2014 Chronicles: The Year of Drama.

Twenty years of freedom, much has changed and much still remains black and white like the monochromes which are really big and quite annoying (to a certain large extent) if you ask me this year.

After our rallying, staring at the votes being tallied, recovering from the shock of Gareth Cliff’s departure on national radio and ushering Lindiwe Mazibuko into her MBA journey, it was only appropriate to focus on things that were sidelined last year: booty. It comes with no surprise that the bum was in the leading front especially considering that ‘twerk’ found its way into the Oxford dictionary.

Besides the butt though, side chicks were also a very popular subject on #blacktwitter. Most if not all girls were declared side chicks by their tweets or avatars. We went on talking or trying to pin point side dishes but never really had a chance to dissect the subject of side chicks or their  undeniable and not fully understood or ‘accepted’ role. So the subject is still somewhat hanging.

Boitumelo ‘Boity’ Thulo did not only trend for her booty but she sadly trended for having worn the exact same dress as Mama Rebecca Malope, a gospel artist whose probably 30+ years her senior at the South African music awards. Fashion critics say Boity needs a stylist because even her Channel O music awards dress looked like something my mom would have bought at ‘Sales House’ donkey years ago. But that was all none of my business like the very Kermit who took our social media platforms by a hardcore truth which remains none of his business till this day.

Another unbelievable chronicle was that of Linda Sibiya, one of the greatest indigenous language radio jocks of my time being fired from the biggest radio station in Africa – Ukhozi FM without explanation or a send off party. No one was ready for this, it was one of those ‘now you hear me, now you don’t’ moments that leave nothing but unanswered questions behind.  

And then there were some background concert organisers failing to bring Nicki Minaj to South Africa. I’m not sure what’s the story there but it was an epic fail nonetheless.

Onto more serious chronicles; the death of the ‘legendary’ Eddie Zondi. It was a great loss for South African radio especially those who knew him and those who thought they knew him through the wonderful technology that is radio waves. May his soul find everlasting peace. And we’re glad that no loose cannon emerged from twitter claiming to have been carrying his child like it happened to Trevor Noah.

Let’s not forget the biggest beef since the west-side and the east-side saga; the Cassper Nyovest and AKA rival, remembering that we don’t quite know how it really started but the gun blazing subtweets and punchlines are definitely noticeable and a game changer (or a dosage of annoyance).

Another drama this year was that of our girl Bonang B* Matheba and Poppy coconut Ntshongwana, ladies we know a smack down happened there and hairs were pulled we just wish someone had caught it on camera for our eyes to witness. However we’re so glad that y’all sealed that deal with a selfie. Y’all deserve a crown.

Speaking of crowns, Thuli Mandonsela did not only gain momentum in the social scenes but she became famous and a role model. She now has a few awards under her pile of investigations. Congratulations Thuli.

I hope for as long as we live, we won’t forgot Judge Thokozile Masipa who unexpectedly gave us a lesson on law. She failed dismally because we’re still in the dark about ‘dolus eventualis’ and why Oscar Pistorius is a culpable homicidis and not a murderer. Anyway, we know one thing; Reeva Steenkamp is dead because Oscar Pistorius shot her four times in a toilet cubicle. What a bustard!

Mbulaeni Mulaudzi. Rest in peace champion.

Oscar Pistorius unlike Shrien Dewani, finally going to jail where he rightfully belongs. The sad part is rumours of him getting ‘special’ treatment which somehow is not a surprise in this country of ours where money can speak louder than any words in most given scenarios.

EFF stirring the ship of havoc in parliament, I can’t really tell whether this was the beginning of change or the commencement of a joke that is now our parliament or perhaps validation that we’re indeed a banana republic. Either way I now totally get where Baleka Mbete’s phuza face stems from. The nearest shebeen would be anyone’s first stop after calling grown ass people who refuse to obey into order.

By the way, ‘Black Twitter News’ is still going strong if you’re interested on something new.

In all the adventures that Julius Malema is to embark on, I hope he doesn’t forget that Fikile Mbalula is ‘Mr Miyagi’ to him. Speaking of Mbalula, I hope he gets the social butterfly of the year award at the feather awards.


