Black belt taxidermist stuffs errant minibuses
THE MARTIAL arts have gripped South Africa. Everybody wants to learn how to knock the stuffing out of somebody.
Out of a mugger, maybe, or somebody who sneaks into one’s home at 3am – like one’s son who said he’d be home at 10pm, latest.
Proponents of the martial arts will tell you that martial arts differ from other art forms, such as embroidery or finger painting.
The cardinal rule is restraint. Even though you learn how to kill somebody by thrusting your pointy finger through their skull or how, by bringing your knee up, you can bunch a man’s ribs up under his chin, you mustn’t.
You work off your irritations by, for instance, smashing stacked tiles with a sharp downward movement of your forehead or by collecting souvenir teaspoons.
But where is the point of restraint in Joburg? It’s a rough place where robbers rob policemen.
You sometimes need a black belt just to stay on the pavement.
An acquaintance, Fred Little-John Jolly, might have the answer. Fred is leading a crusade against minibus taxis. He gets very excited about them and their sometimes rather cavalier attitude to road rules. Fred calls himself a “taxidermist”. “I stuff taxis,” he says. “Whenever a taxi overtakes me at speed and then stops abruptly in front of me, or parks at the kerb to chat to pals, I get out and request all on board to alight. I then tear out the seats, pluck out the engine, kick out the side panels, squash the roof so the windows pop out…”
“Just a minute, Fred, How come nobody tries to stop you?” I asked.
He then told me. He told me about the Japanese martial art of hudu-honji (pronounced “honghui-haithait”). It means “hit with a tree” – a wonderful example of quaint oriental humour.
The art is practised with a massive wooden club that only a very big and very strong man can wield.
Fred has a pea-green belt in huduhonji. This is better than a black belt – prettier too.
His club weighs 25kg and is of leadwood.
It is known as a hongi-ga (literally, “number 3 wood”) and this, as you might have guessed, is only suitable for participants who are on the large side – like Tshwane Municipality.
Traditionally, he said, it is an ancient Japanese sport where two club-wielding opponents square up and then slowly bow to each other – poetically known as hoho-moghu-ying (meaning “touching heads”, which is yet another example of the Japanese’s exquisite sense of humour) – then they see who can land the first blow (known as bong) – but only when the bowing is over. Otherwise it’s a foul.
The target is the top of the skull. Once the first blow has been landed, the contest is declared over.
This allows the recipient, who is usually feeling poorly, to begin reconstructive surgery.
Fred says he has stuffed many taxis with his hongi-ga.
He says people respect it when they see it and don’t argue.
“And,” said Fred, “I know what you’re going to ask. Forget it! You’re not big enough and, anyway, there are 456 people ahead of you who want to borrow it.”
A secretary, an associate and a manager of an investment bank found an ancient oil lamp; a genie popped out and granted each of them a wish.
“Me first!” begged the secretary. “I want to be in Mauritius, sunbathing on a yacht without a care in the world!”
Poof! She was gone. The associate shouts: “Me next! Plett beach, for me – and the love of my life.” Poof ! He was gone. The manager said: “I just want those two back in the office after lunch.”