HUMOUR

What came first, the chicken or the Egg?

Come to think of it, Adam and Eve (above), the first livestock farmers have the perfect answer since they were there when it first happened. Or maybe we should ask why did Adam, on the artist's impressions that we see of him, have a bellybutton (navel). Midwives say a navel is where the umbilical cord used to attach and which was our way of getting food into our tiny fetus stomachs.

Now, with Adam and his wife Eve (above) having been created, why are they both having a bellybutton? Somebody out there in blogosphere might know more and wish to share with us the truth.

But about Adam and Eve above, I snapped them while they were chilling next to their car at a carwash, while it was being washed by humans. Ha-ha!

PSA

Imagine a SEX Free Generation

There's something I like about invitations to imagine given that imagination is relative. 'IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITY OF AN AIDS FREE GENERATION'. I'm an eternal optimist and everytime I'm challenged to close my eyes and imagine I do with sincerity.

But an AIDS FREE GENERATION? No ways, I can't. See, most often I'm confronted with statistics that indicate that people of bonking age are at it like rabbits. You don't need to look far but the number of 15-years-old babies who access child support grants without government prosecuting the fathers for statutory rape is enough to make you pessimistic.

How a government can willingly subsidise the welfare of a product of crime without asking pertinent questions is trivial. City Press deputy editor Lizeka Mda wrote that child support grants given to teenage unmarried mothers is akin to 'state sponsored prostitution'.

Men with more money than brain cells continue to bonk hungry poor teenagers without using condoms for the prize of a MIXIT twenty minutes chat. HIV positive men bonk virgins without condoms because they believe they'll be cured of AIDS.

Child Support Grants are won and lost at poker games every payday. You don't need to be a scientist to know that for every pregnant teenager someone did not wear a condom, which means someone might have pruned the flower before it produced petals. And now I'm being summored to IMAGINE AN AIDS FREE GENERATION. Excuse me Sir, but I can't.

PROFILE

The Best Music this side of the Equator

Very few people that I meet in my travels stick to my mind like the two sisters I met during the Peer Review Mechanism Workshop held at The Parktonian Hotel some few years ago. They told me they were into music and were playing instruments. You should know me; I can spot a diamond two hundred kilometres away, but I never saw this one.

They call themselves M2 and have just finished recording a music album that has the potential to bring half of the South African music fraternity to shame in quality. Don't act like you don't know that half of what we listen to is pure kak. Its production, arrangements and vocal delivery reminds an informed listener of the 1950s Dorothy Masuka, Dolly Rathebe and Miriam Makeba artistic aesthetic, with that twist of Sophiatown and black consiousness.

Talented M2 is made up of Nandipha (25) and Zintle (21) Maduna who both hail from Soweto (Johannesburg) and describe their music as kwela jazz. However listening to the six-track EP one is also struck by heavy elements of marabi and what is now called Afro-pop (African popular music). "We both write and sing our own music and we believe our group is going to take the industry by storm as our music is for every generation", says Nandipha, who adds that she used to play cello in a high school orchestra before furthering her music studies at the State Theatre in Tshwane.

Zintle is her younger sister and they are both gifted instrumentalists as well as prolific vocalists. She plays violin and is also the product of the State Theatre. The two sisters come across as dedicated musicians who say they've been hustling for a record deal since since 2004 after completing their studies. One wonders how come they haven't struck it lucky with a talent this intoxicating.

In 2007 they hooked up with producer Clement Moreane who worked with them on their album titled Ngidedele, which is also the title of the first track. Other tracks in the album include Andiphumeleli, Wena Bhuti, Inhlupheko, Sekuphelile, Wangiyenza and Uthando Lwakho. Then there is the instrumetal of Sekuphelile which exposes the talent that the two ladies have with these Euroccentric instruments. They say the album took a month to record and all their songs are in isiXhosa.

Their music is of such a high quality that it sounds like a collaboration of Thandiswa Mazwai and Simphiwe Dana with a jazz band. They are still looking for a record deal even though they are now hustling for it with a demo, which is so brilliantly done they might be the next best thing on the South African music scene.