I don’t have the updates about the boycotting of woolworths which turned into the boycotting of pick ‘n pay, many South Africans, who are convoluted like me, don’t really understand the theory behind the two boycotts and aren’t even bothered about studying it either for they happily continue flooding the stores especially this time of the year.

Ebola, I’ve got no words for this culprit the same way I have no words for TB Joshua and his church of all nations.

The death of Senzo Meyiwa (may his soul rest in peace). That was sad and created an amphitheatre of speculations, finger pointing, tantrum throwing and tons of swearing. The cherry on top was as created by social media platformist’s #notsenzosdad and the #samfie. Social media platformists, especially #blacktwitterists and #blackfacebookers went buck wild.

#Bringbackbhekicele sources haven’t yet confirmed whether social platformists are bored of Piyega’s blank stares which are always accompanied by a residing hairline or they are just fed up with her inability to be proactive. Either way, its christmas on the 25th and each of you is liable to a gift which you are to purchase with your hard earned peanuts.

Steve Hofmeyr claiming that ‘blacks’ were the architects of apartheid. I really can’t say if he’s smoking something bad, needs to un-Steve himself, or its just his brain cells deteriorating. Anyway, that twar (which somehow landed in court) with our adopted #blacktwitter news anchor ‘Chester Missing’ was unnecessary Steve and will never un-Steve your boer racist ass.  

Gareth Cliff saying Senzo Meyiwa didn’t deserve a state funeral. We acknowledge and most importantly appreciate the practise of freedom of speech but not when we’re still in practice of our freedom to moan. Locate your chill Gareth please.

We usually throw tantrums, especially in January when we realise that we were not only generous with food but with the money to send kids back to school on that aunt who only comes to visit once in ten years as well. The ANCYL did us some marvel by throwing chairs, whether this was to determine the chairman or express dissatisfaction, its still not clear.

Kelly Khumalo, did some of y’all expect her to hibernate after Senzo Meyiwa’s death even though she has a sizzling single? You might not like her but ‘asinne’ is a dope track.

The come back of the secretly anticipated #GenerationsLegacy. What a confusing first episode, I guess its true what they say, anticipation is the bearer of the greatest disappointment. The second episode was much better so for that reason, we shall drink to hopefully more exciting episodes.

2014 chronicles are not chronicle enough if Eskom remains unmentioned. Let me just say this, Eskom you really, really suck but I kinda like the load shedding in shopping centres simple because it represents a good projection on my bank balance, until your projected 13% increase on electricity tariffs kicks in of course.

I hope Cassper Nyovest and Amanda Du Pont’s kiss seals the deal for much longer than the Mamphele Ramphele and Helen Zille kiss. Speaking of which, compatriots, where is Agang?


***For general enquiries sake, the above chronicles are in anything BUT chronological order of occurrence because when things happen in my country, there’s everything but chronological order.


The Month-end Township Prayer

I’ve never lived in any renowned township or any fully fledged township either. But I have visited one if not two well recognised townships of my beloved rainbow nation.

With my observing techniques, I can without a doubt tell you that month end is a big deal in townships, not only because the thieves are out in numbers or because a group of females paying a visit to the neighbour’s house across the road is a suspected secret stokvel meeting but the mood on the streets is on a level of a different kind.

There are very short mini-skirts here, beers passing from one hand to the next there and a neighbours kid knocking on a door asking for their mother’s long overdue ‘parcel’ over there.

The jukebox is playing all the songs with a heavy bass line, inducing dance moves from the little kids playing on the streets. The spaza shop that is slowly turning into a tavern is opened for twenty four hours and by dawn, you’re bound to hear some off-tune gospel hymns sang by the now very drunk citizens.

Kombi’s are working overtime (read speeding) and giving very little if any damn at all about the potholes, your groceries spilling out of grocery bags or your head bumping the kombi’s roof everytime the kombi makes contact with a speed hump.

Gossip ring leaders are camping outside their mother’s houses scanning every passerby, their outfit, what they’re carrying and have a feast out of their personal story or just create one if there isn’t any.

