimberley to start my national service in the army.
It was crazy and I frantically tried to avoid the writing on the wall by escaping to Vienna as soon as I could afford the flight. However any conscripts trying to leave for overseas were arrested immediately before going to military detention barracks, which was worse than prison as inmates were considered traitors and treated horrendously.
Two days later I was on the horror train with far too many unsavoury young guys who behaved appallingly after getting intoxicated. We were guarded by heavily armed soldiers who were clearly disgusted by us while they barked commands at us. During this noisy trip to Kimberley regarded as army hell I blocked it out by cherishing my beautiful memories that touched my soul and ingrained in my heart forever like it happened yesterday. I still smile when I think back of the Brahman bull experience that introduced me to the realities of farm life and the smell of fresh grass, animals and magnificent starry skies where Dolf and I cuddled while being overwhelmed by the beautiful starlit sky where you could clearly see the star constellations and satellites circling the planet. I felt sorry for a heartbroken Dolf and a very sad Stuart who had the unpleasant task of gathering my few earthly possessions and vacating the cottage after my departure for Kimberley. This upheaval was almost too much to bear.
The incredible stars seen in Bothaville on a farm must be some of the best sights on earth. As a seasoned traveller who had similar experiences in the Namib desert and a few other places, Bothaville remains the most memorable as it was wrapped with so much overwhelming love in my heart. Lying on your back on the ground with your first true love, sharing this beauty of the Milky Way is unforgettable and impossible to express.
Rubin van Niekerk is the Editor of Gay Pages
