Apartheid

Sophiatown

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Sophiatown

Wonderful story, great sets and the best Jazz music, I recognized the coal stove, worn out door and cohabitation associated with being from the township. A stadium of people can coexist and live together in a 4 room house and that’s the case in this story. Maybe not a stadium but family, extended relatives, girlfriend and close friend. Jewish girl moves in and is welcomed to the family. I love the family dynamic, makes the characters relatable as you can see yourself in their image, it forces you to care for the characters and stay engaged with the story, the conversations are hearty, free flowing and feel natural, dialogue funny, witty, serious, heartfelt and emotional. The show had everything, it was supremely entertaining. There’s a lot of range, textures and layers to the acting. For the most part the show is comedic but it does get threatening and dramatic. I cared for the characters, I saw my sister, mother, father and uncle. The gangster was humanized in a way I had not seen since “The Sopranos”, we got to see what the protagonist is usually like with his family, that made him a bit likeable despite the fact that he is a bad person with questionable morality. Like on “The Sopranos”, his family are enablers of the lifestyle. The mother welcomes a life of crime since his son gives him money. The gangster’s girlfriend, Princess is textbook Carmella Soprano with the lavish lifestyle and like Carmella, she is manipulated and bought with jewelry. She stays in the relationship despite the physical and emotional abuse. She is labeled “A princess of the slums” and as such, she has to take all the abuse, she has no other place to go, she has no other options, she’s living a good life, she’s in, she’s in! For most of the show, it feels like a sitcom, the live Jazz band controls the tempo and creates the feel, the 1954 Sophiatown jazz feel, love the costumes, the double breasted suits, cane’s and hats, it is gentlemanly and gives intellectual vibes. The actors on the stage were amazing, they were convincing, they were in sync, they had chemistry, they had a lot of enthusiasm and were animated and lively. They looked like they were having a lot of fun, they connected deeply with their characters. My favorite character is Lulu, the school girl, she’s funny and I appreciate her perspective. I enjoyed the gangsters performance, he had the crowd at the palm of his hand, he is violent, a bully, exhibits preditory behavior, manipulative and an overall bad person. Oh well, what do you expect from a gangster? Yes he is a family man but a gangster nonetheless. Great cheographed moves with wonderful melodic and harmonic singing, the band are amazing throughout, they are hidden for most part of show by the set (Shacks/Informal settlements) but they are revealed to the audience when Sophiatown is bulldozed to the ground. The depiction of the township is so accurate with the loud dogs and music, it made chuckle. In the end, everybody moves out or to be precise is forced out! Even Princess snaps out the trance she was in and figures she deserves better. Segregation and apartheid prevails and the white Jewish girl moves to Yeoville, ending the chance at romance with her black writer intellectual, the gangsters righthandman Charlie, is forced to live in pipes under a bridge because he is colored and can’t move to Meadowlands. One day gets knifed to death courtesy of a fight he was involved in. The rest of the family gets relocated to Meadowlands. Their movers are unsympathetic, insensitive Dutch men who are on a schedule and don’t negotiate with anyone, they just bring everything down! Having identified with the core characters for more than 2 hours, you feel their pain and helplessness at the situation. In the end they all lost. Amazing story with authentic characters played by actors who executed optimally.

Master Harold… and the boys

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Master Harold… and the boys

On the square for the opening of “Master Harold… ” and the Boys. Filled to the brim, no space. Celebrities, celebrities, swimming all around, it’s a serious day for theatre, three performers at the top of their game delivering a Athol Fugard classic, RIP.