Anyone with wanting to be in contact with M2 can call them direct at +27762134841. They should be able to give you their email address and quotation. All Kasiekulture can say is that 'nothing ever sounded so good since Brenda Fassie died'

POETRY

Moipolayi ga a llelwe, sello sa gagwe ke moropa goba mokgolokwane.

On Monday I woke up to the sad news that Zombo, the musician I wrote HIV/AIDS joins Club 27 about has passed away. It is always a sad development when people who were given a mandate to put paint on the canvas that is the country's artistic landscape pass away without having even attempted to be Van Goghs but just came, saw and never conquered. Zombo will be remembered for many things. I'm a published poet so like I do with all people who pass away I am dedicating the poem below to him, which I should confess was not written for him. south afrika 2008 (the biography)

weekends are now exclusively reserved for goodbyes & lullabies
no longer do we watch soccer we watch caskets going down
we count blessings every step we take from the womb to the tomb
HIV/AIDS on the rampage communities perish like flies
sisters is shedding sweet tears finally paroled from brothels
go to confession mami make the church your haven

friendships replaced by conspiracies judas is reincarnated
hugs conceal real motives & the backstabber's Okapi
welcome to my township - mi casa su casa
why did we nip love @ the bud when they showed us the dollar
how can we all scream aluta when some are rested in Benzes
marijuana's now our messiah guarantees redemption

it's a cold-cold world father i'm down on my knees
rescue me from temptation i see the bait of lucifer
bullets still lick asses of brothers who forgot how to act
we misled now believe black sheep should die in the dark
instal doors on caves & disappear from your glory

my township is contradictions prays to god but praises satan
we wonder why he's your son but lacks your light
we gave our faith to mighty dollars that never bought us life
brett kebble caught hollows left us wondering why
tens of millions couldn't bail him from the angel of death

last night i humbled myself & dialled mary the virgin
to save me from my fears of dying before turning 40
give me a reason to live while everyone is dying
take me to heaven if it's there i'm converted sans faith
i'm blind can't close my eyes i pray with them open
for everybody i love to have eternal life
everybody that left to be forgiven they sins
everybody on they deathbeds to get well before christmas
for south afrika to be bold enough to bury its offspring

May He Rest in Peace

HUMOUR

The Little Devil is Dead
Finally someone heard the cries of the inflation hit South Afrikans and killed the sonofabitch. Congratulations are in order. Hahahahahaha!!!!!!

OPINION

Something to call my Own
What I really need this Valentine. A large Garden with lots of fruitage like Adam. That's all.

Slain United States rapper Tupac Amaru Shakur sang in Happy Home, "so please understand if I change at times it's all because I never owned anything that's mine".

This thing about ownership is actually one of my favourite topics when I'm bored on weekends. Some of my friends are unapologetic about chicks who date them because of what they have as material instead of the eight inch spear under their boxers. It has reached a point whereby even if a dude lost a chick because he couldn't measure up he would be quick to plead poverty as the trigger at realising that he lost his flame to that chap who drives a black Camero that's always parked at the Caltex Building office complex.

Usually I tell my folks, 'love is good if it can put food on the table. If it can buy your chick's smile even during PMS and if it can put a roof over her head'. Add to that if it can take her our and satisfy her at Temptations.

But then we all know that love is handicapped in those departments. Then the big question is; if you are always stressing that chicks always chase after material, pause right there and trade places. Would you date a broke chap if you were a chick? Would you take off your Victoria's Secrets lingerie for a chap who is so broke he can't even pay attention?

Someone who'll be prodding you with extra-thick-less-sensitive Choice condoms wrapped like buscuits but smelling like Vaseline Blue Seal? No ways man; even now I'm not that choosy but I don't do broke chicks. What more if I was a chick then? Broke muthafucka? Hell no! get yourself a J.O.B dog and I can proudly be your bitch and bend forward!

Interesting that material has become the new social barometre. I miss those Medieval times when only brave men who have killed a lion or any dangerous beast were the ones afforded conjugal rights. Today even godzillas with potbellies as big as Saartjie Baartman's ass get laid without effort due to their BEE status.

