HUMOUR

Spring Day

I actually shouldn't be excited about the coming of Spring since it brings with it many other problems. The only reason I think I should pop a champagne to its coming is that Women's Month finally came to an end. Wow, what a long month it was, I felt like it had 90 days. What with all the awards given, the gigs put together, I swear to you if you are a woman and you were responding to every invitation to attend a Women's Month gig, you would have gained like 16 kilograms by now. So, good riddance Women's Month, let's all be human again.

One of the things that make me dislike the coming of Spring is that the loonies in my ghetto who have killed half their brain cells through smoking pesticides all go on overdrive and start misfiring from early September. And you know when loonies misfire they rape babies and steal things. I don't know if I'm the only one who notices this change in behaviour or whether it's because there are more loonies per square kilometre in Shatale than there are at Sterkfontein Hospital.

One other thing you now this is that time when schoolkids in droves are seen being escorted out of classrooms to vomit. Those Winter Boogie Nights are now pitching for their payday, the fetus is stuck in your tiny womb and this month you cease being a girl and become a woman. When trees bloom even the demons that make the young men behave like maniacs also bloom. Men are hornier in Spring than Winter because science says that the heat makes their blood boil and their penises to look larger.

While the police have a moratorium on crime stats I stand to be corrected but I think that my friend in police intelligence once told me that there are more rapes, hijackings, housebreakings and thefts committed during Spring and Summer than Winter and Autumn. Which thug would go out to break in a house on a cold Winter night when he was supposed to be making that baby who would be on welfare next June? So, the loonies of this other small drinking hole called Valencia in my ghetto will be walking like zombies and oblivious to my digital camera during Spring and I know with September just a day old I have three months of doing a Census on mad people, pregnant chicks, aerobics fanatics etc. Sad but true. I guess even the TaeBo informecial will be back given the weight some folks put during the cold months as they munched on crisps and drank Coke while watching Judge Judy.

I also happen to have my own physical condition that likes Spring to make its presence felt and I am awaiting the arrival of the painful throat syndrome with abated breaths. There are times when there is more capital in dying than living, and I guess soon I will be on my deathbed praying every seventeen seconds.

So, this week I am going back to basics, my good friends in Jozi have produced two beautiful arts magazines that will pre-occupy me this week as I try to share with the world what made me clever over the past two weeks. First to be thoroughly reviewed will be Wordsetc which is a beautiful brand published by my friend Phakama, and which someday I am going to send for publication one beautiful article to complete the magazine. I want to propose a column called Last Bite, watch this space. I liked the one I got which was largely about Women's Month (how I hate this month).

Then there is another one called BAOBAB, which is edited by brilliant Sandile Ngidi and features beautiful writings by prolific writers I am going to tell you about later in the week. Then you are going to get a poetry book review and WHAT HAPPENS IN JOZI..., remember I was there for the whole of last week and it was wow! I always make Jozi look like a Winter night with a person you love after downing a bottle of red wine and sparking quality purple haze. Then I am going to crucify Siphiwo Mahala and Zukiswa Wanner for adding additional features to the portrait of The Last Supper. Don't miss this deep analysis.

So, let me talk to you from tomorrow and let's all respond when Spring knocks, 'Knock knock, anybody home?' 'Welcome we have been expecting you' Spring 2008, let the music begin

DIARY

The Joburg Report III

This past week I have been in Jozi once again. I must confess that this time was more interesting than the last time. Even though my prospects of that love train never materialised, it was more because I have been feeling the power of the Kreator on my daily existence that I felt not to spoil my glory. And for the first time in a long while I didn't do the herb (shame on me). But I put together a poem one afternoon and before you get the full Joburg Report, I'll like you read this poem over the weekend.

Joburg III
(a salute)

joburg city highlights here we go again
you never have two minutes here & they stay the same
i'm knocking hustles every step now i'm seeing haven
the lord is still my only father in this trials i face
from being hopeful 'bout tomorrow while everyone is dying
to gulping liquor with strangers now we sharing pep talk
this is the joburg that i love when i feel the tension
where i just chill burn grass watch the sun setting

joburg city highlights make me mayor tonite
i'll corner all the street queens throw a party & jive
to bob marley marvin gaye see our future as bright
talk is cheap we moving miles destination paradise
plus my homies fear death can't shy away from chapels
stuck in prayer six to six begging to turn 40
my only solace is my faith in my bigger calling
i spark blunts but get high from my own drealing