The story started off light with a comedic tone, with Willie and Sam conversing about the upcoming ballroom competition. Willie has high hopes of winning but he doesn’t have a partner. He beats his beloved Hilda, too much and too hard. Sam comes off as an expert. He teaches Willie a couple of moves. Hally, a white 17 year old, comes in and the atmosphere and relationship dynamic changes. Willie positions himself in the background, cleaning, keeping things moving. He calls Hally master. Hally even admonishes him and beats him with his ruler. Sam is more liberated, they talk about Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace, Charles Darwin, Kites, and Dostoevsky. They seem familiar, they are in sync, there’s an understanding and then everything switches. Racism, hate, apartheid, I am better than you Kaffer, spilling this bottle of alcohol on the floor because I can, clean it up! Also you gonna have to start calling me master Harold, Kaffer. All bridges get burned when Hally does the unthinkable and spits on Sam’s face. Everything shatters, there’s no going back, what’s done is done. The play takes place in a small tea shop on a rainy afternoon. You hear the raindrops and we have the added sensation of seeing the rain. The rain sets the mood, it’s depressing, they do their best to amuse themselves, they are trapped in one room, Hally’s father is a cripple and his mother currently at the hospital, the mask peels off.

Sello Maake ka-Ncube plays Sam, a waiter at the coffee shop.

Daniel Anderson is “Hally”, oh sorry, master Harold.

Lebohang Motaung is “Willie”, the other waiter/cleaner.

Set designer by Wilhelm Disbergen, an awesome set that evoked the 1950s.

This is such a powerful show. Hats off to Daphne Kuhn and Theatre on the square for yet another banger! It starts off nice and slow and then it hits you with a vice grip. You can’t go anymore, you are trapped, there is nowhere to go. It’s triggering. An outstanding performance from the performers who told the story masterfully. Daniel Anderson shocked me to my core today.

Congratulations to Warona Seane and the whole team for a great show and a deserved standing ovation.

Pieces of me

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Pieces of me

I was at the Market Theatre for the opening of “Pieces of me” by Bo Petersen. A poignant play about family, belonging, race and identity. Set in the era of apartheid, the story world is plagued by inequality, segregation and racism. A time of the bompass, when you had to carry your identification documents at all times to gain access to parts of the country. This law severely limited the movements of black South Africans and was viciously enforced by the police with violence and jail time being norm for perpetrators who didn’t have their identification documents at hand. A time of Prohibition of mixed marriages act, an act that made it illegal for a white person to marry any other race, the immortality act, an act that barred sexual relations between whites and non-whites, transgressors could face up to 7 years in prison and the infamous Group Areas act that designated certain areas for certain races among other stringent, harsh and unfair acts.

Pieces of me explores Bo’s life, about how her father classified as “colored” marries her mother classified as “white” and the emotional toll of having to live in secrecy because of the laws imposed on them. After falling in love and having having 5 children together, her father passes off as white, a lie if discovered could send him to prison for 10 years and destroy the family.

Bo Petersen tells the story from different perspectives, her father’s, aunts and grandmother, breaking the fourth wall at times to talk to the audience to make them feel what she felt. The message is powerful and emotive. The acting unbelievable! She also enacts the roles of her aunt, father and grandmother. She is a great storyteller and inhabits all the stage. She is expressive with her body, language and overall demeanor. The set although minimalistic is effective. The hanging suit serves as a homage to her father, it has a presence, a spirit of its own and Bo interacts with it. The lighting nuanced and intimate. Christopher Petersen plays the keyboard and he sets the tone for the play, working alongside Bo to curate the story throughout.

Powerful story.
Powerful performer.

Congratulations Royston Stoffels for a great show and a deserved standing ovation.

You strike a woman, you strike a rock!

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You strike a woman, you strike a rock!

SamSays delivered the through ball and I controlled and finessed for the match ball, hatrick! I deliver over and over again. Thank you Sam, SamSays on the credits.

I was at Joburg Theatre to watch “You strike a woman, you strike a rock” (Wathint’ abafazi, wathint’ imbokotho). Live theatre at the highest level. The play is set in the Apartheid era, PW Botha is the president, the story world is plauged by inequality, social injustice and poverty. The story opens with a Helicopter scattering, hovering and surveilling the location. The residents hate the roaming Helicopter, they call it a bird, they see it for what it is, spying, surveillance by the government. They curse and swear at every time it features in the show. This describes the relationship the people of the story have with the  government and unjust system. It’s hate, resentment, they feel oppression and utter contempt for the system. We are introduced to the three main characters in a typical market in the Transkei. Children and chaos co-existing in the market, Mambhele and Mampompo sell chickens and Sdudla sells oranges and vetkoeks. They all operate their stalls illegally without permits or permission. The threat of the police or authority is ever present. It’s a woman’s world and men are hardly present. These women fight on a daily to secure their families future, money is tough to get and they work hard. Seeing that opportunities for money are few in the Transkei, they move to a township in Cape Town. In the world of the township, violence prevails as the unrest is prevalent. It is a story-world that is not fair for women, they are easily fired from work by their white employers for coming late, their transport issues not factored in, they are sexually abused for standing up for themselves at the farms and deadbeat unemployed husband’s drink away the family’s money at the shebeen. Despite everything, the women stand strong and they miraculously prevail in this unjust, unequal and in different world.

