31 March, 2011
The focus on the Free State writers
“I am impressed with the eclectic mix of African and international books in the (Free State) libraries. It is gratifying to see up to date and relevant books.” ~ Achal Prabhala
The above quote comes from an article written by Pule Lechesa that appears in The New Age. It focuses on the contribution of Free State writers to literature. You may read the full article here.
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The above quote comes from an article written by Pule Lechesa that appears in The New Age. It focuses on the contribution of Free State writers to literature. You may read the full article here.
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28 March, 2011
Don Mattera's Memory is the weapon
"The police were riding around with horses and lances, these very long spears, and they would go for the people in the streets and the people were boycotting. What we gangsters did, I was 17 years old, becoming 18, was to take petrol and mix it with oil and throw this on the street, especially in Victoria Street. It was the main street in Sophiatown where all the action took place. We would take an old blanket, dip it in this concoction, light it and run with it in the street. Many of the commandos, we used to call them the skiet (shooting) commando, would just slide off their horses. The horses would spreadeagle and some people especially from the Berlina's gang would take their 303 rifles away and beat them up. This is how the dissidence against one form of oppression first expressed itself in 1952.
I remember people were shot. I remember I must have knifed a few cops. A bullet grazed my calf on that day, I won't forget. It was just mayhem. I always knew that they were the enemy, meaning the police and not white people per se, because my grandfather, an Italian, was so-called white, and there were many other so-called whites living in Sophiatown, so it wasn't a black/white thing for me, it was the police versus the people. Always the armed vs the unarmed. So me and many others, we got guns and it was a shoot for a shoot and a fight for a fight." ~ Don Mattera
The above extract comes from an interview conducted by Madi Gray for Nordic Documentation on the liberation struggle in South Africa. You may read the complete interview here
Kgafela on poetry's themes: The interview
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| Image source: Proudly Afrikan website (details below) |
"There’s no “true poetry” out there that’s to be fetched & brought home. Poetry is that chameleonic creature which changes with time & place. Define it for yourself. Recently, someone was asking if what I do is rap or poetry. I told them I don’t rap I unwrap the napkins of our baby nation to show you things. Call me not a rapper. I am the un-wrapper." ~ Kgafela oa Magogodi
For the full interview where the above words are borrowed, visit Proudly Afrikan website, here
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27 March, 2011
A Sesotho writer
I met a lady who writes in Sesotho recently. She calls herself Tshidi, short for Matshediso. I was excited to meet her – I still am.
She spoke very passionately about her writing and what it has done for her. She has written and published a book, which will soon be succeeded by another one she’s currently writing. She credits her debut work for helping her communicate the hardships she experienced in life. Her face glowed when she related to me what it all meant that she has published a book. I saw her triumphant, not only because of the book milestone, but because she produced it using her own language, a direct inheritance from her forefathers.
As I write this note that may appear insignificant due to a rapid decline of Black African languages, I try to think of the younger generation of writers that are helping preserve African languages. The only name that comes to mind is that of Pule Lechesa, a multi-disciplinary writer who also writes in Sesotho. Black people do not write in their mother tongue anymore, and this calls for an urgent intervention if these languages are to be saved.
I acknowledge my guilt in this regards too – I write only in English. On the other hand, my language is dying a painful death. One I may slow down, or more appropriately, help avert by writing in Sesotho and by cultivating the same interest in other Sesotho writers.
Somehow I feel a great sense of optimism towards my language, now that I have met Matshediso. Perhaps I may start writing in my mother tongue sooner than I think.
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
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She spoke very passionately about her writing and what it has done for her. She has written and published a book, which will soon be succeeded by another one she’s currently writing. She credits her debut work for helping her communicate the hardships she experienced in life. Her face glowed when she related to me what it all meant that she has published a book. I saw her triumphant, not only because of the book milestone, but because she produced it using her own language, a direct inheritance from her forefathers.
As I write this note that may appear insignificant due to a rapid decline of Black African languages, I try to think of the younger generation of writers that are helping preserve African languages. The only name that comes to mind is that of Pule Lechesa, a multi-disciplinary writer who also writes in Sesotho. Black people do not write in their mother tongue anymore, and this calls for an urgent intervention if these languages are to be saved.
I acknowledge my guilt in this regards too – I write only in English. On the other hand, my language is dying a painful death. One I may slow down, or more appropriately, help avert by writing in Sesotho and by cultivating the same interest in other Sesotho writers.
Somehow I feel a great sense of optimism towards my language, now that I have met Matshediso. Perhaps I may start writing in my mother tongue sooner than I think.