Loan sharks are on every corner making sure no one crosses their line.

However, everything that happens in townships, even the ones who struggle to be townships, is the prayer of most if not all township dwellers.

This prayer is either prayed internally or in pure action, never out loud;

Our month end who is at the end of the week, hallowed be thy weekend, thy drunkenness come, thy will be done on Friday immediately after work. Give us the long queues, including our beloved KFC and forgive us Edgars for your bills will remain in arrears. Our kids shall knock on doors of those who owe us ‘parcels’. Lead us not into mashonisa’s den but deliver us at the nearest shebeen. For yours is the hangover on Sunday, skipping church and trying to catch up on sleep. The realisation come and thy weekend vanished with our money. Roads lead to ‘Pep loan’ (Capfin) for partying to ‘towner‘ has left us forgetting about our kid’s overdue school fees. We regret you for now and we shall eat bread with no butter until next month end come. Amen.

This prayer is another form of a ‘sad black story’ (there are many of those in townships of South Africa); many talents are never nurtured, too much time is wasted on nothing, skills are neglected, opportunities are missed and many (sometimes unnecessary) debts are created due to a variety of things including inferiority complex and a lack in desire to seek relevant information. Hence we solely rely on a singular source of income that is not only dissatisfactory but never enough to sustain even an average living standard. This is a pit hole we need to rise above from at a much more faster rate than we’re doing right now.

Do You Address or Disregard Silent Treatment?

They suggest that ‘sometimes’ silence is possibly the most powerful scream and serves as an indication of something being terribly wrong. I agree and also adduce that silence is sometimes the killer of its bearer.

Shutting your voice does not promise that you will be heard for silent treatment does not always translate the message intended.

As an occasional loud mouth and a typical analyst I’m more likely to observe things that people prefer to keep under their never to be discovered scarred past. And its never easy bringing such matters in the forefront because you are likely to end up a loner by circumstance.

Regardless I still maintain one thing; I don’t do silent protests. When something’s up I will make it crystal clear so there is no room for speculation. This goes hand in hand with mastering the art of speaking your mind and upsetting people in the process.

Silent treatments are monstrous and compelling creatures. My first ‘serious’ experience was as weird as all silent treatments go, I think. And I can also attest to learning absolutely nothing from this encounter.

Hence I recently got served my second serious relish of zero words. The silent was deafening – it exuded stillness of greatest annoyance. That was possibly the whole idea. But to add to my already ongoing series of convolutions, I’m still unclear as to what was meant to happen or perhaps what was I meant to do.

I begged (mind you I’m great at that) pleaded until the doors of the mouth opened and a voice came out – unexpectedly. I was shocked for a moment. And when we started talking again I wasn’t sure whether to apologise some more or continue with life as though all was forgotten.

I’ve however learnt something from the incident; people silent treat you because they are either completely fed up with you or completely do not have the capacity to handle the truth.

I don’t argue with the way each person expresses displeasure but I don’t like guessing if I’m the culprit or you’re just fed up with life – it happens.

So if this gigantic silent monster comes my way in the near future I’m still not yet certain how to handle it or if I should even handle it.

Therefore my question is: how does one handle silent treatment?

Who are We Meant to be ‘DEFENDING Madiba’s Legacy’ Against?

Madiba's legacy at stake?

is Madiba’s legacy at stake?
picture by photographer Sandile Makhoba

This poster is doing the rounds all over KZN and I happen to have a question or two about it.

It could be just the rebellious, ignorant and misinformed self in me speaking but this poster to me looks like a declaration of war.

Otherwise, what are we supposed to be DEFENDING Madiba’s legacy against?

If we are meant to be defending the legacy by means of protecting it and continue to strive for what Mandela portrays and stood for, why is Jacob Zuma on the poster?

Hence I ask, WHO are WE meant to be’defending’ Madiba’s legacy against?

South Africa in 2013; Critical but Stable Conditions

‘Critical but stable’ this phrase was so overused at some point in this country in the year 2013, it’s a shame that it hasn’t been added to any new revised versions of famous South African phrases compilations.