Money and survival are paramount in this world, we see Mambhele practically prostituting herself to sell chickens, letting her customers interact and touch her inappropriately, boob grabs and just about anything that gets the job done. Mampompo is notorious for robbing his customers change and hiking up prices. Sdudla is surprisingly level headed out of the three. It is physical theatre at its best, sounds of chickens and objects in the play are mimicked to perfection. The performers created a realistic environment, we were transported to their world. They imitated chickens, busses, babies, windows, knocks on doors and the protests on the streets. They have tremendous stage presence and chemistry. They know each other instinctively and intuitively on the stage, they just flow, they just play. They fully embodied their characters on the stage, it was convincing, humorous, wholesome and relatable.The characters are 3 dimensional, they have hopes, dreams and fears. The conversations and interactions felt natural. The play is in English but has an Eastern Cape dialect, you can hear the Xhosa accent and undertone. The characters are alive, they are real, they exist. The performance and acting is just incredible! The performers have incredible range, they were serious, humorous, tearful, excited and Ziaphora even regressed to a child. Incredible endurance and stamina too – a lot happened, they created magic, they were simply amazing.

Barileng Malebye plays Mambhele, Keitumetse ‘Kitty’ Moepang plays Mampompo and Ziaphora Dakile is Sdudla. Excellence all around, live theatre at its very best.

Congratulations Rorisang Motuba and the whole team and a deserved standing ovation.

Kaffers, Negros and Jews

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Kaffers, Negros & Jews.

There’s something funny about blatant racism, it’s not disguised like a mask or make-up for a George Lucas film, it’s in your face like a pimple, it’s direct like counterattack, the message is simple, you are beneath me like limbo. Humor centers around human nature, humor is human nature, it humanizes, it is tragic and like life a comedy. Humor is used to communicate superiority, it is a mechanism for suppression. Humor is used for relief. Humor is about inferiority. Mein Kampf is your definitive example of humor. Hitler is a bad motherfucker who blames the injustices of life on the Jews, he makes them the butt of the joke. He is small, petty and hateful. He calls the Jews bloodsuckers among other things. He is Hell’s orator, handpicked by the Devil himself. He propogates an image of fifth and unworthiness. Thank God he’s not a Jew, he’s perfect and was chosen by God and natural selection, the hypocrisy of it all! Like hey, “my God has a bigger dick than yours so I am going to kill your whole people”. Human nature is such a humorous subject. Apartheid is the funniest topic of them all – honorable mention the KKK, they have a flag, a uniform and burn crucifixes. Led by Dr. Daniel Malan, it is oppression at its finest. Imagine a political campaign centered around the term “Swart gevaar” which translates to “Black is dangerous”! The National Party fought the election on the twin slogans of “Die kaffer op sy plek” (the nigger in his place) and “Die koelies uit die land” (Indians back to India). Straight out of a scene from Mississippi Burning. 12 Years a Slave and Barry Jenkins’ Underground Railroad deserve a mention. I am convinced apartheid was a beef based on dick sizes, you know the stereotype about Africans and their cannons and whites with their palette guns. Where do you think the term “Mandingo” comes from? No it doesn’t originate from Tarantino’s “Django Unchained”. It comes from white racist slave owners to refer to the blacks huge dicks. All racism is a psychological phenomenon about dick sizes. I have additional proof, read Freudian Psychology, it’s a sensitive issue, whites are insecure about size. It’s only natural that the Kaffers and Koelies become butt of the joke, the punchline. You detect a bit of Nazi? You’re right! The National Party refused to support Great Britain and publicly sympathized with Nazi Germany. Dr. Daniel Malan serving as South Africa’s Adolf Hitler! As the Nationalists put it, “Die wit man moet altyd baas wees” (The white man must always remain boss). This is definitely about dick sizes, like “we hate everyone operating 9 inche equipment”! It’s so unfortunate that every man of color is classified in the 9 inche category, death by stereotype. To Hitler & Dr. Malan, I empathize with you big dicks must be intimidating! The insecurity makes me tear up, like a girl with small tits who supplements them to make them look bigger. The blatant oppression is a punchline on its own like “Big lips one side and whites to the otherside”, that’s the only criterion, that dictates your future.