For what it's worth chicks must not only rely on men to provide while they spend days shopping. To tell you the truth, that left front passenger seat is not the most comfortable in that sedan. It's only cushy when you know you can swop it for the driver's the minute mineowner tells you 'you ain't nuthing but a golddigga'.

Psychologists allege that it's food for a guy's self-esteem to pay for everything a chick wants at the mall. They forget to say that it's food for an empty guy's self-worth. Some of us feel offended when the first words off a chick's lips are 'airtime' or 'do my hair'. While I won't care booking you for a facial, manicure and pedicure I need to know that you can afford to pay for yourself if I wake up unable to. Recording artist 50cent asked, 'if i fell off tomorrow will you still love me/ if i didn't smell so good would you still hug me?', while Dogg Pound's Kurupt of 'you can't make a whore a housewife' fame asked, 'are you fucking my car or my dick?'.

Finally Tupac said, 'make money get pussy always keep a pager/ cellphone on the ride to complete my nature'. I hope you lovers are listening.

Hypothetically, please share your thoughts with me; Do you honestly think that Eve would have gone out with Adam if he didn't own a garden and everything in it?

REVIEW

The Passion of Henry Nxumalo


There's a film I've been meaning to critic for some time but didn't have the time to watch, except for the trailer which I always get sent to me by my friends in those higher places.

It's the largely foreign-funded (except for IDC) but locally produced local story of DRUM, especially of Henry Nxumalo and in a small way Can Themba, Jim Bailey and the horde of the 1950's journalists and writers. It is the story of the vibrancy of Sophiatown and the reason why it had to give way for Triomf.

Now, I've never really had time to watch the film until recently. Given that it's about wordsmiths I had the privilege of watching it in the company of journalists and thus my criticism had the misfortune of being informed. Forget that they are usually a mad bunch, on this day they were well-behaved.

First, I must congratulate Zola Maseko (director) for a good story that was unfortunately badly told because the money behind it set the agenda of how it was going to be told.

That Nxumalo couldn't utter a single sentence in an indigenous language even when enraged and frustrated, not even in Tsotsitaal is grossly unbelievable. We'll forgive his foreign accent since those are politics for another post.

Let it be granted that Taye Diggs is very talented as seen in How Stella Got Her Groove Back and Best Man, but not when he portrays a legendary South African icon like Nxumalo. Here we expect authenticity or near-perfection.

Moshidi Motshegwa's portrayal of Nxumalo's long-suffering wife is impressive. She really looked abused without being battered. However their lack of on-screen chemistry is disturbing, especially when one picks strong vibes between Diggs and Bonnie Henna who plays his songstress concubine.

The line that stood out for me on the film, especially going into Valentine's Day was when their liaison was ending and she passively said to him, "you gonna miss it you know". That was classic, even for a non-romantic like me.

Before this one there is another killer moment, after Nxumalo had witnessed a street brawl where another man (played by Israel Makoe) was butchered and he tells his concubine over pillowtalk how barbaric and heroic the knife-fight looked and she says there's nothing heroic about people killing one another.

For worse, and to a larger extent the film mellows down the exploits of Nxumalo in his quest to unearth the truth is his journalistic endeavours. His painful sacrifices are melodramaticed and the activism of his actions is allowed to drown under Hollywood hoopla. The roles of DRUM editor Jim Bailey and photographer Jurgen are intelligently explored though.

Thembinkosi Dlamini comes across as Zola the musician and nothing more. He doesn't get into the role he was given and ditch the Zola Seven tag. One doubts if he researched his gangsta role, given the ghetto -brut with which he approached it. Those 'Americans' in Valiants and Floursheim shoes were suave, not rugged.

Overall the film is not that bad even though any filmmaker who successfully relegates Nelson Mandela to a sidebar without anyone missing his politics as Maseko did should be applauded.

Maseko was brave to take a chapter of Sophiatown history and interpret it on film knowing too damn well that he'll be indebted to history. Such indebtness is evident when he interrogates the last days of Sophiatown. It's raw unnerving politics.

