Art and rugby

Porterville is a no-frills Swartland town where artists create, farmers congregate and paragliders ride the thermals above a pristine mountain wilderness. Here's your guide.

- IAN MCNAUGHT DAVIS

It'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 middelveldjie, 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. Both teams follow the same game plan: swing the ball to the boy who is nearest to puberty, who then ploughs through a throng of laaities hellbent on grabbing his ankles. He topples over, the ball spills out. Repeat.

At this level, the game is a murmuration of upsets and comebacks. Lineout calls are irrelevant and scrums are determined by whoever's mother encourages second helpings at dinner.

Beyond the barefoot battles, things get serious. Rows of tog bags are lined up with the precision of Japanese soldiers on parade. The high school teams are on the B-field, practising passing drills while eyeing the opposition's lineout moves. Knees are wrapped in magic tape, players double-knot their shoelaces and coaches in khaki chinos saunter about, their walkie-talkies crackling with urgency.