joburg city highlights i smile at kodak moments
snapshots of children learning love in a city full of hating
i love the smell of treachery i'm the main character
protagonist number one i make the city my cradle
i'm a simple ghetto boy reflects in my fabric
my DNA is moolah-moolah i'm still chasing riches
past high hurdles landmines this ain't Beijing Olympics
my aim is not to win gold but own the source of the jewel
it's called the city of gold i ain't seeing nothing shining

welcome to my highlights tonite the sky is glitzy
no weed no sex i reconnect with homies
count every breath that i take like it's pay as you go
city where artists get awards for bing less than average
emphasis' not on being the greatest but the one most heard of
me once again tell the same 'i'm a hustler baby'
i'm the closest you'll come to your dream realised
every word out of my mouth is a pill for your weakness
i solarise joburg vibes & convert them to lightness
it's joburg city highlights hope you pick your favourite

OPINION

“Stop thinking like a Kaffir”

Dr Irvin Khoza requested an overly reluctant senior sports journalist to stop thinking like a man conditioned to see himself as subordinate and inferior. That was necessary to say but it came out harshly to the extent that it required the toothless South African Human Rights Commission to borrow canines from the political parties.

I have for some time shied away from labeling the pessimists as racists. However, following the outburst of one journalist at a Beijing media briefing I’m now becoming converted to the Dr Irvin Khoza Church of the Native Optimists.

Here are my reasons:

Look, we successfully hosted the IRB Rugby World Cup with the whole world on our shores barely a year after the 1994 experiment and it was a cracker. By the way we also won it when we beat the All Blacks by a Joel Stransky drop goal.

We went on to host the United Nations World Summit on Sustainable Development with tens of heads of states as dignitaries when car-hijacking and housebreaking were at their peak and it was hailed as runaway success by those who have been to other similar conferences.

We then hosted the ICC Cricket World Cup where once again the whole world converged on our shores and there was nothing negative to write home about. Plus some games were played in Kenya where we (SAPS Special Task Force) provided VIP protection to the visiting teams and ours.

The million rand question today; Why are the naysayers as far as Canberra, Ontario, London and Beijing doubting our capacity to stage an event that even countries without a soccer tradition have successfully organised. Remember that the United States did not even have a soccer league when they hosted the 1994 spectacle.

Is it because the men and women behind it are a bunch of darkies who should be thinking like kaffirs? Are we suddenly forgetting that the same darkies staged the Africa Cup of Nations fresh from isolation and put together the winning bid for this world cup which some people want to see moved to another country?

PS. Someone said to me that the xenophobic attacks some few months ago have damaged our credibility and raised fears about whether we will be able to stage an inclusive World Cup. I raised it with her that Germany had xenophobia issues as well prior to staging the world cup and that the attacks in Deutschland were not an emotional flur-up but sustainable. I then asked her how authorities guaranteed the safety of tourists during the showpiece and she said that the German police knew the racists because they had compiled a list of them beforehand.

Interesting, they have a list of criminals but they don’t’ arrest but keep them in check to perform their immigration control activities (joking). But the point I raised with her was that if Germany with its skinheads and neo-Nazis could stage a successful one South Africa can do better since we don't have malignant xenophobia issues.

‘What did they do with the skinheads?’ I asked.

‘Like I said they knew them and could monitor them’ she responded

‘Maybe all they did was to grow their hairs since skinhead is not a condition but an option. Maybe they had hair but since their racism is in their hearts they were still there and battering Jews and darkies’, I protested.

What I discovered later was that during the German spectacle FIFA had a warning posted on its website informing soccer lovers of a darker skin of places to avoid. Well, with us it will only be Alexandra (where Khoza comes from) and East Rand I guess. These are areas that are not even going to host a game.

PPS. Plus I heard that police are compiling a Hooligan List just for South Africa, similar to the one Scotland Yard has with names and mug shots of their troublesome fans. Here it will notably be made up of Orlando Pirates stadium incinerators (ha-ha!)

NEWS

"Let he who has no Sin..."

The Bible, one of the few inspired books in the world today teaches us that only those who have no sin must be brave enough to cast the first stone. Well, I’m not that brave because my sins have the ability to eclipse the sun.

However, given that I have interviewed so many people in my life, amongst them politicians, businesspeople and ordinary folks, I must add that I have also interviewed angels and demons, and think that I might have interviewed the Devil himself during one of my sojourns.

So, yesterday (Thursday) I was my composed self when I prepared to interview Mark Scott-Crossley, the Hoedspruit chap who was first found guilty of killing Nelson Chisale and throwing him in a lion’s enclosure.

That conviction was overturned by the Supreme Court of Appeal in Bloemfontein and he got off lightly, from being sentenced to do life to being given five years for accessory to after the fact of death. This is a new one for me.

