I remember when Joe Nina's Ding Dong song came out, brand new and celebratory. It was also adding to the momentum of the spirited Kwaito movement that was emerging at the time. With this Kwaito child came cultures so particular one would feel bad when they were not part of anyone; fraternal brother, fraternal sister, people in the spirit of relevance over life of that era.
The base for All Star takkies as a symbol of some form of affiliation and expression of one thing or another was just being forged. The general appeal the brand is enjoying today in South Africa has some of its roots in that period when Kwaito was vibrant and were churning out relevant messages in the spirit of revelry and commentary.
A few months later, I would like the Matariana culture which emerged as a symbol of being street wise and fashionable. I would later be robbed by two thugs who masqueraded as these snazzy fellows whom we so admired and aspired to emulate in our young lives as boys. Two thugs, *Joe and *Pepper, whose notoriety was guised by their ever charming looks embellished with an S-curl and cut hairdo each, Mashwabane pants, silk shirts and some fancy Italian shoes if not some stylish takkies.
I suppose that's why as a teenager, I fell for their charm when they accosted me and my brother in the street when we were sent to buy a case of beer by one lady who ran a small Spot. I don't remember how much a case of beer cost at the time, but the money to pay for one was securely placed in the back pocket of my shorts with the fear of losing it.
'You look identical. Are you twins?' *Joe asked when they reached us and stood in our path, giving a good indication that they needed to chat.
'Yes we are twins,' I said excited at their small talk which seemed innocuous. Being asked such questions as young boys used to be fascinating – people were amazed at our identical nature.
'Who’s the eldest?' the snazzy fellow continued.
'He is,” I said pointing towards the direction of my twin, “but he's just a mere hour older than me,” I added to reflect the insignificant time difference between our births. He was not happy that I was entertaining all those questions from those thugs, his face expressed that explicitly.
I don't know what really happened that triggered a need for my brother to run away like he had seen a ghost – he made for it. Bewildered by his reaction, I called for him to stop but he ran faster as if pushed by the wind. By the time I looked back to the two frauds, one had already pulled out a Jungle and had twisted his face into a terrifying display encouraging prevalence of fear. I almost let everything liquid loose, including urine due to extreme fear. But I held on not wanting to bring myself to shame.
Someone had once said thugs smell money like we smell food with our senses which deal with smell, and this held true when Joe went straight to my back pocket, tore it open with his large hand and pulled out all the money I had.
An intersection of Thuhlwane and Nkwane roads being one of the busiest in Thabong, Welkom, did not hamper their criminal ways. Getting away was a hassle-free experience; a four-plus-one taxi pulled over when they hastily signaled for it to stop – and so they vanished with the money.
After they had gone, I stood there trying to make sense of what had just happened, overcome by a great sense of shock. Tshepo, one of our friends who was the only witness to that flash crime as it seemed, stood on the other side of the road laughing so hard he held on to a street lamp’s pole for balance as the amusement he had was nearly leading him to the ground to roll in a hysterical nonchalance.
I hated him for being so stupid, for being so unsympathetic and for gloating with a thunderous laughter I could hear from the opposite side of the road. I hated myself for my own stupidity too and momentarily channeled some resentful sentiments towards the culture of Matariana which brought two thugs to rob us at broad day light.
I walked home to recount the incident to the shebeen owner and at the corner, another snazzy dresser, but not a thug went past me striding in his All Star shoes and Mashwabane trousers coordinated with a colourful Cutty Sark golfer. I could not help but fall in love again with that look I so admired at that era of my young life. *Joe and *Pepper forced the admiration out of my psyche for a short while, but it seeped back.
A few weeks later I would forget about my ordeal and be on a look out for newer street trends; so did they come and go in many forms; so I look back amused at how ridiculous it all seem now.
Foot notes:
* means: not their not names
#Matariana: A name given to a dress sense or style prevalent at some point in time in some South Africa’s townships, inspired by the Italian fashion designs or style.
#Mashwabane: A linen pair of trousers
#Spot: Informal beer-selling business.
#Jungle: A name used in some townships as a synonym for a knife (Thugs carried knives as weapons)
#Four-plus-one: A name given to private cars converted into taxis. They carry four passengers plus a driver, hence the name.
Deon Simphiwe Skade ©
Apr 2010
