Reach for the Sky


Miss Mpumalanga hopeful Thato Matšie is only twenty-years old and can already see herself walking out of the Ehlanzeni Conference Centre with the crown on April 13. She is competing against 13 other equally beautiful and gifted young women – all hoping to continue to represent Mpumalanga at the Miss South Africa pageant later this year.

“I started modelling in high school, winning both the Miss Valentine, Lehlasedi, Shatale and Mapulaneng school contests. I am currently with Select Modelling Agency in Rosebank and have attended Miss SA workshops. At the workshops it finally dawned on me that if I want to be at the top I need to start at the bottom”, Thato says.

She adds that contrary to her earlier perceptions of modelling, it is not as easy as it is made out to look. Thato says her view was broadened at realising that she needs to be informed about what is happening politically, be intelligent and have a brain to understand the challenges faced by young people in the country. “I want to use my participation in Miss Mpumalanga to bring hope to the people of Bushbuckridge as a whole, rural areas and teenagers who are at a disadvantage, especially those who feel that they don’t have hope. I want them to know they can make it in life. I want to be their role model” says this hip-hop sensation Rick Ross fan.

Thato also confesses her liking for Thandiswa Mazwai and says ‘Mazwai is real, a woman-and-a-half. I love her personality’.

The leggy lass aspire to open beauty spas and libraries throughout communities as her way of reaching out. She says women’s health and beauty should not be exclusive to the elite but should be as affordable as a Pap Smear. “I want to be Miss South Africa, own cars and houses. My two role models are my mother, Lebo and Sibongile Sambo, founder of SRS Aviation. She’s the first black woman to own an aviation company and school in Africa. She’s a strong woman who has done a lot and motivated me. She comes from my hometown too”, Thato says fondly. She is also a Flight Attendant student in Johannesburg.

Last weekend her charity donated 250 school uniforms, shoes and bags to Lehlasedi High School and Boikhutšo Primary School learners.

“I believe that our fashion industry in South Africa must integrate our ethnic designs and fabrics into what are globally big brands like Gucci. We need to promote Africa and be more innovative instead of just being consumers” she says about our fashion industry. Her love for women’s beauty is one of the reasons why she wants to study Somantology later in her twenties.

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Kapture the Moment!

Very few South African producers would bet on Fruity Loops being their sound software of choice. They rather vouch for fancy brands such as Q-Base and MPC 300. However when one listens at the finished product the creativity fails the technology.

That’s until you meet Kapture, real name Ronald Malele (24). Born and raised in Bushbuckridge, Malele started his schooling at Saile and moved on to Ditau High School where he matriculated in 2007.
He says that he discovered his love for music, especially the innovation and creative side of things while he was studying PC Engineering in Joburg. While the world of technology is still what pays his bills he has ventured into serious beatmaking as his mixtape, which is still in the pipeline titled From the Underground bears testimony.
Driven largely by sampling underground skits and dodgy (unpopular) interludes his fascination with underground hip hop comes to the fore. “I grew up listening to house and hip hop but I loved hip hop more because of the messages it has. My favourite rappers were and still are Jedi Mind Tricks, Canibus, Gangstarr, Ben Shaper, Proverb, Optical Illusion etc.” Kapture says.
His evolution has resulted in him hooking up with Mpumalanga’s number one indigenous rapper Masta H (Mapulaneng Mixtape Volume One) on his follow-up mixtape. Masta H, real name Hlompho Lekhuleni swears by Kapture’s beats and says he is looking forward to working closely with him on his June release.
“I have worked with different producers such as Hydrogen, Rudy, Khulekani, Juniour, Tapsmash and many others but I find Kapture’s beats to be at another level and am looking forward to rapping my Sepulana rhymes on them”, he says.
Fruity Loops, the software that Kapture uses so well in real underground and deep songs such as The Graveyard, BBR Finest and The Angelic is also a favourite of award-winning 22-years old American producer Lex Luger. Luger has produced for artists such as Rick Ross, Snoop Dogg, Wiz Khalifa and many others.
Kapture is a very talented young man whose command of sampling reminds one of a younger and less-arrogant Kanye West, is on point. It will be smart for some of Mpumalanga’s hip hop artists to familiarise themselves with his sound, especially those on a conscious tip and wanting beats to carry their message across. “The Graveyard is the name of my production which I chose because the graveyard is the last place where we all rest, so this means my sound is the beginning of the end.”, Kapture says in conclusion

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VIDEO

Re T$wa Bush

Shatale zone 2, right next 2 Nazareth church is where my head goes to rest,

Still blessed to be living amongst loving neighbors,

I do remember those early years playing le bo Eric,

Sammy always finding us mischievous shit to do, re sadja di Nombela.