Well the chap served his time at Barberton and on Thursday he was whisked off from the prison to his correctional office, where I waited with my camera. The situation was tense as there were fears that bus loads of community members were on their way to lynch the free bird.

I’ll cut a long one and a half hour story short and confess that when I shook his hand it felt so soft like that of a guy who has been doing nothing behind bars all these times. I shook his hand because I wanted to know how does the hand of man convicted of a heinous crime feels like.

I felt it was the closest I would come to touching the hand of Adolf Hitler. Well, I’m not being judgmental because the chap was found guilty anyway. He however has a sense of humour and a short temper that made me believe that he assaulted another darkie in prison for which he was fined R4000 instead of having his sentence extended.

Mark is out, placed under house arrest, will do community service at a police station, will be visited by officers and treated like a prisoner. What intrigued me was when I was told that he asked for three hours before being placed under house arrest because he wanted to go and check on his investments which were long term but have since been reduced to short term.

I wanted to ask him what was the first thing he was going to do when he get home but he was in no mood to be co-operative. I wondered whether he would like to have a thick rump steak or a boerewors? But by the way he kissed the woman who came to meet him, I left the lot to the imagination.

Damn, the muthafucka has very soft hands. I’m thinking of writing a book about him. What do you think about that? The title could be ‘The Diary of Adolf Hitler’

NEWS

Fruit of the Poppy

(the truth about cocaine)

Two years ago I read a very interesting novel titled Fruit of the Poppy by Robert Wilder. It was basically about the drug trade between the United States of America and Mexico and how the Feds, The Drug Enforcement Agency and the Mexican authorities are combating it.

It was intriguing and made me go deeper into the drug trade to understand what happens in the underworld laboratories. Now, two years later, after reading it for the twelfth time and meeting shady characters with tattoos on faces in dark corridors I have unearthed the following facts about the quality of the stuff my friends snort up their noses in the name of fun.

In South Afrika you are the most fortunate dope fiend if what you snort has 40% of the pure cocaine. Here I’m talking about uncut-cocaine. Most of the stuff that local drug users shove up their nostrils has as high as 30% and as low as 8% cocaine, which means that you often get high out of your own imaginations and overdose out of phobia.

Now the trick with those who get it straight from the cocoa leaf is to prepare the drug for consumption. I guess you have wondered why someone would be arrested with a mere 500 grams of coke on a 16 hour flight from Buenos Aires. Or someone with 13 stuffed condoms from Lagos.

Okay, I am going to give you the 411 on what goes into that line you do when you are with your friends and how that messes up your respiratory system and cause that painless bleeding that comes with a torn membrane after some time of shoveling the demon up there.
The following products are used to mitigate the killing element of pure cocaine and maximise profits.

1. Grand-Pa – this is the old time favourite since it gives the impression that it has remedial qualities. It heals your headache, doesn't it? Remember that cocaine was previously prescribed as medication by mind-doctors like Sigmund Freud.

2. Washing Powder – now if it can wash your jeans it can clean your conscience. Who said backroom laboratory workers don’t have a sense of humour?

3. Powdered Milk – this is what made many people prefer to lick it instead of snorting. I guess some people opted to put it in their Rooibos instead of dirtying up their whistle nostrils.

4. Chalk – this must be the all-time favourite for teachers on drugs. A box of chalk wouldn’t last that long in a school full of fiend-teachers, no wonder some schools in one province are running big budgets on teacher support material.

5. Crushed Bottle – this is straightforward lethal. There are allegations that one local musician who some few years ago passed away might have snorted stuff cut using a crushed bottle. They usually go for the transparent ones, like the Coke and vodka ones. Glass is made from sand, and now imagine that stuff, which can not even be digested by your system stuck somewhere in your appendix.

6. Baby Powder – Here the joke is to take it back to kindergarten. And since the Johnson&Johnson powder is tasteless it merges very easily with the cocaine for improved digestion.

7. Talcum Powder – I know most of you don’t know this one which is actually a toilet powder. It is made of talc and is scented to improve the ingestion on your nose

8. Blue Death – an ant killer, white in colour (found in a blue cardboard container) and used in gardens

9. Cockroach Killer – when you draw a line across a wall with this chalk the following morning you will find a heap of dead roaches. And this is what it does to your conscience, it dies immediately it comes into contact with cocaine cut with it.