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
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23 March, 2011
21 March, 2011
18 March, 2011
Teboho Masakala's Novel, Through it All
He is only 23 but Teboho Masakala is already the author of two books. Last year he published a book of short stories, and this week his first novel (actually technically a novella) came out, titled THROUGH IT ALL.
Masakala is now fulfilling the promise and potential the literary pundits saw in him a few years ago. The young man is very proud of his roots from Thaba ‘Nchu and in his own way he is putting the town on the map.
“I am what I am because of Thaba Nchu,” he told Free State News this week. “I am so pleased and proud that my first novel is out! I have always loved writing fiction. I now know that it is not something that anyone, not even all writers, can just do. It requires talent, discipline, imagination. A writer must have moral compass”
Teboho’s debut novel, Through it all focuses on a certain young woman and her vicissitudes. The protagonist is Monica Classen who is dragged through the mill! After the death of her parents, she is unfortunately raped by her own uncle, an exceedingly harrowing experience for her.
She decides to flee Thaba Nchu and start a new life in Bloemfontein, but her ordeal is not over; not by a long shot. More painful episodes await her till in the end, like a deus ex machina all is well with her, and her sorrows are behind her. Read this moving work and bask!
Excerpt from the book (exemplifying the sad metamorphosis of Monica): “Monica (who had been) fragile, kind-hearted, was now this weak, controlled drugs loving, money hungry Monica…the city of Bloemfontein had swallowed her and was not prepared to throw her up anytime soon as there was no way out…”
Get a copy!
- O Bolaji
This article first appeared on Pule Lechesa's blog, Free State Writers
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Sintue: How does one review this album?
An attempt to write about the Getuies (Ill-Human-Nati), a Rare-Hop crew from Cape Town, is a cumbersome venture for many reasons – their second album release, Sintuie, to be precise. For one, the context of their music is very much relevant to the present conditions of South Africa. Secondly, the effect that their lyrics and melodies leave with the listener makes for a combination of extreme sadness, frustration and hope. It’s particularly a complex combination due to the extreme and odd nature of the aforementioned emotions.
Dmus’ rare and emotive singing holds one’s heart to a ransom of pain. It does this only to free it much later, perhaps confident about a brighter future because he has cautioned against the suffering that may be averted. He sings like a prodigiously matured and afflicted soul that has an easy ability to be frank and cynical, using the most sophisticated vocal notes. He sings, like his heart is crying inside; like he wants you to feel his pain and identify with it, except this pain is not only his but the wider community’s. He sings for the multitudes – their frustrations, their hopes and their ever echoing laments. His and Maniak’s lyrics, coupled with the manner with which they deliver them in relation to the tone of their songs, say this duo deserves to be in the forefront of the hip-hop/conscious music – they are bona fide story tellers.
Dmus’ versatility with singing encapsulates a Ragga Muffin poet, a soul singer, an underground rapper and a philosopher. Maniak on the other hand is circumspect in every sense of the word. He’s also cynical and unapologetic frank in his delivery. That’s why they are the Getuies, Ill-Human-Nati Getuies!
Their song, Eeen uit Tien, buried in the 5th spot of the track-listing, mourns the perpetual condition of suffering and neglect that marginalized people suffer. It’s a heartbreaking tale, only it’s true. In spite the sadness of this story, Dmus, perhaps breaking the ice; leads the song trying to make sense of the human condition constructed by systems:
“… nobody knows me, but I’m always there, a statistical reminder of the world that doesn’t care…” he sings poignantly, before assuming his Ragga Maffin role as if to scold this negligence, but instead encourage optimism and dance after.
What could be exacerbating my challenge to write about the Getuies’ music could be that I met them a few times already and felt their sincerity. In fact, they granted me an opportunity to interview them about their music and what inspires them (a link to the interview is found below).
As I write this part, Runaway Slave/Rot Reis, is playing through my earphones. I find myself ceasing to type further on my keyboard. Dmus’ singing is melancholic: “… Oh I’m a runaway, a runaway, a runaway slave…” he sings on, painfully.
When Maniak, whom I had initially thought of as reserved when I first met them, delivers his lines, sad but assertive. These guys are as candid as their music. They are artists who truly live what they sing about. Their frankness and relevance to the current status quo could not be better articulated.
The Getuies is about the people, for the people and by the people. This relatedness is in the music: the broken promises of the electorates, the neglect rendered on the people, the communities that should be protected by their government, the dislike of each other as a community, egos and so on. They sing, rap and have this conversations for the people.