Maiba having da fear in their eyes whenever we approached,

Shit! We never got coached on how to be happy,

Be in da wrong, n Mama whipped ur ass gladly,

But we had to grow that is the story, sadly

So hell yeah I will tell u when they ask,

Of course Ket$wa Bush.

Mangozi yatala ka Spice, might get u ill, but damn dat shit is nice.

Happy to see we passed on the tradition,

Course my Nephew still comes through with dat raw ish,

N we start feasting

Ripe ones, u don’t want a lot in ur system,

Thuto bears witness to dat,

N I bet Shatale could go in the Book of Guinness,

As a record holder for the most Mango trees in one kasi,

But that’s just some trivial shit,

My hood is truly legit,

Although we not recognized, I will still say

Of course ket$wa bush.

Marope ra maja, maphopho ra kganya

N if u don’t got u could always ask ur neighbor,

Ladies dat sell those treasures, are the true saviors,

Trying to feed their fams, while they feeding the nation

U could find them at every taxi rank, Selling those health products, produced ku Zoeknog.

True dat, they might be cooked or uncooked, wrapped or unwrapped.

But u recognize u home, when u get home n u find ur mom eating dat shit.

N u recognize the real, n if a udji Marope

I don’t think ut$wa Bush.

Never made it to Lower, but dat hotel was the shit

Probably broke a whole lot of families around Acornhoek,

But when 1 thing goes, another just gets us Hooked.

I cry with the wives whose husbands, booked a room ga- mokanatla

A fetse a teye ka nama, but dats how the story goes,

Dats how life rolls, now we havin strip shows, right here in dwaarslop.

Never been, but 1 day I might just get in, so I may say n prove,

Whenever they retelling, whenever they be asking,

I’ll tell them simply yes, of course ket$wa Bush

(Hook)

Nna ket$wa Bush! Weni ot$wa kae?

Kere nna ket$wa Bush! Mfana weni ot$wa kae?

Nna ket$wa Bush! Weni ot$wa kae?

Kere nna ket$wa Bush! Mfana weni ot$wa kae?

Marope ra maja! Weni ot$wa kae?

Mangozi atala! Weni ot$wa kae?

Nna ket$wa Bush! Weni ot$wa kae?

Nna ket$wa Bush! Mfana Weni ot$wa kae?

Nna ket$wa Bush! Weni ot$wa kae?

Kere nna ket$wa Bush

Two towns connecting, taxi drivers reflecting

On their lives spent between Acornhoek n Bushbuckridge

Carrying eager moms ready to spend dat grant,

Seems like we famous for impregnating,

Rural twist, nobody is masturbating

So we let da babies live n give a faint smile, when we see a child bearing a child,

N she still has to push a wheelbarrow, just to get some water,

Yes there’s shortages everywhere, Ask them in Bevelsoek or Garapanga,

People in Bushbuckridge don’t complain, and if they ask again,

I will tell them of Course ket$wa bush, no doubt

Nna ba mpitsa leshoboro, was never my cup of coffee,

But we went for some raw shit called mankgorong,

Kgokgo yago sa keni potong, before I new that bottle @ 606

But then I grew up, n found out bout Niggaz like Mingaz

N how they be terrorizing that spar,

By far, I never heard of niggaz living this way, but that’s their way,

N this is my way of relatin to the place I was raised in,

No need to be hating, no need for escaping the dusty roads, that nurtured ur soul,

True dat, no doubt, ket$wa Bush

Now Luv Ur Hood is in the picture,

No doubt we are permanent fixtures,

God giving prescriptions,

Filled with Ghetto Gospel scriptures,

Goodenough be giving us dat energy, to make this shit a blast,

We not testing da waters, we drinking till we overflow,

Mr Do, go ahead n overblow,

Masta H, this is da rhyme stage,

And KFB, hold it down, till we cure Shatale of all these frowns.

And as we propel till Thulumahashe

And excel and hit CollegeView,

The people will say, its true dat they flew.

N yes

(Hook)

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Nna ket$wa Bush! Mfana ot$wa kae?

Kere nna ket$wa Bush! Kere weni ot$wa kae?

Nna ket$wa Bush! Mfana ot$wa kae?