10. Ant Killer – this works more like blue death, but interesting enough it is white and jells well with the cocaine.

11. Rattex – it might be greyish, but when the demon has spoken, it’s hard to say ‘no’. Rattex kills rats in one bite.

12. Human Residue (Ash from the Urn) – someone went the extra mile by using her mother’s ashes to cut coke when she felt the urge. This was after she snorted those ashes alone and felt the ghost in them.

Now before you do a Ferrari on that line R60 single line or R450 sachet, ask yourself ‘what did they use to cut it this time?’ Like they say in Fruit of the Poppy, it’s not the addiction that should worry you a lot, but what you do during your withdrawal stage.

DIARY

Life is a Bitch - a Diary Entry from a Nelspruit visit


Dear Diary

Today, many days later I'm still wondering why was I shocked when I was reliably informed that Sathane is on coke? I have been asking myself this question even at times when I woke up sweating in the early hours of the morning, and it puzzles me given that I have always suspected Sathane might be up to something not good.

See, Sathane is a multi-millionaire friend of ours, loaded with crisp cash, owns a R1,6 million mansion in one of Jozi's expensive suburbs, owns a lodge where he often lives in Barberton, an Mercedes Benz ML63, a Mercedes Benz Vito, a Mercedes Benz Viano, a BMW 3Series and a Mercedes Benz Kompressor CL65.

He's 32-years old, his wife passed away four years ago leaving him with their two kids and now he's into full-time skank-bonking. But Sathane has a lot going for him. He's got some government contracts that inject tidy millions into his wallet annually. He's nice and he talks a lot of sense when we are with him, even though when it comes to his social life he lies a lot to look macho. He tells us about ex-girlfriends who came one metre into the air when they orgasmed and let his linen damp. No ways, all lies.

Okay, our friend has bonked half of the so-called happening chicks in Jozi and he loves orgies with college students. For him taking eight chicks at a time is not an issue, as long as there's potency pills.

'Man, the way he was shoveling the muthafucka down his nose with his credit card you would have sworn you were dreaming' said one friend. The other guy interjects, 'that other weekend when he went out to the Viano I sneaked behind him and found him doing the Ferrari, veeeoooh, veeeoooh, he was killing long lines man'. Suddenly we are all laughing. The third guy who was in Jozi with them speaks, 'you know when he was at that table picking at the dust with his card and snorting it like snuff we were both like, 'no ways', we were gaping. He came back and says to us, 'these are drugs for people with money my friends'. We sort of looked at him and settled for our drinks'

So, we start discussing how in shit he really is. 'These days for him it's always Winter. He's always shaking and scrubbing his hands. When he sees you he asks for R500 for his R450 daily fix. That shit is expensive man. I told him, no ways muthafucka, I'm not hanging with you'

But then late in the evening we are driving home and reflect on the reality of the situation. My friend tells me about another friend of theirs who overdosed in May this year. 'He used to refer to coke as nthla ya thipa (tip of a knife). He was fried from work many times, expelled from school, parents called to deal with him, left Jozi for Nelspruit to find tranquility, only found e, buttons, purple haze, smack and other hallucinogens here and decided to go back to Jozi, and five months down the line he was dead'.

I'm like, 'Sathane man, that shit is like playing Russian-Roulette with five chambers of the dice loaded and only one empty chamber. Chances of dying are 5 to 1.'

That's serious business hey. But the common factor about all these folks is that they befriended the so-called celebrities who have no money but connections with drug dealers. And my Mpumalanga millionaires Club keeps losing members to the substance. One day, if Sathane overdoses I am going to name and shame the so-called celebrities who peddle this product of the devil, because I know them all and I often hang with them and decide to be loyal and not write about their binges.

So, my Dear Diary, that is the story I wanted to share with you. Your loyal confidante, Kasiekulture.

???

QUIZ

Q: What is the difference between Kool-Aid and Bloody Mary?
A: Kool-Aid is bland while Bloody Mary is sophisticated

Q: Why is an onion more complex than a potato?
A: An onion is multi-layered while a potato is 'what you see is what you get'

Q: What is the difference between a VW Golf and a Ferrari?
A: A Golf is a car while a Ferrari is a statement

Q: Why is coffee more expensive than Rooibos tea?
A: It is the difference between treatment and faith healing

POETRY

Poetic Orgy

This past week I have been working on poetry. Seems like I have regained my spark again after many months of writing newspaper pieces. I took some leave and came back wow. I am sharing these two with all ye ya.