One of the criticisms of Maseko's direction of DRUM was the accuracy of his portrayal of some of the characters in the story like Themba, Blake Modisane etc. Some historians allege that Todd Matshikiza was central in the making of Nxumalo than the screenplay acknowledges. Some wonder why Themba's life outside of his liason with a white woman and once in a classroom is not explored. There are also those who say the 'we live fast, die young and leave a beatiful corpse' mantra was never part of the Sophiatown boozing culture but a 1950's United States hippy self-defeatist adage, a la James Dean.

Okay, I didn't watch the whole flick because it got too predictable and boring, especially after Nxumalo went domestic, Themba's drinking too exaggerated and the police too exposed. My verdict' THREE FAT LIPS, which means 'GO RENT THE DVD', don't buy.

* This review is dedicated to the late Dumisane Dlamini

COMMENT

AIDS Joins Club 27

Slain United States of America rapper Tupac Amaru Shakur sang in Good Die Young from the Outlawz' Still I Rise LP, "we all ignorant to AIDS 'til it happens to you". For sure, some of us who were born with hip-hop in our blood were ignorant until it happened to Niggaz With Attitude founder Eric 'Eazy-E' Wright.

We remained ignorant until it happened to soccer star Sizwe Motaung, then talented Snothi Mthalane, then Yfm's happening deejay Fana 'Khabzela Khaba, then Makgatho Mandela, then Orlando Pirates Brand Manager Zodwa Khoza, before that Inkatha Freedom Party's Themba Khoza and Mangosuthu Buthelezi's two children.

However we were over ignorance the moment it happened to that first cousin we grew up playing diketo, chinchiledi, morabaraba, motsoba and mnguni with. We ceased ignorance when the teachers, neighbours, police, sisters and brothers started perishing like a battalion of ants under the boot of a mineworker.

Makaveli (Tupac's alter-ego) ad-libed, 'we aint' run out of suits, we have run out of tears'. And thus, as heartless as it sounds I have also run out of tears for so-called celebrities who fuck their lives up and expect us not only to give them tears but bury them as well as if in their moment of wealth they've never heard of something called Medical Aid and its cousin called Funeral Cover.

999 Recording artist Zombo (name unknown), the latest plastic celebrity to become a basket case deserves neither my tears, my sympathy or cents. Zombo is a classical example of how we 'learn' from history, how we 'learn' nothing from history. Zombo was never short of role-models.

The first HIV strand was discovered in 1981 and so we can safely say that HIV/AIDS is officially 27-years-old this year - Happy Birthday. The most public HIV infected person was 'Magic' Johnson at the time when the stigma was as huge as an asteroid.

In South Africa, under Zombo's watch came activist Nkosi Johnson, columnist Lucky Mazibuko, socialite Chriselda Kananda, survivor David Patient, activist Khensani Mavasa, activist Zackie Achmat, Judge Edwin Cameron and thousands others whose names will continue to dodge my feeble memory. But did Zombo the model celebrity listen? Hell no!

Let me contexualise my beef with, especially Zombo who is best remembered for blonde hair than any single track he ever did. Zombo was signed to Arthur Mafokate's 999 Records. He sang with some of the groups on the stable, notably Abashante and made some tidy income. He never started a charity organisation to benefit those less fortunate than him. He lived a celebrity life which included flashy cars, cushy cribs, nice clothes, liquor by the gallons, a few illicit drugs, free condoms, groupies, public recognition and most of all a chance to invest in unit trust or that lame 32-day notice investment account.

Zombo had every opportunity in the world to be at least half of what he wanted to be when he was 12-years-old. Zombo lived, sang, lived, drank, lived, admittedly did drugs, sang, sang and sang and disappeared from our radar and we didn't care because some other singers occupied the plate he used to occupy.