For the sake of not letting the phrase go into waste, I have created my own critical but stable conditions that shook our country this year alone. Without any further blabbing let us get into these conditions:

>>>>Sheryl Cwele, I know I’m unlucky but that girl must have really displeased whichever god she kneels down to. I mean the not so poor girl was only trying to make a quick illegal buck on the side. Drug trafficking of a high profile municipal official and wife of the STATE SECURITY minister, drew eyes from all parts of South African persons – even backyard vendors who are sometimes drug dealers in their own right had some awe to express. Talk about a debatable high profile mess. Speaking of which, somebody should send her a fairly expensive bottle of whiskey – I know y’all comrade’s generosity with alcohol, especially this season.

>>>>On a more serious note, do you remember the Limpopo textbooks scandalous scenario? Whoa! At least Lady Angie is still standing or maybe sitting, whichever the case, she must be thanking the Gupta’s for taking the spot light away from her. We of course patiently await the matric results of the Limpopo province.

>>>>Speaking of the Gupta’s, by the way those Indians can really stir disruption. Their plane created one massive critical and sadly unstable South Africa, till this day, some of us want the truth, others know the truth and the rest think they know the truth. We all however have managed to forget one seriously critical matter about South Africa and the truth – they do not correlate. Anyway, is the plane landing again anytime soon? It’s the season to be jolly after-all, and by the looks of the pictures, the Gupta’s can certainly throw a good party or perhaps a wedding.

>>>>Not that I’m any saint but the words; brief encounter, resemble a very sombre and apologetic face of Zwelinzima Vavi in my head – I should probably stop thinking such about my country’s elders, I was after all not raised like this. I’m not chuckling. Nonetheless, what is Vavi’s occupation at the moment?

>>>>The Mandela feud, wow that was like generations meets the days of our lives meets scandal with a pinch of isidingo and a side plate of rhythm city – a bold and ugly bowl of truth served at a conveniently wrong time. It’s so disappointing to see that the family is still on a rebellious mode, not that I didn’t expect it though.

>>>>Now to something that we’re all more than spectators of; e-Tolls, if you’ve ever heard of a series of spiralling out of control events, the subject of e-tolls is exactly that and I thought for a minute, here is something which like the 2010 world cup, will unite South Africans once more, well except for those who were for the ‘damn thing’. However, the so called damn thing is in operation and I can bet with my pay check that there is one soul who was certain that they won’t buy an e-tag, but conveniently sits an e-tag is their bag – South Africans I love y’all. Through all that unsatisfactory, trust Gedlie to make fun of an infuriating subject.

>>>>Jacob Gedlie Zuma, as we South Africans know, our president cannot only hold a note (from leth’ umshini wam’ to yinde le ndlela) but he’s also a man of humour. “This is not some national road in Malawi” whatever the meaning of that, I’m sure you never intended for it to become the dark humour that it became. Thank you my black president for all the confusion, next time, please chose something close to home, like; this is not some national road in Nkandla. Now that’s a good one.

>>>>Which brings me to the Nkandlagate, now this is one tale that is fairly intriguing yet still maintaining a high bulk of confusion at the same time. When it comes to the Nkandla saga, I suspect one ginormous untold story that shall remain untold until that which happens to untold stories happens – people who are meant to tell them die just when the thought of writing a blog post comes into their mind, so I think.

>>>>Still on the subject of Gedlie, our beloved president, is he finally going to resign? This must be some kind of déjà vu for many parliament officials. I hope somebody writes something a hundred times more compelling than the ‘30 days in September’ by Frank Chikane. That would be one award winning piece of written material; the Americans could do a movie on it too.

>>>>Speaking of movies, how well did the ‘Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom’ do in South African cinemas, considering the rate of piracy and the fact that we South African don’t go to the movies as often as we should? Can we discuss the storyline execution?

>>>>Mandela’s passing. Mandela, I’m sure even the earth stood still for a moment when it heard the news, that was the case with most of us as denial and doubt clouded our reality. May his soul rest in peace and I hope he found that ANC branch in heaven and joined it.

Oh by the way, what was the case with Desmond Tutu, the ruling party and the funeral?