unconditional love

"unconditional love died when Hummer3 hit the streets" - anonymous

listen to me,
as you do to your favourite radio station
when i talk gibberish please don't change the station

love me,
with the same passion you have for cigarettes
when time comes you wanna quit, go cold-turkey on me

watch me,
like i am a sequel to the night you finally got deflowered
like i can restore to you what you lost that night

embrace me,
like a dope fiend's adoration for drugs & self-destruction
even when they kill her she gon' love them to her grave

undress me,
from my hat to my socks in anticipation of bliss
be happy even if all i want is a kodak moment

serenade me,
with music conceived & written exclusively for me
no cover versions no remixes for i'm an original human being

hypnotise me,
with the softness of your voice make me call your name twice
let me start counting the ways how i really adore thee

catapult me,
to the top of your card deck make me an ace in your life
i love the ace of spades but i'll be the ace of hearts

worship me not,
for i'm just a caricature the creator is my sheperd
give all grace to the lord scream 'glory halleluyah'

make love to me,
in the morning & when the sun goes down
let's stop not cuz of a climax but the blood in our sweat

get drunk with me,
let's make excuses to scream 'fuck the whole world'
true 'if this world was a bitch i'd stick my dick to the ground'

call my name,
when you're alone i'll be the light in your darkness
like a candle in the wind that's how i'm living my life

intoxicate me,
with your tongue kisses make me choke in your grip
let me shiver out of fear while i know not what i fear

let's smoke weed,
fly together to the end of the world
forget RED BULL we got wings activated by zest

indulge me,
not in secrecy like a dirty porn flick
make me a trophy in your cupboard put me ontop of your mantelpiece
-ends-

the more things change

today has got
same problems as yesterday
it's same failures pretending to be successes
hoisting victory flags borrowed from the victors
plus ugly people exhibiting their ugliness to the world
prizes given for your weakest moment
all in the name of a beauty contest

today has got
same pedophiles as yesterday
same schools same rapist-teachers different convents same faggot-fathers
hiding behind same expensive garbs & platoons of bodyguards
politicians & priests sticking dick sans rubbers
not wanting to look like pussy cowards
some doing it behind confession box covers
while some fear death later take showers
all in the name of beating court charges

today has got
same unfaithful spouses as yesterday
with glittering rings & no neptual contracts
doing the same old dudes in same budget inns
booked through sleuth fund accounts created to dodge the taxman
it's ugly wives chasing ugly mistresses
all the way past maintenance to the divorce courts
for the ugly hubby couldn't keep his dick nicely tucked in his pants

today has got
threesomes & foursomes glorified as orgies
menage trios that the french don't want to call polygamy
soccer & kwaito stars giving hiv to teenage girls in sex festivals
some reinfecting themselves reducing lives to zeros
all in the name of after parties deliberate AIDS spreading

today has got
emptiness unparalelled only closer to caves
it's four birds on a washing line singing in soprano
something deciphered coming out as aluta continua
serenading the violence of silence
courtesy of a partner's eternal beatings

today has got
all of the above and only me being a witness

HUMOUR

Why I Love South Afrika

I have said in the past that I have the smartest folks for friends and recently they haven't been seizing to crack me up.

Two weeks ago before my long sojourn to the City of Sin we visited one of those party type friends who lives in the outskirts of Steiltes (Nelspruit). It was a Sunday morning and he was still sloshed. He was in his Bart Simpson boxers and complaining about how a party he went to ended abruptly at 4h00am when he was about to deploy his Analfrelin and Spanish Fly. He said he was so bored he drove home and arrived at around 06h00am since the thrill was closer to Jozi.

Story Number One

Then the cracker came when he and Friend Number Two started reminiscing. 'Where's James?' friend number One asked.
'Oh, that one, the last time I saw him he was sick and running around confused'
'So, he's got the virus for real'
'Seems like it. You know the funny thing about him is that if he arrives at your place the first thing he looks for in the house is pills, he doesn't give a damn what are they for', before the friend could finish the other one took over the story.
'He's so skinny even when he looks around the house for pills his eyes are like a satellite roaming for evidence of extra-terrestrial life out there in the galaxy.'
'You know, if he sees any pills he asks for a glass of water and takes a palm-full dosage of them without asking what are they prescribed for'
'Pity man, that dude just wants to get well and thinks that a cocktail of sleeping, aspirin, multivitamins and all conceivable drugs can spring a miracle that ARVs fail to spark'
'You know the other time he came into my house and opened a bottle of some pills without asking if they were silver bullets or Viagra and he drank about five'
'Me I told him that one day he'll end up gulping Dog Martins and grow hair like dogs'. Ha-ha-ha-ha, they laughed. Well it was indeed about a man's life but who gives a fart, we die at the same rate that we are being littered.