Then in January Zombo appears on television frail and skinny. Some of us have been picking the vibes for at least a year now that there was something wrong with his health and prayed for him when we had the time. So, when Zombo finally showed up on SABC1's Live we wanted good news. We wanted to be told that what we've been hearing in the shadows was all lies. But Zombo, typical of angels that have lost their glory started pointing fingers at Arthur for not taking care of him when he was ill and his CD4 count dropping to 10. He started yepping about how he used to sleep without having eaten anything because he didn't have money to buy basic food. I saw that on television and said to myself; '500 million people live below the poverty line and on less than a dollar a day, so Bra Zombo don't worry, welcome to the club comrade'. I felt like telling him that he was now an indigent which meant that he qualified for free basic electricity, six kilolitres of water and a social grant not an Arthur Grant.

Then the people on television, Andile and the bunch who were there to pity him announce that a Trust Fund has been set up for Zombo. My question was why? We have so many poor people in South Africa today, why can't a Trust Fund be set up for them? We have so many people living with HIV today why can't anybody who claims to care set up a trust fund for them? Why are we being hypocrites all of a sudden?

Who'll set up a trust fund for the victims of Zombo's testestorone-driven-recklessness? The former college girls who'll burden their own families with bills at the time when they needed the money they spent on their studies. The varsity grads who'll never be able to pay NAFSAS because they'll be dead before they land their first job? I might sound callous but half my friends are celebrities and I know how these muthafuckas act when they see college and high school students at Campus Square and it sucks. I can be this cold because those young girls from poor backgrounds stand no chance against these morons who'll use anything from ridicule to material to see those panties drop.

It's time we focused on the victims of these plastic celebrities' moment of heated balls. After Khabzela disclosed that he was dying of AIDS there were loads of broads who called radio stations to testify about how he always insisted on rubberless sex like a man who knew for some time that he was infected. But did anybody invite them to the studio for their side of the story? Hell no! Did anybody arrange for them to be tested so that a trust fund can be set up for them for the time when they can't walk or when they die? Hell no!

Someone can argue that they were greedy stupid skanks who'll do it with the next celebrity for nothing. True. But are the now-broke-horny celebrities any smarter when they do it with anything on legs without a condom? The jury's out. There are two taxi owners from my neighbourhood who deliberately jointly infected more than 400 young women before they died three and four years ago. Their victims continue to drop to this day. Should we then pity the two muthafuckas at the expense of the young women whose poverty they exploited?

For the life of me I can't screw the eight chicks I grew up with without a rubber and it beats me why anyone with a single cell in their brain will plunge strangers without some level of protection. Also, even if I tried I can't get 200 chicks to sleep with this year but for someone who has the ability to get 600 chooses not to use a condom beats me. It's just plain stupid.

Zombo must understand that we used to buy his CDs, pay to go to his shows and pay for every service he rendered, there's no reason we should also pay for his welfare and funeral. It just doesn't fucking make sense.

Journalist Marianne Thamm once wrote, to paraphrase her, 'it's not promiscuity that causes AIDS, it's sex without a condom'. I hope you stupid boys with kwaito CDs are listening, otherwise the only CD you will tell us about will be the CD4, which like your CD won't be selling platinum but at an all time low of 10 units.

Comments:
This is what others said about the issue
An interview with Zombo

Tebogy 'Zombo' Ndlovu died a few days after this post was made, on February 10, 2008. May his Soul rest in Peace

REVIEW

Anything Bigger than Polokwane?
Last year's African National Congress conference in Limpopo produced a thriller. Never before was the focus of the world so great on an event so African only Jacob Zuma and Thabo Mbeki could have produced. The ANC Conference mesmerized media players all over the world and made political analysts out of Tom, Thabo and Thandi. Here are some of the thrilling moments ever recorded in television history! Email Yours to Us.

May 8, 2006 will undoubtedly go down in South African television history as the single day the whole nation ever stood still to witness first hand the ultimate decision in the Jacob Zuma vs The State rape trial. If viewership tallies are to be believed, the last time South Africans were ever glued to this magnitude to a single event of national importance was the FIFA 2010 World Cup host country announcement two years ago. Interesting, all South Africans on the day wanted television to tell them the same story.