Perhaps Dankbaar, track 14, narrates some of these predicaments better: “Alles wat ons deur gaan, voor’t gehate, narrate, waarheid, swaarheit...” the music plays on.
A degree of frustration and sadness emerge from heart as I try to best represent what these fellows stand for, and what is it that I believe they should be given to express these pertinent issues on a bigger scale. I then remember that one needs not to get emotional in matters like this one. Journalistic study guides discourage emotional attachment with the source. But I’m not a journalist nor am I writing an interview with the Getuies for hard news – I’m trying to write a review!
I switch the music player off, perhaps in defeat. Then silence echoes in my ears and I get a feeling that I may need to postpone this attempt to write for another time. But I realize that I have actually managed to write something after all, in spite of the emotions evoked. My mind wanders back to the interlude in the 1st track. It says: “Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.”
Perhaps the new listener should heed these opening words – frank experiences affect the hearts in all sorts of ways imaginable.
© Deon Simphiwe Skade
To read the interview Deon Skade conducted with Getuies, click here.
Sintue is the Getuies’ second album, released in 2010.
They’ll be releasing a new album soon. They are contactable through: getuies@gmail.com and riskodmus@gmail.com
Video source: YouTube
16 March, 2011
Sakhile remembered
Listening to Sakhile’s music, one could swear that Bra’ Khaya Mahlangu’s horns are the only kind ever made. He blows them with an incredible poignancy I cannot associate with any other horn sound I ever heard. He must have done an astounding job then when he played along the late Bra’ Sipho Gumede, Bra’ Menyatso Mathole and Ntate Mabi Thobejane among others. Even Bra’ Sipho bass thunders in dialects I had never heard before along Bra’ Khaya’s genius. The closest I may associate his patting on the strings of that long-necked instrument called electric bass, is in his successive solo project, Down Freedom Avenue.
It is inexplicably sad that Bra Sipho breathed his last soon after the band’s reunion around 2003/4. It’s a terrible relatedness that Bra Nana Coyote would also pass on after Stimela reunited for their studio album.
When Stimela released their new offering late last year, I wished Sakhile would follow this route. But Bra’ Sipho is no more. He’s gone to the world of the silent. The last he may have played with the group for a studio session was most probably for Sakhile’s last release, Togetherness, where they enlisted vocal services of the talented Bra’ Shaluza Max, or Max Mtambo for others.
What if the remaining founding members decided to reincarnate Sakhile; who would fill Bra’ Sipho’s shoes? South Africa is blessed with many talented bassists that may fulfill this role. There’s Musa Manzini, Carlo Mombelli, Bra’ Fana Zulu, Bra’ Herbie Tsoaeli, Bra’ Mlungisi Gegana and so on. I’m sure one of them would add an interesting touch to the new Sakhile project, if they were to venture into that path.
If all wishes were horses, all beggars may ride – wishful thinking, I know.
“Ngizokuthanda ngaso sonke isikhathi, ngoba wena uyithemba lami Ngithembise ukuthi, nakuwe kuyobanjalo. Wen’ ungo wam…” I wish they could sing this song and more new ones.
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
Note: The above lyrics are transcribed from Sakhile’s song, Kusinwakudedelwane, released during the band’s most active years.
Acoustics Strings says: R.I.P Bra Sipho Gumede and Bra’ Nana Coyote.
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14 March, 2011
Despicable Me
In a happy suburban neighbourhood surrounded by white picket fences with flowering rose bushes, sits a black house with a dead lawn. Unbeknownst to the neighbours, hidden beneath this home is a vast secret hideout. Surrounded by a small army of minions, we discover Gru, planning the biggest heist in the history of the world. He is going to steal the moon. (Yes, the moon!) Gru delights in all things wicked. Armed with his arsenal of shrink rays, freeze rays, and battle-ready vehicles for land and air, he vanquishes all who stand in his way. Until the day he encounters the immense will of three little orphaned girls who look at him and see something that no one else has ever seen: a potential Dad. The world's greatest villain has just met his greatest challenge: three little girls named Margo, Edith and Agnes.
~ Universal Pictures
Storyline sourced from IMBD
Words, ‘neighbourhood’ and ‘neighbours’ have been edited to suit the South African spelling.
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Roots and Branches: Electro Acoustic Poetry
This CD features poetry by leading South African poets in combination with soundscapes by James de Villiers.