I once had a teacher in high school who had a student stand-up in class and asked “You know what’s the difference between you and me?”. He held a pencil vertical to the students nose and the pencil touched his lips. Horrified a couple of us let out a nervous and uncomfortable laugh. It was a joke that bombed. The class wasn’t impressed considering it was a dig at all of us, we were Kaffers and he was Afrikaner. It wasn’t like Ms. Morello on “Everybody hates Chris”, she’s naively racist, but actually funny and she genuinely loves Chris (not really). I have to admit I like the character of Ms. Morello even though she’s a racist, she knows a lot about black culture, is enthusiastic and cheerful and let’s not forget dates black guys. Still her stereotypes are brutal, I am often torn apart between laughing and being flabbergasted. She’s the only racist with a green card in my book and like Chris, I can let her comments slide. Quite clearly she’s ignorant but she usually means well, I detect empathy in her tone of voice, she attempts to be understanding, she is not a malicious person, maybe passive aggressive and condescending but it’s a sitcom, I appreciate the work of the writers. Uncle Ruckus is the best racist character ever, that right there is pure comedy gold! Joe Rogen doesn’t get a green card, he called black people Apes, that wasn’t entertaining Joe, I mean you walked into a cinema in a black neighborhood and it was like “Planet of the Apes” – DAMN! Oh yea Joe, you not exempt from using the “n – word” NIGGA! Remember when Booker-T called Hulk Hogan a nigga? The regret on his face after he said it was priceless, cause the dreaded word just slipped out, that promo is the funniest of all time! But I digress. With my high school teacher, it was sadistic, it was an abuse of power and he was actually the minority, the pencil demonstration was a blatant middle finger. “What a racist fucker” was the internal monologue, so small minded, sad and primitive. No self-awareness, he thought he was making a joke but it boomeranged and laughed at him. He is honestly lucky there wasn’t a riot against him. The failed attempt at humor seemed to highlight everything that was wrong about him. He hanged himself with his own rope, it was sad, he was pathetic. There’s something funny about blatant racism.

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Friends II: Peer Pressure

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Friends II: Peer Pressure

Whose got your best interests at heart? Just because we grew up together don’t mean anything. We could be just a fad or a very long one night stand. We could be a product of peer pressure or maybe adolescence. The longing to fit in a social dynamic, a psychological phenema that defines the human condition. Who did you take your first sip of beer with? That shared experience bonds us like fetus with its mother, it is primal like your family tree, it binds like an imprint. Do we have shared beliefs or using each other to reaffirm the suffering that’s prevalent in our lives. Are we codependent narcissists reflecting our biases like a mirror? Who holds the frame in our relationship? Did we out grow our adolescence years or still stuck in the rut fighting for our independence and carving out a self-identity? Is it a power-strugle or someone is passive? Is our mutual undertaking enhancing the quality of our lives? Are we vibrating to the betterment of humankind? Or is it just peer pressure, the opportunity to try out the drug, be well-liked and fuck bitches? Do l have a void that’s being exploited like a flank that keeps me from being the best that I can be? Do I have childhood repressions that enable me to commit the same mistakes? Do I subconsciously hate and sabotage myself? Am I being manipulated by external factors? Are you using me? Can I trust someone outside of myself? Do I have friends? I don’t trust anyone proclaiming to the world that we friends because that’s usually followed by a stab in the back. You? Best friends with who? Why do you feel the need to tie me down in front of an audience? What are you hiding? What are your intentions? Why do you need to make a show of it? Don’t I know that you are a friend? Are you really a friend or a foe? Do I still need you in my life?