Story Number Two

Now, you are all too familiar with the trials and tribulations of our next state president Mr Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma. This past week he was in court again to get charges against him rendered null and void. Outside court his luitenants, Secretary-General Gwede Mantashe, Treasurer Matthew Phosa, ANC Chairperson Baleka Mbete and ANC Youth League President Julius Malema were busy justifying to the media why Oom JZ should not be tried. Mbete made some sense because she spoke about 'justice delayed being justice denied' and the constitutional obligation on the part of the courts to afford anyone a speedy trial. Interesting that the African National Congress never takes it up with the state when ordinary folks have to wait years behind bars before they get their day in court.

The one who cracked me and my friends was Cousin Julius. Immediately he was on television on Tuesday night I received 89 smss and 17 calls from people wanting to know if I was watching the comedy. I have love for the brother but he always looks suspicious. What cracked us was when etv's Deborah Patta asked him what he would do if JZ was found guilty. 'I can't imagine him being found guilty' he responded. But the question wasn't about what he imagines but what he would do if things don't turn out his way. 'I can't imagine him being found guilty', come on comrade imagination is free and we all do it at some point in our life, that's no trait of a revolutionary.

Later on one of my friends called me to tell me that Julius' lack of litigation skills was a topic on 702 with some dude calling to ask if he represented the youth of South Africa. 'If he speaks for the youth of South Africa and he's the best candidate they could get to represent their aspirations?', he asked. He was right, given the lack of tact that Julius displays all the time, it's a tragedy what they youth are in for.

Story Number Three

Back on JZ, one friend tried to dissect the next president's strategy of challenging everything the National Prosecuting Authority throws at him. He asked, 'Kasie, tell me, if someone accused you of stealing their television and fridge, and you know you didn't steal them, that the person has got nothing to show in court to support their allegation, wouldn't you just say to the courts, give me my day in court and bring all you have because there's nothing that points to me?'
'Of course I would demand my day'
'Then if JZ hasn't done anything wrong and he's got nothing to hide, why is he trying every trick in the book not to have his day?'
'I don't know man, I guess I would want to settle it once and for all'
'Tell me, if the skank down the street accused you of rape and you know you never touched her, would you protest a prosecutor saying they have semen samples and hair samples to prove that you slept with her'
'No, I would even invite them to bring that evidence in court so it can be tested'
'Then why doesn't JZ want documents from Mauritius and those confiscicated from his home to make it to court?'
'Your guess is as good as mine'

Story Number Four

Yesterday (Wednesday) we woke up to the news that the government in Mauritania has been toppled in a coup. This at the time when there is a rumour that there's light at the end of the tunnel in Zimbabwe. Over a couple of bench presses I mentioned it to one of my friends. The first question he asked me was 'what does Mauritania have?'. I mentioned that it has got oil.
'I know, so these Mark Thatchers are not going to leave Afrika alone as long as there are minerals. I wouldn't be surprised if they were funded by by someone in Europe to topple the democratic government'. He proclaimed. I saw sense in what he was saying, before he continued. 'Why would someone want to topple the government in Lesotho?', I waited for him to finish, 'Otherwise they would topple that of Swaziland to get access to the beautiful young girls who pitch for reed dance every year. Sure, it's not far-fetched that someone will topple King Mswati just for the women'

Funny hey, I've got the smartest folks for friends and one day I hope to share them with you.

REVIEW

Don Mattera Wields A Pen Of Caution
Bra Don, as Mattera is affectionately known was in town over the weekend, here in sunny Mpumalanga. Poet Ezrom Maromo wa Sekgobela went along for the ride of a lifetime. And here is his story;
If there is one person in South African worthy of the title ‘literary genius’, then Don Mattera should ascend the pedestal with ease. From Sophiatown, his pen defied adversity, incarceration and injustice to still be celebrated in the democratic order. Mattera has a compelling aura around him; his veins bloated with visible anger to the knowledge of a people suffering in silence, a dream deferred, dreams pulverized. He speaks of liberators with chubby cheeks conveniently forgotten about the revolutionary covenant entered into with the people.

I met him recently at Exclusive Books, Nelspruit during the in-store signing ceremony of his compelling anthology: Azanian Love songs. Initially published in 1983, the book resonates relevance as if penned yesterday, an assertion that not much has changed since.
Excuses advanced of a ‘nascent democracy’, while a few enjoy self-aggrandizement crusades at the expense of the populace.

With sheer excellence Mattera weaves wickers of words to describe an epoch that still lives in the shadow of its ghastly past. In the poem: They think us happy, one might think it's déjà vu or we’ve been silently whiskered into the old order.