At the end of that announcement everybody was hugging anybody as if there was no inflation rate that stood at 6% and bills to pay the following day. You'd have sworn to God the World Cup was happening the following day and everybody was going to be given R1000.00 for their patriotism. That was before the Africa Nations Cup disaster and the Eskom load-shedding theatrics.

For the record, the last time an elected president ever competed with an accused for television ratings was in 1995 when then US President Bill Clinton was delivering his State of the Union address on ABC. Around the same time the verdict in the OJ Simpson vs State of California murder trial was due. Both stories were of such national importance that the broadcasters just couldn't wait for the address to report if OJ was going to fry or not. What the broadcasters did was to interrupt the president's address through the use of titling to announce that OJ was found 'not guilty'. Right there you had two groups of people reacting differently, very much along racial lines. You had your OJ loyalists shouting as if applauding something Clinton said while actually they were happy OJ was going to walk free, a murderer or saint. You had this other group that cursed, which one could easily have thought they were directing it to Clinton while it was not the case. The last time Americans had a similar response was the Rodney King vs LAPD civil suit in 1988.

On the Monday of May 8, 2006 South Africa had such a historic moment. Something last seen when cricketer Alan Donald cost the country a spot in the World Cup finals by not taking a crucial run during the ICC Cricket World Cup in England. Some people allege that apart from Donald, the other last time we had such a nail-biter was when Mbeki was on television to announce that JZ was being relieved of his cabinet and executive duties. Mbeki was once again competing for attention with his former deputy. The parliamentary celebration of the tenth anniversary of the constitution was nothing compared to the thriller that was playing itself out at Court 4E. That ended up with Zuma being found "not guilty". That was one hell of a spectacle.

The Hefer Commission was one such while the 2004 Presidential Inauguration was a flop. Even the Independent Electoral Commission (IEC) election tallies and results broadcast never surpass a fully suited politician in an expensive car and an entourage of bodyguards infront of a court building. Former City Press editor Vusi Mona and Judge Johan Hefer might have boosted ratings but no one cared if Mona was donning Versaces or Gucci.

Maybe again such a moment was when Judge Hillary Squires delivered the marathon Schabir Shaik judgment at the Durban High Court. Isn't it interesting that it seems the only celebrities our television is capable of making are those in politics and business? Imagine, Shaik and Squires stole the show three year ago and became overnight celebrities, thanks to the ANC Youth League's Fikile Mbalula. Mbeki stole it when he fired JZ. Some commentators were even commenting about Mbeki's dress sense, his beard, suit and tie and the absense of that customary red AIDS ribbon on his lapel.

No doubt the traditional Opening of the Parliament television broadcast is now facing stiff competition as well. Nobody watches anymore since it now resembles the one man show (Budget Speech) which produces only one star named Trevor Manuel. Next in danger will be the Soweto derby (Kaizer Chiefs vs Orlando Pirates). Imagine if the ABSA final was played at ABSA Park (eThekwini) on the same day and same time that Umsholozi's fate was read out in court, more than 400 kilometres away?

Another celebrity couple that was made by television was the flambouyant Yengenis. Former ANC Chief Whip Tony and his wife's dress sense became the talk of the town because of the coverage television gave to their court appearances. Today people know that Tony loved to dress in Italian suits because they saw is first on TV. But can they succesfully outsmart the Vilakazis, Pirates' Benedict and Motshabi whose dress sense also made for interesting headlines?

For what it's worth, in South Africa don't expect to become a television celebrity if you are not into politics or in a scandal. Imagine, our celebrity president, his celebrity former deputy, celebrity soccer player and the man who revolutionised the sale of the Mercedes Benz ML Class, aptly known as the Yengeni. Move aside Snoop Dogg and Robbie Williams, here we don't do musicians and film stars but high profile role models. Most of our celebrities like Kassie "Silver Fox" Naidoo, Kemp J Kemp, Michael Hulley, Willem van der Merwe, Marumo Moerane, Pius Langa are in the judiary. Simply, our Brad Pitts and David Beckhams are our legal eagles.

This is a sign that our television has grown since its very first much-watched broadcast of June 16, 1976. IN TV WE TRUST.