The Good Life - Lost in Translation

Of course I guess some of you have been wondering why on my last post I sounded as if I was saying bantus should not enjoy the money they toil so much to make. For those who misunderstood me to mean that, I'm sorry folks 'cause that's not what I was saying.
See, I've got a bunch of folks I consider my friends, some who I have met at conferences, some met on the blogosphere - and remember what I said about the friends of Kasiekulture, they are all very smart and are amongst the most intelligent folks in South Afrika. Some of them are bloggers and continue to churn out excellent text whenever they sit infront of that flickering monitor. They work and make good money, and most often indulge in a dozen or two green bottles with either imaginary or real sex partners or friends. Some of them love marijuana and can often identify a dealer barely minutes of arriving in a new town.
My last point was simply that you can not work hard for that cash only to spend it on plastic when steel and iron are for sale.
Let me give you the geist of my argument.
Some few weeks ago I went with friends to this other wow golf est
ate in White River to drop the girlfriend of a friend. Look, I have been to seven star hotels, condomeniums, lofts, penthouses, mansions, villas, townhouse complexes and suites. I have seen beauty in all its ugliness but I have never seen a residence as tranquil and homely as that estate which is situated rougly five kilometres from the hustle and bustle of the R40. Merely driving in past the access control I saw this other white guy carrying his golf sticks on that little car they use (I don't know its name or license code 'cause I don't own it and did not subscribe to Golf Digest). A few paces down I saw these other two white kids on mountain bikes cycling from a house with a five metre speed boat and a caravan. The possie was so quiet, there was no picket fences or people lost in good life translation or anything that looked like a threat. There's no tar road but Harvey tile paving and it's surrounded by pine trees and occupies roughly fifteen to twenty hectares of fertile land. It resembled a place whereby I would love every dark child to grow in, where they can be children and play with Barbie doll, play on the swing and ride bicycles in peace. To top it all they have their own river and bridges and speed humps and road signs and big manors and eeevvvvrrrryyyttthhhiiinnnggg.
Now a few days later over the holidays I'm back in my ghetto and what I realise are young men in VW Golfs who are playing Oskido's CD at full blast, they are wearing Truworths capris and Markhams' golf shirts and are sipping Heineken and macking every single whore we have since written off in the townships because she has been in more than two orgies with syphillic losers. I understand because the guys are not around for the better part of the year so they don't know what's in or out or who has HIV or TB. But funny enough the folks don't listen because in that moment they feel like they own the whole damn world.
And I wonder, now ways, over China's one billion dead bodies will anyone in a VW Golf own the world.
Interesting, these folks don't sleep. Late at night when me and my friends are chilling over 16-year old triple distilled single malt whisky while discussing how to brand MTN on the VW Golf above and how to make Blackberry prepaid and affordable to LSM 1-6 they are still playing house music or 50cent and driving at high speed along the streets while the whores in the back seat, who are sipping Sarita or 911 are yelling 'ho, ho, ho!'.
Me and my guys we are going for our second bottle of whisky and already thinking on how to sta
ge Miss ANC and make a killing, and these guys are driving around with a cooler box full of cheap liquor that does a Manto on your liver.
Now, when I said people should make money to buy options I meant that. For the life of me I don't see Yodemo or Kwaki of Kliffo or Afro just stressing in communications and event management to end up in a
VW Golf they didn't choose but which was chosen by the bank for them because the bank has so much money it can afford to choose for you poor darkie as well.
No ways folks, there are Hummers (both Hs) and Range Rovers (both Vs) out there. There is even a Bentley with the number plate Terries MP and I'm told the guy sells property. The Bentley which is mostly parked infront of the Mozambican Consulate is lonely 'cause there should be another one in NST with the number plate MAKGEMA MP or SEKUNJALO MP or AFRO MP. Having money to drive a car of your choice and live in a house of your choice and wear the clothes of your choice and drink the liquor of your choice at the bar of your choice and go on holiday to the destination of your choice is the real catch - that's what you should buy with money not brag with a few cents hiding behind a credit card.
Overall what these boys are doing is not the good life as it should be - I keep telling my friends that it is actually the screensaver to the good life, the good life is somewhere behind that, on the active-life-desktop - waiting for you reading this post now to click it and give it another translation.

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