The featured poets are:
Yoliswa Mogale, Allan Kolski Horwitz, Mphutlane wa Bofelo, Myesha Jenkins, Siphiwe Ka Ngwenya, Chantal-Fleur Sandjon, Khanyi Magubane, Ike Mboneni Muila, Lesley Perkes, Lionel Murcott, Phillippa de Villiers, Mark Espin
For orders mail botsotso@artslink.co.za
R100 per disc (including postage within South Africa)
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Language
When language calls attention to itself for reasons other than the purpose of conveying clear messages, it negates the essence of communication in the first place.
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
Graham Senekal: an untitled piece
when darkness falls
upon the one who won’t
let his spirit cry,
who will hear silent tears
fall from the blue sky?
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upon the one who won’t
let his spirit cry,
who will hear silent tears
fall from the blue sky?
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Meshell on the complexities of love
"... When you kiss me my lips they burn with fear
For even a love that crowns may crucify... Do you hear me?
Can you taste my pain?
For love has no other desire but to fulfill itself
But to deny yourself the pleasure of that pain is to love selfishly..."
~ Meshell Ndegeocello
The above extract was transcribed from Meshell Ndegeocello’s song, A Tear and a Smile. It features on the album, Peace Beyond Passion which was released by Marverick Records in 1996
13 March, 2011
Acoustic String readers, this is what I told Malome about you and some of my writings.
“Dear Malome,
It's funny that I once had an inclination to write for publications like magazines and newspapers when I was younger, but had since strayed away from that desire even though not completely. I had been feeling some ambivalence about this once highly-protected wish to a point where I had no other option but to submit to the might of its want, that of writing even if it was for a small audience.
I suppose it’s safe to say it was not of my doing per se, but a consequence of a spontaneous push of ‘nature’. If I had restricted this shove and expressed a cynical tone of defiance to this ‘natural’ directive, I may have been rendered ‘insane’ by worldly standards. This would have been due to the eventual channelling of this excessive and restricted desire into un-consenting paths. Perhaps this is also false. All paths lead somewhere; even this supposed insanity is a path that ends somewhere.
But I’m glad that I opened myself up to the idea of obedience towards that which is ‘natural’. By that I mean any concept which may bear such a trait as ‘natural things’. But let me also indicate that my reaction to what may arise from this submission may be met with appropriate response which my heart and mind would have reached a compromise for, in collaboration of that which is ‘natural’ and execute a wise action. One of the results for such synergic effort is the birth of Acoustic Strings, and outlet for fundamentally celebrating life with all that comes with living.
In many ways, Acoustic Strings has somewhat substituted the once exuberant desire to write for publications. I must also concede that ‘substitute’ in itself may be a highly inappropriate word to describe this situation. Before I create paradoxical statements, allow me to abandon this direction of thought.
In a nutshell, I could not suppress the urge anymore; I just had to do it even if it was by hook or by crook. And the readers have been a pivotal part of this ‘flourishing’ inspiration. Each of their visits to the site is one I would not take for granted. I will be candid Malome, like a man confronted by death. As we know, no matter how strongly defined his muscles are, such a situation would force him to plead and reason with death to at least live a bit longer. As I’m trying to illustrate, I will do as the man facing death would do in his sincerity and say that the 'debates,' ‘views’ and general comments posted there from the blog’s enlightened readers, become something to behold; an inspiration one cannot fully disentangle to make simple illustration of its cyclic effect. It’s a sort of a situation of a river feeding the ever temperamental ocean that only submits to the scorcher of the sun; which in turn steals from the undefeatable ocean only to feed into the cloud that returns that which doesn’t belong to itself back to the earth, which only starts the cycle all over again – everything fulfilling their roles as they should.
The shortness of the above analogy is to point to the role of these dear readers. Their reading, particularly their thoughtful comments remind one of the responsibility bestowed upon those who wield a pen. This caution is not to of course restrict expression, but to merely encourage deeper quests and finer approaches to text.
I don't know if these dear readers know this Malome, the extent of their involvement in this whole process. If they are not, I hope they do so one day.
I will not get into their passion Malome, I'm sure it's obvious for all to see. This in itself is frighteningly exquisite.
It seems like I’m getting back to my bad habit of typing long e-mails again. Please pardon my lack of restraint.
Have a blissful Friday!
P.S. Cape Town is moody again. Her notorious breath, inappropriately named the Cape Doctor, is blowing erratically again. I suppose we can’t help her on this one. But we love her nonetheless.
Best wishes,
Deon-Simphiwe”
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It's funny that I once had an inclination to write for publications like magazines and newspapers when I was younger, but had since strayed away from that desire even though not completely. I had been feeling some ambivalence about this once highly-protected wish to a point where I had no other option but to submit to the might of its want, that of writing even if it was for a small audience.