Mattera writes: “They think us happy, because we hide our anguish in song, stamp our shackled feet until red drips from the cracks. They smile and we smile, we only smile because they smile and they think us happy. Let us remove our masks of artificial merriment, reveal the wrinkles of our quiet anger, wash the clay from our bodies and let them see the scars. Perhaps they know, perhaps not, but dammit they must be told, we have had enough”.

The veteran scribe also pens about the nostalgia of the transcended, who still pine to see the freedom they dearly sacrificed for. “Remember to call my grave when freedom finally walks the land, then I may rise to tread familiar paths…do not run away for fright if I crumble to dust again, it will only be the bliss of a long awaited dream, that bids me rest, when freedom finally walks the land”.

Mattera’s poetry is not a call for a bloody revolution, but rather a revelation to the compelling truths around us. The question is; do we choose to let sleeping dogs lie, or do we give them a rude and rumpus awakening? It’s demo-cracy anyway (“demonstration-of-craze), as eruditely captured by the late Afro-beat legend Fela Anikulapo Kuti.

Ezrom Maromo wa Sekgobela is a published poet-author of Traces of My Thoughts, a poetry collection. He resides in Nelspruit. If you want to contact him about any literary event or to purchase his book he can be reached at 082 394 7059 or ez@ananzi.co.za

DIARY

Joburg City highlights

My confession; I haven't liked a lot of brainy type chicks who excel only in crossword puzzles and nothing in-between. I don't do bimbos, thank you, since I have had a lot of those in my life already. But then Joburg last week revealed to me that there's a woman I think I like. I can't put cash on this hunch but I think it's not misguided. Not because she's the most beautiful wow-chick in the whole wide world but because she's got finesse.

She also has got a portable torso, which I like. Not because I can wrap it in one tangle but because she smelled so damn good. I like things that smell good that's why I have a flower garden next to my bedroom window. One evening was spent cuddling her and having interesting pillow talk which left no doubt in my mind that if we met in another lifetime we would've taken off like a house on fire.

We have many similarities as well. She says she's got a son who is a few months older than my daughter. This simply means that in 2005 we were both seriously bonking. She's smart and we technically draw our cash from the same cow. The cuddling was on Tuesday night after I came back from Hillbrow. The next day we cuddled again after after leaving her alone at 23h00 the previous night without even proposing a screw. I still don't know how I came to love and leave her without even sticking my tongue in her mouth.

Maybe her honesty disarmed me. In retrospect it's fine because it saved from being thrown from the second floor or shot through the eyes with a Beretta after avoiding her boyfriend by nine seconds. I was just walking out of her room, after putting on my shoes following one hour of good talk under her single bed covers. Just after strolling out I met boyfriend who has just turned a corner at a passage and couldn't establish whether I came from down the passage or the room next door. I said 'hi' and he responded with serious suspicion.

It could have been worse because the night before I left the same room I did not bother to put my shoes on but was holding them all the way to my room. Well, I'll be with the same intelligent-chick later this month and I plan to see her birthmark (ha-ha-ha)

Joburg also reestablished my connection to my business partner and chomi, Za. I spent Monday evening with her and a poet-friend smoking sticky weed on the balcony of my room. Before I got to Jozi I asked her to hook me up a joint and she ended up dishing four toxic blunts that left me about to bleed through the nose.

That's Part One and Two of me and Za - and a friend.

On my way home on Thursday, while couched up in my coach I met a Portuguese senhora who was so nice and smelled so bloody great she had to sit next to me. Over four hours of journeying I went on the offensive and just befroe Mataffin we were so advanced friends that my tongue was automatically prodding her tonsils with lust. She's the reason I'm learning Portuguese. 'Eu perder você Mami'

When I arrived in Jozi on Sunday Cochran was the man who drove me from Park Station to Berea. I didn't need to give him too many details as his Global Positioning System took us through the hussle and buzzle of the city to my crib at Berea. I'm back in Jozi later this month, and hey, you never know what happens. I might OD and die there or bleed through the nose until I die.

OPINION

Prosecution or Persecution - the life and times of Jacob Zuma

'Love him or hate him' seems to wrap African National Congress Jacob Zuman's public profile right now. There's no middle ground when it comes to our beloved JZ. However, for all armchair judges of the high moral court there's one crucial admission; The man is a bloody survivor of serious note, socially and politically. Put him on any island and tune in to SABC3 on Tuesday 19h30 and he's certain to claim the million bucks. If we all had his number of lives the earth would be a highly-populated better planet.

He's a smart fella that none of the guys who commit suicides because they can't handle the pressure or measure up to life's trials and tribulations come close to.