There we go again, trying to explain what just is. Words give us comfort because they attempt to create meaning in an otherwise meaningless world. Everything is a fabrication of the mind and we control nothing outside of ourselves. Everything is an illusion and you are hallucinating reality. What you call friends is YOU reflected back, your values, your character and your beliefs about yourself. The universe just is and you only attract the things that are true for you. You are energy, a spirit, having a human experience. Everything starts with you, all is mind and you have all the power. Peer pressure exists because you haven’t mastered yourself and are still operating under somebody’s frame. If you love yourself, love will gravitate around you and you will have what people in this dimension call “good friends” who love you and will aid you in times of distress. That’s how Nelson Mandela defeated apartheid, with the irrefutable truth of the injustices of the system, it defined him, he was immovable and he attracted friends from all around the world who aided him in defeating the unjust oppressors of the crooked system. Friends like life are impermanent, they are aids who assist as you progress through the evolution of life. Friends are a timeline of life and current mindset as you progress through it. Friends are a direct reflection of you, If you have suspect friends than you have a suspect character. We progress in the direction of our 5 closest friends. We are all judged by the company we keep. Guard who and what you welcome in your life, be mindful when you are flirting with the devil.

Urban poet Kanye West once stated “They say people in your life are seasons and anything that happens is for a reason”, that summarizes this post in a couple of lines. Who are you currently “vibing” with? Vibing of course is colloquial for vibration. The people you are vibing with currently reveal your tastes, your beliefs, your character, your social status and position, your dreams, your destiny. The people who you are vibing with are a direct reflection of who you are. In essence, they are your friends and you are your friends. Everybody has friends, who are yours? My past friends were backstabbers infested with jealousy so I stopped associating with them because they reflected something I was not. I am not a fan of fake smiles and poisonous praise. Deception leaks like a faltering pipe. I always look for the best in people but I expect the worst to balance out the equation. Time and time again I am disappointed with human nature but the effect has lost its potency so I am more understanding of narcissistic tendencies and irrationalities, I know what to expect, I know when to exit like a trader scalping the market. Friends are supposed to change because you are constantly evolving. Anything that isn’t growing or evolving is dying. If we are evolving together then that’s special, for you are the source of my growth, you help me get better, you inspire me, you care about me, you see yourself in my image, you are my friend for a lifetime and I appreciate you and the value you bring to my life. Adolescence is just a phase and peer pressure is just two words lined up next to each other, an excuse to shift responsibilities, the truth is that you want it like an addict whether you consciously acknowledge it or not.

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Insignificant

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Insignificant

I know I am insignificant, scum, a cockroach, unworthy, tainted, contaminated and rotten to the core. I am a virus that spreads like a cancerous cell to devour the very essence of your existence. I live to consume and leave nothing of substance.  I am a plague that wipes out life. I add nothing, I contribute suffering, I am nothing. I am a bad man, I would decapitate your head from your shoulders if I had the chance, for the fun of it, just because I would, because I was bored, because of the power I have over you. I find it difficult to condemn slavery because I have inhibitions to own and control you. If you were my slave, I’d have my way with you, I’d humiliate you, work you, break you, rape you, cut off your tougue to silence you and when I am done with you, just throw you in the nigger box. How’s God going to save you when his on my side? I am coming for the kikes and the kaffers too. If my bloodline was Aryan, I’d be your chief tormentor. More shots to the head and bigger gas chambers to accommodate you. Who’s going to stop me when I am God? Apartheid and segregation is justified, the kaffers will only taint our snow white skin. They are dangerous and as the chosen race, we must work to put them in their place. I understand the hate because I am a hateful person too. Why do good? How’s that going to benefit me? Don’t tell me about God. Don’t be naive. Where’s your proof? God is the last refuge of a man who doesn’t have any answers. If he exists, how do you justify the suffering? Why am I a pawn in this chess game? Why doesn’t God care about my dignity and pride? Why the humiliation and subjegation to unjustified violence? What about my honor and my humanity? Does this sound like divine providence to you? Maybe I am an animal and it’s time I played my role, killing all these white folks would make my life better. At least my family would be safe and live their lives without bondage. God is dead, his not coming out to save us. I must do this for us, for our survival, for the continuation and progression of our species. God doesn’t care about us and it should liberate us, all is permitted, there are no rules, it’s survival of the fittest. Kill everything in your way even if it’s lord Buddha or Jesus Christ himself. We are all insignificant. Time will bury us in history and we will all be forgotten. Being a humanitarian is a PR stunt, an attempt to control public perception, to deceive, to play God. All of life is a power struggle.