I suppose it’s safe to say it was not of my doing per se, but a consequence of a spontaneous push of ‘nature’. If I had restricted this shove and expressed a cynical tone of defiance to this ‘natural’ directive, I may have been rendered ‘insane’ by worldly standards. This would have been due to the eventual channelling of this excessive and restricted desire into un-consenting paths. Perhaps this is also false. All paths lead somewhere; even this supposed insanity is a path that ends somewhere.
But I’m glad that I opened myself up to the idea of obedience towards that which is ‘natural’. By that I mean any concept which may bear such a trait as ‘natural things’. But let me also indicate that my reaction to what may arise from this submission may be met with appropriate response which my heart and mind would have reached a compromise for, in collaboration of that which is ‘natural’ and execute a wise action. One of the results for such synergic effort is the birth of Acoustic Strings, and outlet for fundamentally celebrating life with all that comes with living.
In many ways, Acoustic Strings has somewhat substituted the once exuberant desire to write for publications. I must also concede that ‘substitute’ in itself may be a highly inappropriate word to describe this situation. Before I create paradoxical statements, allow me to abandon this direction of thought.
In a nutshell, I could not suppress the urge anymore; I just had to do it even if it was by hook or by crook. And the readers have been a pivotal part of this ‘flourishing’ inspiration. Each of their visits to the site is one I would not take for granted. I will be candid Malome, like a man confronted by death. As we know, no matter how strongly defined his muscles are, such a situation would force him to plead and reason with death to at least live a bit longer. As I’m trying to illustrate, I will do as the man facing death would do in his sincerity and say that the 'debates,' ‘views’ and general comments posted there from the blog’s enlightened readers, become something to behold; an inspiration one cannot fully disentangle to make simple illustration of its cyclic effect. It’s a sort of a situation of a river feeding the ever temperamental ocean that only submits to the scorcher of the sun; which in turn steals from the undefeatable ocean only to feed into the cloud that returns that which doesn’t belong to itself back to the earth, which only starts the cycle all over again – everything fulfilling their roles as they should.
The shortness of the above analogy is to point to the role of these dear readers. Their reading, particularly their thoughtful comments remind one of the responsibility bestowed upon those who wield a pen. This caution is not to of course restrict expression, but to merely encourage deeper quests and finer approaches to text.
I don't know if these dear readers know this Malome, the extent of their involvement in this whole process. If they are not, I hope they do so one day.
I will not get into their passion Malome, I'm sure it's obvious for all to see. This in itself is frighteningly exquisite.
It seems like I’m getting back to my bad habit of typing long e-mails again. Please pardon my lack of restraint.
Have a blissful Friday!
P.S. Cape Town is moody again. Her notorious breath, inappropriately named the Cape Doctor, is blowing erratically again. I suppose we can’t help her on this one. But we love her nonetheless.
Best wishes,
Deon-Simphiwe”
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Raselebeli Khotseng reviews Tebogo and the Pantophagist (2010)
This is the 7th in the series of the Tebogo Mokoena Mystery series created and written by Omoseye Bolaji. I read this book quickly, admittedly with some initial bias; as it is generally accepted that Bolaji has been in decline as a creative writer since his heyday of Impossible Love (2000), The ghostly adversary (2001) etc. I was pleasantly surprised however to see that the latest adventure of Tebogo the detective is a good read – I could not put it down till I finished it – there is intrigue, humour, “romance” and some suspense. The Tebogo/Scientist Shasha/ lovely Debbie triangle is brilliantly evoked; even till the devastating last-but-one Chapter where we (readers) are all shocked like Tebogo himself as to what is going on! Tebogo and the pantophagist does not have all the best qualities of its predecessors (the first six books in the series) but it would be wrong to say that the author Bolaji is finished as a creative writer. A gripping, illuminating book.
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11 March, 2011
Mr Chacklas and Zone 3
Track listing:
Chackalackado
Matsidiso
Dikeledi
Ntshikete
Tana Ka Mina
Love One Another
Sibuyile
All Night Jive
Mr. Chacklas and Zone 3 was a popular South African music group of the late 80s/early 90s
The pen
The pen must diversify words like the paint brush does with its subjects in painted art works.
The voice may be niched, but the work must still depict various elements of life in its diverse forms.
That a pen must do; that it does!
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
The voice may be niched, but the work must still depict various elements of life in its diverse forms.
That a pen must do; that it does!