>>>> How can I not mention the story of Anene Booysen. This has got to be the most gruesome story of our time; the reality which we live in. May her soul find peace and rest in heavenly harmony

On a more lighter but critical condition, it’s the party season, the silliest of seasons, ladies hold on to your man, allow not the alcohol to take your position. Otherwise, let us be carefree and careful whilst we secretly prepare for the rallies and canvassing campaigns in 2014. For the purposes of those campaigns, be ready with your dancing shoes, vuvuzela’s and some vocal chords for booing.

Finally, I am Ready to Vote…Again

“The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty unsexy ways, every day.” David Foster Wallace.

I am part of a fairly large proportion of young South Africans, who did not only misunderstood (some still misunderstand) the concept behind voting but also despised the whole process completely. After digesting the words of Sir David Foster Wallace, I realised the heroine I needed to be for my descendants.

When the voter registration dates drew closer, conversations about voting enormously increased. As it was the case study of many young South Africans, the moment I heard anything synonymous with voting, I shunned my ears and hopped into Twitter where something to laugh about and forget your reality is bound.

Now that I think about it, there is nothing increasingly annoying than a corrupt official telling you about your right to vote when the only thing they are in point of fact concerned about is who you vote for, with their party having to be your first priority, of course.

I always thought to myself, what is the point of this entirely unbeneficial (bearing in mind that I’m like everyone else and I tend to sometimes forget the good moments a person brought through one mistake) process. The reality of the appalling percentage of corrupt state officials and malice in my country completely clouded my judgement and nearly deprived me of a beautiful tale I could through pen, paper and interwebs, foretell my generations.

I will not for a second lie to you, this has been an extremely too long a contemplation process, especially that 2013 has been an unfriendly son of the soil type of a year to me. Living through all kinds of villain engineered forces; from being a statistic of severe depression, undergoing the excruciating throb of unemployment, abuse and crime – to such a high degree that at some point I was left bag-less – minutes before my important presentation, where my whole life, including every legal document a citizen needs to have and two cell-phones (not contactable too) gone in a split second, being worried about being a victim of fraud, to being alive and hating South Africa and the criminals, who are in all ways my brothers and sisters. I have finally decided that I will vote.

I will, with pride and maybe a bit of sunburn or perhaps some wet clothes, on a date still yet to be announced, be shuffling forward in a queue which by the grace of politicians, will move in a speed of light, to cast my vote. For with a better understanding, I am now ready to do so.

Ready does not in any form imply that I believe for a second that there is one political party affiliated individual with ideas, vigour and prowess to overcome the atrocious state of malevolence and detestation we South Africans find ourselves in. It just simply means that I am ready to face the stones and hardships of being a proud and active citizen.

I will vote for I have realised a privilege behind marking an X near somebody whom I’m naïve enough to believe that they will bring change in a split second – that’s how we’re taught to think in this country. Either way, it does not take away from the fact that voting is a significant part of being a citizen in my country. As I know it, voting does not deliver instant change, if any change at all, but it gives the voter a new perspective, a new hope, a new drive and a new understanding.

I remember the first time I voted. It was a different experience. I had anticipated it, called my then boyfriend and he advised me on whom to vote for, not a very political opinion I must say. But I enjoyed it, the fact that I was finally a citizen whose activities were going to be counted. There was a level of excitement that I cannot put into words. All I remember is a smile in my heart that blossomed unto my face and the mounting joy when I actually did the process. It was inspiring. The mysterious X letter holds the victory of my forefathers, those who’s strength, persistence and will-power lives through the supremacy of expressing who you are and what you stand for as an individual. As I stood in the ballot box, I realised that voting ignites the love and belief one has for their country.

I will vote, as a sign of respect and salutation to my forefathers. It is my way of crafting them a gift card, acknowledging and thanking them for taking care of the land and the world which belongs to us. It is my promise that I am willing and will do everything I can to make this world a better place which as the poet once recited, belongs to our descendants. I want my generations to draw inspiration from me, the same way I’m drawing inspiration from the heroes and heroines who are my forefathers/mothers.

