There are few book titles that arrive with their own attitude. "How to Stop Being a Naai" is one of them. Before Mia Arderne had even taken her seat at the Book Lounge in Cape Town, the title had already done what a good book is supposed to do: start a conversation.
That conversation was about more than a swear word. In a room filled with authors, writers, book lovers, members of the LGBTQIA+ community and media, there was a feeling that people had gathered to celebrate not only a new book, but the freedom to use language that sounds like us, speaks like us and does not ask permission to be taken seriously.
I sat next to gentleman named "Uncle Pat" and another guest where within minutes we were chatting like old friends. It had the cosy, slightly chaotic feeling of an episode of "Friends", except the subject matter was morality, accountability and the very real possibility that, at some point, we might all have been a bit of a naai.
So, what exactly is a “naai”?
Listen, if you know, you know. The word “naai” can mean a few things depending on who you're talking to, how badly they have annoyed you and, frankly, how creative you are feeling that day.
According to the first-ever official Trilingual Dictionary of Kaaps (Die Kaaps Woriboek), developed by the Centre for Multilingualism and Diversities Research (CMDR) and academic partners, the word "naai" means:
- Noun (Selfstandige Naamwoord) Definition: A derogatory term for an obnoxious, irritating, or untrustworthy person.
English Translation: Jerk, a**hole, or idiot. Standard Afrikaans Translation: Naai / Poephol / Slegte persoon.
Example from Cape Flats Usage: "Is nag vi djou naai" (You are in deep trouble, you jerk). - Verb (Werkwoord) Definition: A vulgar term denoting the act of copulation or sexual intercourse.
English Translation: To f*ck / to shag.
Standard Afrikaans Translation: F*k / Geslagtelike omgang hê. - Particle / Interjection (Tussenwerpsel) Definition: Used as a fast, colloquial variant spelling of "nee" to indicate negation or direct rejection.
English Translation: No / Nah.
Standard Afrikaans Translation: Nee.
For Arderne, however, the word has a more serious meaning.
“For me, understanding a naai, is an immoral person. Whatever your measure of immorality is. You can replace that word with ‘bad person’ or ‘piece of sh*t’. At the end of the day we are talking about the measures of immorality,” she said.
That definition immediately makes the book more interesting because it moves the word away from being a simple insult.
The book tells the story of Lucian, a philanderer, an alcoholic and a sell-out.
On the brink of a separation, disillusioned at work and desperately clinging to his glory days as a DJ, Lucian confronts the toxic truth about himself: Yes, he is a naai.
In his attempt at reformation, Lucian stumbles his way through nine steps - from ruthless self-acceptance - to ultimately channelling he’s inner naai. In other words, he will try anything except go to actual therapy.
'How to Stop being a Naai' is a satirical take on the self-help genre. It serves as a brutally funny, fictional guide to become a better person.
Because, if we’re being honest there’s a bit of a night in most of us.
A naai is not merely someone who is irritating or unpleasant. It is someone behaving badly according to a set of moral standards.
The central character, Lucian, becomes a way of testing those standards.
“I could be Lucian in my weakest moments. Maybe, in your weakest moments, you can be Lucian too,” Arderne said. “He is based on the weaknesses that I think we all have.”
That admission matters. Lucian is not presented as a villain who exists safely outside the reader's own life.
He is built around weaknesses that Arderne believes are recognisable, which means the book's real joke may be less about pointing at the naai in the room and more about asking what happens when you recognise some of him in yourself.
That is also why the question of whether a woman can be a naai became one of the more interesting moments of the conversation.
“I do like the idea of a woman being a naai,” Arderne said.
And why not? There is no shortage of people who can behave badly regardless of gender. The more useful question is what we do once we recognise that behaviour in ourselves.
Being a naai is easy. Admitting you have been one is another matter entirely.
Can a naai be forgiven?
This was one of the questions that stayed with me.
I am a firm believer that if I am a naai and genuinely apologise, I would hope to be forgiven and given another chance.
We all have moments we are not particularly proud of. We lose our tempers, say things we should not say, make selfish decisions and sometimes discover that the person we were so busy judging had a point.
For Arderne, there appears to be room for redemption too. Not every naai is beyond saving. The problem is the person who has become so comfortable with being one that accountability barely registers.
That is where the idea of the naai becomes more than a joke. It becomes a question of character. Do people have the capacity to recognise their own behaviour, take responsibility for it and change, or do we simply become better at explaining why the bad things we do are someone else's fault?
Then there is the language
The book is written in Kaaps, which feels particularly fitting for a story so interested in how people behave, speak and relate to one another.
At the launch, Arderne read a paragraph from the book herself, allowing the audience to hear the rhythm, humour and personality of the writing in her own voice. It was a reminder that the language is not simply there to give the book a Cape Town flavour. It is part of how the story speaks.
That choice also sits within a much bigger conversation about the place of Kaaps in South African culture and literature.
Professor Quentin Williams, director of the Centre for Multilingualism and Diversities Research at the University of the Western Cape, has spent years researching and advocating for the intellectualisation of Kaaps.
His work has explored the language's history, language activism and its place in formal knowledge production, including the development of the first Kaaps Dictionary.
In that context, Arderne's use of Kaaps becomes more than a stylistic decision. The language is used to make the characters sound like themselves as they think, joke, argue and confront their own behaviour. It also challenges the idea that serious literature has to sound polished, formal or removed from the way people actually speak.
Perhaps that is one of the more interesting things about "How to Stop Being a Naai". It does not translate itself into something more comfortable for the literary world. It lets Kaaps carry the humour, the sharpness and the contradictions of the story without apology.
And that gives the book a strong sense of place without constantly having to announce where it comes from.
The language does that work quietly. It tells you something about the people in the book, the world they occupy and the way they understand one another.
Arderne’s idea of the “naai” is ultimately less about labelling other people than it is about what happens after we recognise bad behaviour in ourselves.
The book leaves room for accountability, forgiveness and change, but it also refuses to make self-improvement sound particularly respectable or polished. It does so in Kaaps, with humour and a voice that feels firmly rooted in Cape Town.
And perhaps that is the point. "How to Stop Being a Naai" does not ask readers to become perfect people. It asks them to be honest enough to recognise when they have been the problem, brave enough to admit it and decent enough to try to do better.
bernelee.vollmer@nationalmg.co.za