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
Dudely Perkins on the creative process
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| Dudely Perkins aka Declaime (right) with fans at the Pass briefing in Cape Town |
“The creative process in life never stops… It’s endless, so we’re just riding on it,” Dudely Perkins
The artist was responding to a question posed around his and Georgia Anne Muldrow’s prolific album releases. It was during their 2010 visit to South Africa as part of PASS festival.
Click here to see who else was part of this event.
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09 March, 2011
07 March, 2011
AK47 Film Festival
This film festival is comprised of a selection of films by filmmaker, writer and artist, Aryan Kaganof and focuses on the role of music in his work.
As part of the Woordfees, the Documentation Centre for Music situated at the music department, University of Stellenbosch, will showcase twenty-one of Kaganof’s short- and full-length films including documentaries on music genres such as kwaito, jazz and blues as well as films that …explore the interaction between music, image and text.
The festival has been curated by Lizabé Lambrechts. The festival will be taking place 7, 9, 11 March in Stellenbosch, 5 Ryneveld Restaurant, and 8, 10 March in Kayamandi, AmaZink Eatery.
The full program is as follows
Monday 7 March: DEATH AND SENSUALITY
- REVERIE (12min) music composed by Michael Blake and performed by Jill Richards
- SMS SUGAR MAN (80min) music composed by Michael Blake
- AT LAST I AM FREE (5min)
Tuesday 8 March: THE BODY POLITIC
- A PERFECT DAY (3min),
- SHARP SHARP! The Kwaito story (25min) music by Arthur, Mdu, TKZee, Zola, Mzambiya and many others
- GIANT STEPS (52min) music composed and performed by Johnny Mbizo Dyani and Lefifi Tladi
Wednesday, 9 March: VIRULENT NIHILISM
- SIGNAL TO NOISE (9min) music composed and performed by Merzbow
- KRAFTMUSICHALL (10min) music composed and performed by Tempsion
- HERMAN HESSE, FLYING (5min) music composed by William Bolcomb and performed by Tomoko Mukaiyama
- THE EXHIBITION OF VANDALIZIM (47min) music composed and performed by Zim Ngqawana and Kyle Shepherd
Thursday, 10 March: LAMENTATIONS
- BLUE NOTES FOR BRA’ GEOFF (60min) music composed and performed by Vusi Mahlasela, Zim Ngqawana, Thabo Mashishi and many other SA jazz legends
- DIABELLI VARIATION XXXIII (5min)
- WESTERN 4.33 (32min)music composed and performed by Alec Empire, Terry Riley Sun Ra, John Cage and many others
Friday, 11 March: THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE
- THE LEGENDARY SYD KITCHEN IN “G-STRING BLUES” (32min) music composed by Aryan Kaganof and performed by Syd Kitchen
- THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY (5min)
- A WILLING SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF (3min)
- CLICK HERE TO UNSUSBSCRIBE (32min) music composed by Joel Assaizky and performed by AFRICAN NOISE FOUNDATION
For Bookings call Computicket at (021) 8097473
For a wide view of Aryan Kaganof's work visit the Kagablog
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Identity
"I can tell you that I really appreciate being this weird mix but truth be told, it would be easier to be one or the other. You may say that I am lucky, that I should be happy that I am an assortment of pleasures, don’t get it twisted, of course I am!! I know that I can only be me and me being the beautiful person that I am, I am proud. But you must remember that from a third person’s perspective, you may disregard the effects of being a combination of two rich and varying culture and that every one goes through their own difficulties their way. Firstly, I grew up the Tswana way as my mom educated and enriched me
with her African background. Throughout, however, I was continuously
picked at by my peers that I was either too light or my bum was not as round..."
~ Lerato Mmutle
This article continues here
with her African background. Throughout, however, I was continuously
picked at by my peers that I was either too light or my bum was not as round..."
~ Lerato Mmutle
This article continues here
Phyllis Hyman - the golden voice lost to suicide
"Hyman was working on what would be her last recording, ironically titled I Refuse to Be Lonely when she chose to take her own life on June 30, 1995, leaving behind a note that stated simply "I'm tired. I'm tired."
~ Professor Mark Anthony Neal on Phyllis Hyman's life an death.
For the full article on Hyman's life click here
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06 March, 2011
Powerful messages in Omoseye Bolaji’s People of the Townships
In the first read, Omoseye Bolaji's People of the Townships may trigger a sense of gloom and pessimism, despite the ‘witty’ and ‘cynical’ narration that carries the story. It may also lead one to severely vilify John Lefuo, the protagonist in this swift-moving ‘novella’ for being rather too harsh in his observations of the world he lives in. However, such a take on the events of this book may not be a wise move as many questions subsequently arise to caution against the folly of such conclusions. I mention this having been cautioned by these troubling questions which set off feelings of empathy towards John for resorting to violence after having spoken about ‘morals’ and ‘values’ so comprehensively. This empathy is not to condone his actions but to sympathise with the irony of his life that he may have constructed with an aid of his fellow community members.