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Everyone thinks they’re right

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Everyone thinks they’re right

Everyone thinks they’re right and in the process we lose our humanity and further surpress our mortality. We forget to love one another and act justly. Even Adolf Hitler thought he was right and he thought that he was going to live forever. He justified the atrocities that transpired in the 20th century to God. He vilified the Jews so much and propagated hate that everything he said made sense. He got supporters. The world fell under his hypnotic frame and genocide became accepted. It’s the same thing with white supremist groups like the KKK and slavery, everyone thinks they’re right and it also makes sense too. In elevating our status we demean the statuses of others and come to see them as weak, we believe we are superior, better, chosen and that we are going to live forever. The hate becomes our refuge and it protects us from the injustices of the world namely that life is suffering and there is no apparent reason for this suffering, so we commit more suffering since that creates some sort of meaning and justifies our existence. The thought that perhaps God doesn’t care about us is unbearable but we entertain it since if God doesn’t exist then all is permitted. Everyone thinks they’re right and there’s always a feedback loop that justifies their findings. Kaffers are dangerous and apartheid fair, while the negro is genetically built to serve his master, the white slaver. Jews are corrupt to the core and spread this plague like a virus throughout the world. Everyone thinks they’re are right and God is always on their side. I learned it’s not important to be right, in fact I don’t want to be right. I’d much rather be wrong and make my way up, as long as there’s breath in my lungs I have a chance to be less wrong. I want to be a good man and have love in my heart. My time is limited and so I meditate on that so I can practice my humanity and make the world a bit better than I found it. My mortality haunts me but it motivates me to be kind, loving and a good person. I don’t want to be right, I want to be just.

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Resilience

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Resilience

When I think of the word resilience, Nelson Mandela and his freedom fighters come to mind. They fought so hard against the “impossible” and they won. They achieved this feat because they cared more. It wasn’t easy too, 27 years in prison is an eternity. That is more than 10 000 days in prison – mastery!

Consider Nelson Mandela’s life for a moment. He and the other freedom fighters were banished to an Island were they would serve life for treason. They worked in labor camps all day every day, turning big rocks to small rocks. They were harassed, disrespected, abused and made to feel inferior throughout. They were treated like animals and not shown any humanity. The food was cold, rationed and not fit for a dog. The cells were cold and solitary confinement was a part of life because they were so vocal about their rights. Life carried on without them, family members died and they couldn’t attend funerals. They spent the best years of their lives, their youth, confined in a cell like animals. They couldn’t even communicate with the outside world because the letters were heavily censored. No newspapers to inform them of current events of the country and the world, all they knew were the four corners of Robben Island. There’s also the case that all of this could have been in vain. What if the people they were fighting for forgot. What If the unjust oppressive system of Apartheid won in suppressing peoples spirits and oppression was the norm? What if there was nothing that could be done?

Nelson Mandela and the other freedom fighters, endured a lot of suffering. They lost so much. It’s so easy to be hateful and angry but he Nelson Mandela preached peace and making the country a better place to live in when he was released. The future was all that mattered and creating one with equal opportunity and no oppressive legislature for people of color was paramount. He was driven by a new vision for South Africa, it defined him. He gave everything to his people. What a leader, what a great man. Nelson Mandela embodies what it is to be resilient. The action of getting up and fighting, even after a thorough beat down. He stands for doing what’s right and never giving up until the very end. He stands for victory under the most difficult circumstances. He is integrity, resolve, determination, resilience and greatness.

Thank you for everything Tata, this is dedicated to the freedom fighters who gave up their lives and freedom so I can be free. 

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