Zuma's Nine Lives

Life # 1. He gets fired from his cushy high-paying job of deputy president on a non-existent 'generally corrupt relationship' ground attributed to Judge Johan Squires and he lives long enough to have one foot in the Union Buildings.

Life # 2. Then he gets harassed through state organs by the 'prima facie' (but not winnable) case assertion of former top state prosecutor Advocate Bulelani Ngcuka and lives to see Ngcuka leave under a cloud.

Life # 3. Then, while claiming political motive gets slapped with a rape charge which he later kicks out at the Johannesburg High Court, thanks to his bulldog lawyers and friends in the spookworld. And he lives long enough to see Khwezi whisked away to a god-forsaken London flat for her safety while JZ becomes a pastor.

Life # 4. Still recovering from that has his day in the Pietermaritzburg High Court and manages to have the case thrown out on a technicality, mainly because most of the evidence that should be introduced against him is the subject of appeals and Concourt decisions.

Life # 5 Not long after that a forensic KPMG report exposes his car-wash preferences and he is soon re-indicted for extra charges including tax evasion. He goes to Mauritius to instil the fear of god into their Attorney-General.

Life # 6. Mauritius turns down his application to block crucial evidence which includes diaries and minutes from meetings from making it to a South African court. He goes on a World Tour to boost his credentials.

Life # 7. Judicial Services Commission put on leave his purpoted luitenant at the Cape High Court Judge John Hlophe for allegedly attempting to influence Constitutional Court decisions on Zuma. In all these JZ is playing Shaggy, 'it wasn't me'.

Life # 8. Finally Concourt rules in the state's favour on the admissibility of 93000 documents crucial in his prosecution. JZ is not even in the country but in Mozambique to apologise for xenophobia attacks.

UmSholozi

And Zuma is still standing, not contemplating any suicide, not running from justice and not contemplating throwing in the towel. Or maybe, he should consider applying for a separation of trial from Thint?
Standing on the dock with a seller of death does not help his case either.

Life # 9. Today (August 4) he's having his day in court and his fans swear to god they can intimidate the judiciary to let their man go.

A cat has nine lives, can our friend UmSholozi outdo the gentle feline. JZ-Trials and Tribulations II, coming soon to a blog near you

POEM

1. shatale 2008
(a biografia)

1. shatale 2008
(the biography)

2. fins de semana são agora exclusivamente reservados para goodbyes & lullabies
já não vamos assistir futebol vemos caskets a descer
nós contamos bênçãos cada passo que tomamos a partir do ventre para o túmulo
HIV / SIDA sobre as comunidades rampage perecer como moscas
irmãs é derramamento doces lágrimas finalmente paroled de bordéis
ir à confissão Mami tornar a igreja seu paraíso

2. 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

3. amizades substituído por conspirações Judas é reincarnated
ocultar abraços e os verdadeiros motivos da backstabber okapi
boas-vindas ao meu município - mi casa su casa
porque é que nós nip @ amor à nascença quando eles nos mostraram do dólar relativamente ao modo como todos nós podemos gritar quando alguns aluta são repousado em Benzes
maconha é agora o nosso messias garantias resgate

3. 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

4. it's a frio-frio mundo pai eu estou no meu joelhos para baixo
salvamento tentação de me vejo a isca de lucifer
balas ainda lamber irmãos que se esqueceram de avaliar o modo de agir
estamos enganados agora acreditam ovelha negra deveria morrer no escuro
instal portas em cavernas e desaparecer da sua glória

4. 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

5. o meu município é contradições reza a Deus, mas elogia Satanás
perguntamo-nos por que ele é o seu filho, mas carece de sua luz-que demos a nossa fé poderoso que nunca comprou dólares nos vida
brett kebble capturados ocos deixou-nos perguntando porque
dezenas de milhões não poderia fiança-lo a partir do anjo da morte

5. 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

6. Ontem à noite eu humildes e marcou o mary virgem
para salvar-me do meu receio de morrer antes de virar 40
me dar uma razão para viver, enquanto toda a gente está morrendo
Leve-me para o céu se é lá que estou convertido sans fé
i ' m cego não pode fechar os olhos i rezar com eles abertos
i love para que todos tenham a vida eterna
todo mundo que deixou de ser perdoado eles pecados
em todos eles deathbeds para chegar bem antes do Natal
shatale para ser a coragem suficiente para enterrar seus mortos

6. 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 shatale to be bold enough to bury its dead

* The Portuguese translation was inspired by a Mozambican woman I met who challenged me to learn her language before a lot of stuff can happen. And I think I'm ready to invade Maputo with my everything.