The contents of this book may also urge one to look at the real life situations, perhaps in an attempt to draw parallels against Bolaji’s plot. The result of indulging this urge may cause panic and alarm, simply due to certain behavioural similarities between the characters in this book and the people we are or may know of in various kinds. The ground thus becomes shaky because the lines between fiction and reality become more blurred. As a result, the notion from the cynics of literature that fictional worlds are inaccurate and exaggerated falls by the wayside for those still undecided about the role of literary works. Like music, this fictional work seems to reflect part of our reality, the real world of people of flesh and blood with their ‘morals’ or ‘lack of’. The issue of ‘morals’ then become an even more delicate subject because different worlds exist.
In John’s world, ‘anarchy’ seems to be brewing steadily, fermenting with each encounter he has with his fellow community members as he relates his story. He seems to be upholding ‘morals’ and ‘values’. Even though he doesn’t enforce them, he advocates for them strongly through his narratives. It’s a pity that he ends up committing murder. Some readers may want to chastise him for this action, but this may not help much. In fact, John’s action may call for a much broader and deeper look into understanding what may have led him to the fateful action.
For the fear of turning out to be like John, who may have thought of himself as a citizen of ‘high moral standing’, allow me to henceforth use my words cautiously in examining the subject matter of this book. In fact, allow me to use questions and hypotheses in looking at the many unfolding tragedies in this work.
It may be obvious for those who have read the book that John saw himself in a certain light, perhaps as a ‘model citizen’, while others were not of ‘good conduct’. I think I need to tread carefully myself, lest I pass these hypotheses as factual findings. This of course, is to say that I may also have played a part in creating another John somewhere in my own community through my conduct. Perhaps readers of this book should attempt to assume a role of an anthropologist in order to fully address the extent of socio-cultural phenomena existent in the plot, by being participant observers in producing text for analysis. Therefore, my focus will not be on language and related structural matters, but the lament in this book that resonates with some of the places I’ve been to. I believe this type of approach may help us in fully comprehending the success and power that Bolaji presented this work with.
John is a man whose fellow community members may never understand. What he thought of them and of himself (self concept) may have very well been the root of his and others’ ‘problems’. This is a man who appeared to have made efforts of note in creating the self concept that he thought was ideal for him to exist in the midst of such ‘trying’ circumstances.
In spite of the challenges he faced, he managed to elevate himself to a position he found comfortable enough not to be swallowed by the darkness of his community. His eloquence and philosophy seem to have helped him have a sense of who he was, and may have whisked him away from the ills of his community into a world of his own. And because this happened, he may have subsequently been isolated into malicious thoughts. This man never saw himself as part of the soil which holds all the stories that he related and analysed with much detail. Perhaps this is what lead him to the atrocious act of murder in the first place, having boxed his fellow township dwellers into cartons of ‘drunkards’, ‘prostitutes’, ‘philanderers’ and ‘gossip mongers’ among others.
Perhaps there’s a subtle and simplistic literary vice that Bolaji uses to fix messages in his book into a position that would challenge our views of our very world. Indeed! This may also call for a probe into the benchmark that John used as a compass for his ‘moral conduct’. Perhaps this may be one of the keys we may unlock the innuendos behind John's tragedy, which may have started when he saw himself in the light that led him to carry on the way he did.
“I do not give a fig leaf about all the criticism, the snide comments, and the vilifications. I am not a criminal. I have not killed anybody, nor robbed anybody,” John says in the prologue of the book, seemingly pleased with the way he had turned out to be.
What seems to perpetuate this concept of the self is also how others react to him:
“Being more or less illiterate, it irritates my sisters so much to see me reading regularly and trying to broaden my mind. ‘He should be out and earning his keep,’ they say disingenuously. Actually I know that their main grouse against me, the fact that I am painfully poor, not able to give them money,” he says of his sisters’ impressions of him. This in itself begs for a critical look into the concept of identity, which together with other aspects of this ‘troubled’ life seem to have bred a conflict of such a high order in John, may help us understand the full extent of the social conditions of the characters in the People of the Townships.
Perhaps then, we may cease to look at John as an isolated ‘maniac’ of some form. Perhaps this may also help us come to terms with the many worlds we live in, particularly the one for the youth who are tasked with a big responsibility of steering the future of our world into a wiser and safer environment in the midst of many prevailing problems they face.
