Boerewors and Gumboots – Episode 4

“Smoke on the Horizon”

Saturday.
The day Hawke’s Bay would smell like coriander, charcoal – and consequences.

By 6:15 a.m., Zee van Wyk was already at the rugby club kitchen, hair pinned up, sleeves rolled, coffee clutched like prayer. The council permit now sat laminated on the wall, a small square of victory. She took one deep breath, tasting rain in the air.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, “we’re really doing this.”

Outside, the wind had died, leaving the world expectant.

The Early Crew

The first to arrive was Lebo, bouncing from his ute before the engine stopped.
“Morning, Queen Zee! The Mashup is in the house!”

He pointed proudly at his food trailer, solar panels gleaming like armor. Music thumped softly – low enough to dodge complaints, upbeat enough to lift the air.

Zee smiled despite herself. “Keep it under seventy-five dB and we’re golden.”

“Seventy-five exactly,” Lebo winked.

Next came Priya, high-vis vest neatly zipped, thermos in hand.
“I brought paper cups – and peace offerings.”

Zee laughed. “You’re officially promoted to sanity manager.”

Together they started setting out tables. Priya’s calm spread like sunlight through fog. Within minutes the layout looked less like chaos, more like an event.

Annelie’s Morning

At the Lategan house, Annelie buttoned her denim shirt slowly. Piet was already packing the cooler, humming tunelessly.

“You don’t have to come early,” he said gently.

“I want to.”
She met his eyes. “It’s better than sitting here wondering who’s whispering about us.”

He nodded once, then handed her a coffee. “We’ll stand our ground. Together.”

The drive to the club was quiet, but not heavy – the kind of silence that had purpose in it.

Arrival – Tensions Rekindled

By 8:00 a.m., the carpark buzzed. Chantelle’s hatchback screeched in, boot loaded with ring-lights, mirrors, and a portable speaker the size of a toddler.

“Morning, my angels!” she sang, wearing sunglasses and confidence.

Zee blinked. “Where do you want to set up?”

“Close to the stage – the light’s better.”

Frik’s bakkie rolled in right behind her, Lynette perched beside him like a general inspecting troops.
He climbed out, slow grin already in place.

“Permit looks official,” he said, glancing at the laminated page. “You went through the proper channels… eventually.”

Zee folded her arms. “All legal, Frik. Want a coffee?”

He gave a mock bow. “No thanks. I brought my own leadership.”

Lynette’s eyes narrowed on Priya. “And you are?”

“Helping,” Priya said simply. “Zee asked me.”

Lynette sniffed. “From the council?”

“Once upon a time,” Priya replied smoothly, not volunteering more.

Frik’s smile twitched. “Ah, so that’s how the permit got approved.”

Zee bit her tongue. Priya only smiled wider. “Paperwork is easier when people stop arguing long enough to read instructions.”

Lebo snorted into his coffee.

Before the Crowd

By mid-morning, stalls were alive: boerewors sizzling, children chasing stray balloons, the air full of smoke and nostalgia. Chantelle tested her mic: “Testing, testing – one, two, fabulous!”

Frik stalked around like a foreman, directing volunteers who hadn’t asked for direction.

Piet flipped wors at the main grill, his movements precise, almost defiant. Behind him, Annelie arranged bread rolls, avoiding Lynette’s gaze.

Priya drifted between groups, smoothing friction before it sparked.

At one table, Zee checked her clipboard again. The journalist hadn’t arrived yet – but the knowledge of her coming sat heavy, like thunder behind the clouds.

Annelie and Priya

By 11:00 a.m., Annelie was refilling sauce bottles when Priya appeared beside her.

“Need a hand?”

“I won’t say no,” Annelie smiled faintly.

They worked in silence for a minute, then Annelie whispered, “They’re still watching me. Lynette hasn’t said a word, but she doesn’t need to.”

Priya nodded. “Some people build themselves up by leaning on others. Let her lean. You just stay standing.”

Annelie’s eyes watered. “How do you always sound so sure?”

Priya shrugged. “I’ve had practice. Small towns, big egos – Durban, Hastings, same script, new cast.”

They laughed softly. For a brief moment, the tension thinned.

Zee Under Pressure

“Zee!” Chantelle waved her curling iron. “Where’s the plug point you promised?”

“Back wall,” Zee called.

“Too far from the mirror!”

“Then move the mirror!”

“Can’t! Light!”

Zee pressed her fingers to her temple. “Breathe,” she told herself.

From behind, Frik’s voice oozed. “Everything all right, organiser?”

“Yes, Frik.”

“Good. Because if the fire inspectors show up, you’ll want to explain why the tents are closer than three metres.”

Zee spun. “They’re two-point-eight, and it’s allowed for temporary setups. Read the code.”

Priya appeared silently beside her, clipboard in hand. “Already cleared it. Signed off yesterday.”

Frik blinked. “By who?”

Priya smiled sweetly. “By someone who actually read the guidelines.”

Frik’s mouth worked soundlessly before he stalked off. Zee whispered, “I’m buying you a lifetime supply of rusks.”

Piet Feels the Cracks

At the main grill, Piet kept his head down, but his ears didn’t miss the murmurs.

“Such a pity,” someone whispered near the drinks table. “All that talent wasted on someone who thinks he’s the king of wors.”

He looked up just long enough to see Lynette turn away, pretending innocence.
When Annelie approached with serviettes, he forced a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” she said quickly. But he saw it – the flicker of pain, the exhaustion of keeping brave.

He wiped his hands and reached for hers briefly, grease and all. “Ignore them. They’ll eat my wors and still complain. That’s their gift.”

Annelie squeezed back, a quiet thank-you.

The First Smoke

By early afternoon, the club was humming. Kids kicked rugby balls through smoke haze, music blended with laughter and the hiss of wors fat hitting coals.

Lebo’s Mzansi Mashup served its first tacos to a line of curious Kiwis.
“Boerewors with chakalaka salsa!” he announced. “Guaranteed to fix your accent!”

Even Zee laughed at that.

Then, just as things began to settle, a silver hatchback pulled up near the gate.
A woman stepped out with a camera slung over her shoulder, notebook in hand – the reporter, Sally Morrison.

“Here we go,” Zee whispered.

Frik straightened his shirt. Chantelle reapplied lipstick.

Priya whispered to Annelie, “Deep breath. You belong here as much as anyone.”

Piet flipped another coil of wors and muttered, “Let’s hope the smoke hides the politics.”

The reporter smiled, lifting her camera.

Click.

The first photo of Braai Day was taken.
The day had officially begun.

Next Month (Episode 5 Preview)

• The reporter’s story sparks rival interviews – and egos.

• Frik makes a bold move to “save” the event, undermining Zee.

• Chantelle’s hair-show goes hilariously wrong.

• Piet finally calls out the gossip, forcing Annelie’s quiet strength into the spotlight.

• And somewhere between the smoke and the music, Priya becomes the calm centre everyone didn’t know they needed.

Disclaimer: "Boerewors and Gumboots" is a work of fiction created purely for entertainment purposes. All characters, events, and storylines are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or to real-life events, businesses, or locations, is entirely coincidental. The views and opinions expressed by the characters are not those of the author, publishers, or any associated parties. References to products, shops, or cultural elements are included for narrative flavour only and do not constitute endorsements, factual claims, or representations of real businesses or individuals.