Through my vote I will continue the struggle, as our beloved Rolihlahla Nelson Mandela said; the long walk continues. Oh Nelson Mandela that is one man capable of a grand entrance and an outstanding departure, God bless him; may his soul rest in peace. I hope for the devious deeds of politics and politicians, we do not encounter any; ‘do it for Mandela’ type of political canvassing campaigns.

Before this whole thing starts to get boring, I would like for my compatriots, who’ve not yet registered to vote, to chew on Coretta Scott-King’s words; freedom is never really won. You earn it and win it in every generation. That is what we have not taught young people, or older ones for that matter. You do not finally win a state of freedom that is protected forever. It doesn’t work that way.

My fellow youngsters, I would like all of you to contemplate about the kind of nation you want your future generations to look back to. And always remind yourselves to take part in your own country and be proud of where you come from so that your generations will be proud that they stem from your withins. If however, you plan not to vote, bear this in mind; if you are bored and disgusted by politics and don’t bother to vote, you are in effect voting for the entrenched establishments of the two major parties, who please rest assured are not dumb, and who are keenly aware that it is in their interests to keep you disgusted and bored and cynical and to give you every possible reason to stay at home doing one-hitters and watching MTV on primary day. By all means stay home if you want, but don’t bullshit yourself that you’re not voting. In reality, there is no such thing as not voting: you either vote by voting, or you vote by staying home and tacitly doubling the value of some Diehard’s vote. By David Foster Wallace.

I RESPECT Black People and I Just HATE Their Ways

I was going about my daily routine when I stumbled across this horrific update on my Twitter timeline; I respect black people and I just hate their ways. I couldn’t contain myself and posed a question; is it really possible to HATE and RESPECT someone at the same damn time?

I felt annoyed and the fire spiraling inside me was slowly exceeding the boiling point. I really needed to understand the possible odds of hating somebody but possessing, at the same level, the needed composure that can enable you to respect them.

The question that followed in my mind was; what is a ‘black way’? Which pathways can solely remain the property of the black people? How come these tracks have precisely remained to the black community? What constituents of these ‘ways’ deprive them the might to crossover to other race groups?

I was disturbed and flabbergasted at the same time, bearing in mind that this sentence was the art work of a person from the so called ‘coloured’ nation, a minority tribe in the South African country, which one way or the other, most of its people if not all, have a pure black-African gene in their DNA constituents.

Hate, if my understanding served me the right dish, is a deep or an intense dislike towards an individual, entities objects and so forth. So, how possible is it to deeply dislike the ways of someone whilst giving them your utmost respect (positive feeling of esteem)?

Being the rural, old-fashioned individual that I am, I would like, in all forms of comprehension available, to understand the likelihood of applying and maybe expressing both respect and hate towards a person at the same life, time and context.

I could be ignorant and chances are, I would contest not anybody who can call me that. However, in my own little, almost non existing world, I do not for a millisecond believe that hate and respect can be extended for a person at the same time. I strongly believe that if one hates the things you do, the odds of that person respecting you, if in existence, are highly negligible.

Truth be told: I’ve had it with the non black skinned people and their constant acts of hiding away from the fact that they don’t like the rise and increase of the black nation in their vicinity. Henceforth they are in rival with the world in all aspects and thus feel the need to prove their now endangered superordinate over their black co-equals who are anything but inferior.

I really think we need to be transparent with ourselves, if it happens by any chance, that you’re not fond of black people to a degree so great it bears hate, then just come out with it and immediately after that find a nice little hole where you won’t find a black soul and live in peace with yourself.

Relocating to a location with non-black people can do so much for your life, other than constantly striving to provoke disconsolation and inferiority to the black community which is at this day highly goal orientated and ambition driven.

I think we’ve reached a state where we can accept if you say; ‘I’m non-black and I’m racist’ and or maybe in the name of being subtle admit that you ‘deeply admire and believe in the practices of tribalism’. We will ignore you and move on. After all, we’re tearing down the walls of inferiority that bounded our forefathers. And we also understand that most of you are not hundred percent comfortable with that.

Oh and by the way, in all your practices of avoiding the fact that you’re racist, please spare me the ‘I have black friends’ ridiculous sentence and just admit that you’re racist.