The late Nat Nakasa articulated this responsibility carried by young people quite clearly in his 1964 article; ‘Afrikaaner youth get a raw deal’, even though the circumstances that necessitated his thoughts were relevant to the socio-political state of South Africa then:
“Nobody, it seems, believes that the country can stay as it is. In the circumstances, one would expect the younger people of South Africa to be in the intellectual ferment. One would expect the students of Pretoria and Wits, of Fort Hare, Stellenbosch and the University of Cape Town to be asking bold and vital questions (as indeed many of them were until recently). But now there is little of this. We can hardly speak of South African youth, for there is nothing to distinguish young South Africa from the mass of the republic’s population, There are no trends which can be said to represent an advance on the thinking of our older generations,” Nat wrote thoughtfully, addressing the problem of his time.
The statement above could not have been more appropriate to the current conditions despite being expressed many years ago. But again, these are hypotheses and presumptions brought by the many messages hidden between the pages of People of the Townships.
Before we start condemning John for his supposed ‘insanity’ and sense of ‘despair’, perhaps we should ponder about the responsibilities we all carry in our own many worlds. Hypotheses or not, John’s ‘condition’ may call for a collective culpability.
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
A state of mind: A letter to the beloved Chief
“... I’m still very much enthusiastic about life, and I’m grateful for this mindset I have. If I don’t come across as vivacious enough, perhaps I’m feeling a lot of this from within. I listen a lot these days, more than I ever had done so before even though I had thought that I listened a lot back then. I suppose it’s a manifestation of this phenomenon, an abundance of abundance.
I listen to the sound of frustration, of heartache, of happiness and of all sorts of things under the sun. Mostly from people. I hope to translate those sounds into good and sincere stories one day – there are so many stories to tell. The more I listen the more I look deeper into myself – the more I probe the concept of me and how best I can build it into a sincere concept that would be more beneficial to me and the loved ones, acquaintances and friends alike.
Everything is in the state of equilibrium, even though it’s at different points in this cycle of continuation. Life as a learnt concept, begins to take newer forms, well, the same forms except they are more refined, clearer articulated. More explored and more paradoxical. Everything seems to be in circles, many forms that may take eternity to define. So, defining becomes a perilous act in these times, especially if the need is to truly understand the origins of concepts; to life in its wholeness. It becomes too vast and the plane assumes a treacherous nature. But the need to know, the need to fully understand and be in a complete state of harmony with this knowledge sustains the mind as it threatens to become weak from fatigue. Then life becomes full circle again, the concept of continuation and other forms more indefinable because defining them may pose all sorts of problems. The essence of this all is the peace of mind and tranquility that exists in my thoughts. I could reveal so much about these private thoughts, but allow me to cease, for the sake of not wanting to threaten full understanding. These thoughts are as vast as the ocean. Only time may permit their true exploration in text...”
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
Extracted from a private correspondence between me and my Chief.
I listen to the sound of frustration, of heartache, of happiness and of all sorts of things under the sun. Mostly from people. I hope to translate those sounds into good and sincere stories one day – there are so many stories to tell. The more I listen the more I look deeper into myself – the more I probe the concept of me and how best I can build it into a sincere concept that would be more beneficial to me and the loved ones, acquaintances and friends alike.
Everything is in the state of equilibrium, even though it’s at different points in this cycle of continuation. Life as a learnt concept, begins to take newer forms, well, the same forms except they are more refined, clearer articulated. More explored and more paradoxical. Everything seems to be in circles, many forms that may take eternity to define. So, defining becomes a perilous act in these times, especially if the need is to truly understand the origins of concepts; to life in its wholeness. It becomes too vast and the plane assumes a treacherous nature. But the need to know, the need to fully understand and be in a complete state of harmony with this knowledge sustains the mind as it threatens to become weak from fatigue. Then life becomes full circle again, the concept of continuation and other forms more indefinable because defining them may pose all sorts of problems. The essence of this all is the peace of mind and tranquility that exists in my thoughts. I could reveal so much about these private thoughts, but allow me to cease, for the sake of not wanting to threaten full understanding. These thoughts are as vast as the ocean. Only time may permit their true exploration in text...”
Deon-Simphiwe Skade
Extracted from a private correspondence between me and my Chief.
Magema Fuze
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| Image source: UKZN Press |
A review about this book, written by Mpikeleni Duma, appears here among other places. It was initially published in the Sowetan, 28, Feb, 2011.
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