Kere nna ket$wa Bush! Mfana weni ot$wa kae?

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

Ret$wa Bush

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REVIEW

Lewis Ever After

Lewis Nkosi passed away a year ago after he fell on a Melville pavement while intoxicated by a substance he has never aggrieved or thought of divorcing in 54 years of literary excellence – inwhich he produced undoubtedly some of the best literature to emerge out of this continent. wordsetc First Quarter 2011 celebrates this genius who is amongst the last DRUM generation. Giants have passed on to a world with nothing to fear – notably Prof Es’kia Mphahlele, Blakes Modisane, Can Themba and many others.

It is saddening that at a time when African literature is going thought a challenge of relevance the very bearers of the torch are finding comfort in a yonder that requires not their literary prowess. Nkosi was, according to those who contributed pieces to wordsetc a complex, yet simple man. He was a storyteller who created characters that often made him laugh and cry. I would be brave to say that any writer who can totally divorce themselves from their characters have developed a dangerous God-complex. Novelists and authors enjoy the power of murder and life. They are the closest to God 'cause while they are weakened reflection of His greatness, they are also able to create their own weakened reflections of self.

As a short story writer I have killed far more people than some of the country’s convicted serial killers such as Moses Sithole. I have made love to some of the most beautiful women GQ magazine will ever label as sexiest. I have made slow, deep, sensual love with meaning.

I should mention that Nkosi is one of the few older generation poets to have caught my attention. I met Nkosi once, in Cape Town, and those who know me will tell you; I strike while the iron is hot; I struck a conversation with him. He was promoting his novel Mandela’s Ego. Some say Nkosi was barely sober, well, I don’t know what drunk looks like so to me Nkosi’s face just shone like that of my Maths teacher who was always drunk.

There are very interesting aspects of Nkosi’s life that emerge in Phakama Mbonambi’s long feature on the man. The man who would be a brilliant essayists, novelist and tutor was a simple village boy when he came to Joburg to follow his dream. Its gets worrying when one notices that one of those dreams, unless it was a dream deferred was to cross the Rubicon before the country has done so in 1994. It seems that Nkosi loved his white women with such vim that in a quote from an essay published in Geneve-Afrique he said, “I have more than adjusted to living in London; there are green parks, the free libraries, the reasonably cheap beer, and, above all, the astonishing diversity and undiminishing pleasures of the English woman.”.

As I said I met Nkosi in Platoville and we had a chat. We chatted from the position of me being, a small time novelist, blogger and many other things I won’t mention and him being the guy who told Ngugi to talk sense. I wanted to know how do I grow up to be like him. Well, he told me.

However wordsetc touches on the very burning issue of torn relationships once most of these exiled writers got overseas. The same way there was a tiff between Mphahlele [RIP] and (Dennis) Brutus [RIP], there was another tiff between Prof Keorapetse Kgositsile and Nkosi. It was eventually snuffed by a fellow (now deceased) South Afrikan Zakes Mokae in New York. Mokae, it must be mentioned lived in the US until he passed away some few years ago and was buried in his motherland.

When studying Nkosi’s life, which is worth a whole thesis, one comes across an anarchist who was so unfortunate that the world did not exist on his terms. Kgositsile wrote, “Lewis didn’t believe that laws had to govern human behaviour. He just wanted people to live and do as they pleased...”. live and do as he pleased he did. Very vocal about Afrikan writing while not living in the continent Nkosi stepped on a couple fragile corns. But it seems he didn’t care. He wrote, “for me, writing is primarily a struggle with language; words refusing to be made “flesh””.

Culture-writer Bongani Madondo summed up the paradox that was Lewis. He said at Nkosi’s memorial that when he (Madondo) was on assignment for Sunday Times to talk to Nkosi, “rather than talk about literature, he wanted to chat about tennis and (Marc) Chagall”.

wordsetc has a touching essay written by Nkosi's partner in Basel [Switzerland], where he lived in an extended exile and enjoyed his writing there. "I remember the night Lewis turned seventy. He didn't sleep, looked gorgeous and apprehensive - one could see that he was thinking of the new decade that was beginning and what it might bring. He told me once he wanted to die at seventy" wrote Astrid Starck-Adler. While this edition is dedicated to Nkosi, as it has become custom there are good essays by amongst others, Mike Sager [The gift of being heard], Amanda Patterson [The power of words], Joe Tlholoe [A poet with a camera], which is a moving story of photographer Alf Khumalo, Pumla Dineo Gqola [Blind spots], Kemon Neophyte [Drunk with Tolstoy] and many others.

The book reviews are galore. Before I could grow up to be Lewis Nkosi and tell him that I have become him, Lewis died at age 74.

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REVIEW

A Drawing is Worth a lot of Noise

In my many years of blogging I have written about filmmakers, novelists and many other artists but I just haven't come across an illustrator whose work I could put my pulse on and commentate. Well, that's before I spend sleepless nights indulging in Tsepo Gumbi's Noise. Ja, you heard me right, Noise = lerata = umsindo = geraas. The book actually makes noise from the cover page. And it's a noise that never stops until the back cover which is make up of something - I use something with artistic care - that could fetch millions of rands if it was on canvas and sold overseas as what goes on in the head of a manic depressed person.

At the end of the day Noise is a book of poetry with tons of illustrations; so as I go through the saucy words I will also engage with the illustrations. I will try to commentate drawings as if I know something about them except drawing my own. "Gakwi, hope my words inspire you to write more - tsepo gumbi', that's how my copy is on the first page - autographed [advantages of being a reviewer]

Gumbi's poetry can be classified street; street as in township talk, ghetto talk, ghetto surreality and reality.His clever use of metaphors stands out throughout the book. Human organs can best represent situations outside of ourselves. When we talk of a broken heart it is a figure of speech that almost anyone uses without realising how rich that is. 'My heart is broken', we yell, as if our hearts are made of wood. When Tsepo writes, "I am locked behind the prison bars/ of a depressed and distressed mind/ shackled in chains of frustration and turmoil" you start to wonder how people can be enslaved while prowling our streets. And we wonder why so many of our people are savages.

Then on page eight Tsepo writes a disturbing poem which comes with a disturbing drawing. It is that of a man dangling by his neck - shoes off. The poem has that hackneyed line found in many suicide notes; "i can't cope with pressures and stresses of life/ my ass is broke". Tsepo makes a mockery of the 'victim', "so you dope overdose/ you crack your brains/ and try to intoxicate reality but/ the situations doesn't change". He then moralises at the last sentence, "you are a coward GO to hell!"

A graphic illustration of scaaaaaaaaaaaaaars on page sixteen is meant to put colour to a poem on page fifteen titled SCARS. What is good about Tsepo's illustrations is that you can't look at them once and think you have seen it all. I spent a good quarter of an hour trying to single out individual scars on the drawing and ended up settling for a face looking to the left that has scars and tears. But the scars could easily have been cracks on a wall or another smooth surface. And then I thought I saw tired woman breasts. When I read the line, "inside my heart is broken/ pain of hidden wounds", I thought it is possible that the poet/illustrator hid the scars deliberately and my quest to find all of them was doomed from inception. Those are hidden scars; read HIDE = CONCEAL.

And now, while I would give this book seven phat lips here comes my criticism; Tsepo writes quite well, his language is lucid, his syntax informed but it's not the same artistic aesthetic he brings into creatively arranging the book. What I mean is that in almost all the poems with illustrations he starts off with the poem and follows it with the illustration. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Which simply means that starting with the drawing would add value to the poem since I would look at a drawing and wonder what is it all about and then be provided with an explanation of it in a poem. For example; as I read 'a woman's bruised face is like/ a butterfly with broken wings/ a beautiful rose planted in mud/ a bee with rotten honey" I am looking at the drawing less than five centimetres from the last word. I don't think this works. On the same leaf; page twenty five I am looking at a beautiful drawing that's stand alone, it's about a poem on the leaf I paged through. This beautiful drawing on my left could have been that of the woman on page 26.

This is not to say that there's no creativity in the book since it is wholly made up of works that could stand their own in any visual arts platform. The beauty of this book is its experimentation approach; you can see that Tshepo was having mad fun with it. It seems that he has put everything he ever wanted the world to know about him in it. Am not sure if this is his first book but if it is I'm looking forward to his next book; without much of the baggage artists carry on their pioneering projects.

Noise is an inspiring book that should be part of any poetry and arts lover's library. I don't recommend books cheaply; so when I say 'it's a wrap' I truly mean that I'm impressed. I read roughly 150 books, 120 magazines a year and my opinion should be informed. I have never met Tshepo yet but am looking forward with anticipation.

Noise is the book to have. I give it my vote. Can ya all please treat my recommendation like Oprah's. To get the book please contact Tsepo at Botaki Self-Publishing ; tsgumbi@gmail.com

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