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A Test of Character for Obama

When Barack Obama came to power he made over-arching promises about what his presidency will achieve, not only for America but the rest of the world. Domestically he has had a few snags as he managed to pull off some of his promises regardless – but even with the best intentions it was always going to be difficult to turn a budget deficit into a surplus.

However some Africans feel that Obama has fallen short by not extending his grace to his grandmother’s continent. The visit by Michelle Obama is insignificant when judged against the impact that a full continental visit by the president would have achieved, not in instiling better governance but to boost the confidence of young African politicians confronted by old demagogue leaders who will forever have each other’s back – at the detriment of continental development.

There however are two things that Obama can do to cement his place in history and the hearts of all freedom, justice and peace-loving people. Obama must, before he steps from the plate use his presidential pardon to expunge the convictions of Black Panthers Mumia Abu Jamal and Assanta Shakur.

That Shakur has been exiled in Cuba for over thirty years while successive so-called Democratic Negro-friendly administrations come and go is justice’s worst travesty. When asked what freedom is, Shakur said “I know a whole lot more about what freedom isn’t, than what it is, ‘cause I’ve never been free”. It’s an indictment on the American brag of being ‘a land of the free’ when one of its daughters knows not its definition.

Abu Jamal’s case has been frustrated by countless rightwing judges not to be brought to a review. And for the once promising radio journalist to languish in prison for allegedly trumped-up charges while Obama tries to convince the world that he is leading the beacon of freedom will not work for his legacy – him being a lawyer.

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VIDEO

the shatale 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

install 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 & dialed 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

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REVIEW

Hip hop has always derived its strength and glamour from emcees proudly representing where they come from. The territorial mentality is wholly about the emcee telling the rest what’s so good about their ‘hood. Sometimes the fact that there’s too much crime can be a plus since street credentials are the only honour rappers can carry to the next ‘hood.

So, the second out-of-Shatale instalment of Mpumalanga’s only hip hop movement Luv Ur Hood saw a lot of Thulamahashe’s emcees coming out to drop their verses and share stories about their sprawling township with other rappers and patrons. The show on in early July, themed Mangozi Ya Tala ka Spice, exposed the raw talent that remains hidden in the periphery provinces of this country. Gauteng has nothing on some of the cats that prowled the makeshift stage.

On decks was the province’s only hip-hop DJ, SK, who also dropped a verse with his Krazy Doggz crew which includes many emcees amongst them C-well Shogun, Tazzy Tazz etc. While every DJ is going the house music direction - SK is the Funkmaster. They had the crowd which is familiar with their songs, which are contained in their mixtape, repeating every hook as they ripped the stage apart. The mood was only poisoned by one emcee who saw his moment of glory as an opportunity to push his political party's hustle.

Thulamahashe also boasts arguably the youngest female emcee who, the way she was delivering her raps it appeared that if she’s not genius she has an intelligent ghost-writer. Methinks her hypeman who also happens to be her sister is the writer behind the juicy rhymes.

Lydenburg and Burgersfort were represented respectively by Oscar (Pedi Swagg) and KG who together dropped powerful lines over a beat produced by AB Crazy of Man of the Moment fame. “I like the fact that there are shows this side of town. Quite honestly where we coming from you don’t get rappers meeting like this to share in the music and culture” said Oscar in an interview. We ended up having an hour-long chat about hip hop both local and global.

The regulars were there as well. Mr Doo sampled from his upcoming mixtape. He comically rapped what has become his signature tune, Leya Thoma go e Kwa while Masta H also dropped a song from his upcoming mixtape titled Lepulana Volume I.

Katsuko mounted the stage and delivered his stellar song Re Tswa Bush which has become an anthem with a music video on YouTube. Dialectic was also there delivering decapitating punchlines, first with a Krazy Dogg member then on his own flowing over a Nas and Damian Marley beat.

While Shatale remains the spiritual home of the movement organisers Katsuko and Masta H say they have serious plans to put it on a road show and give it that Made in Mpumalanga identity.

“The next show will be at Mkhuhlu, followed by Bushbuckridge. We are looking at how we can take it to places such as Kanyamazane, Ngodini, Matsulu and others”, Katsuko told the patrons who came to feed off the raps on offer.

Luv Ur Hood, Mangozi ya Tala ka Spice is also used to merchandise and the organisers say it’s now on Facebook, where other people can join to follow the growth.

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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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Shooting in Alexandra - Part ONE

Alexandra is more than just a juxtaposition to Sandton. It is a sign that while unleashing the most ruthless system of governance on majority Black people in South Afrika – the Boers also had a sense of humour. To create two worlds just a few kilometres of each other, separated by a freeway is but the worst form of mental torture one can inflict on people they don’t like.

An academic I chatted with some few years ago said that even if you were blindfolded and driven through Sandton and later taken to Alexandra you can still feel the contrast. “in Sandton you will smell the sweet aroma of freshly-mowed lawn while Alexandra will give you a stench of raw sewerage and dry urine only synonymous with squalor”

We took the shoot for Cast The First Stone to Alexandra for a simple reason that the story of how Father Nicholas negotiates his calling through pain and ‘divine’ deception is set in Alexandra. In the film Alexandra is not just a backdrop but an integral part of the story character. It is not just a wallpaper at the mercy of glorification by a film crew out to smell raw sewerage and bid this failed experiment goodbye when it wraps. Alexandra is a reality some call home.

We turned up in Alex on Monday morning and as we knew were welcomed by hordes of people living under the sun, drinking, smoking, doing their laundry while some were just going about their day. The first thing you notice through the eye of a social scientist is that unemployment is rampant. Overpopulation gives Alex its gritty realism, the poverty aesthetic often loved by documentaries about why sad stores continue to be told. Alex has a Beijing complex.

Cast the First Stone is set in this disappointment. The hundreds of people who wake up to face an empty day are mirrored in the characters of Bongani, Mpho and Sipho. The bad role-modelling often synonymous with townships serves as a slate onwhich the three township youths find their future already chalked. Such hopelessness can only be explored in a township such as Alexandra. The people of Alex are clean and proud. They are humble and policed by an ever visible SAPS police van, sedan or kombi. They work hard when there’s work to do.

They offer their toilets to the crew members at no fee. It’s a relief given that we pay R2 to use a public toilet in town. We pay nothing to these people with nothing – who want so much.

As the crew gathers expensive equipment and rolls metres of cable for the day as rain comes down, the only relief one feels at leaving 6^th Avenue as we found it is that Cast the First Stone will tell the story of this community to a bigger audience – people will explore Alex – minus the stench of raw sewerage and numbing poverty.

However we feel duty-bound to portray the rat holes – the human passages, the slum, the dilapidation through the lens of a camera. Maybe Cast the First Stone will be a small mirror and a minor step – but we know it will be a giant leap since the Alexandra Renewal Project.

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Part TWO

Shooting films in Alexandra is more than just being moths attracted to a bright light. Alexandra is not that bright which makes this endeavour a civil duty. It is also about using the power of the visual media to bring to the screen stories about spaces that otherwise would have fallen into the cracks. This township is not just surreality and grit, it is also a bearer of giants that went on to make an impact in the lives of all South Afrikans. You mention Prof Wally Serote, Arts and Culture Minister Paul Mashatile, Gauteng Sports, Arts and Culture MEC Lebogang Maile, Leepile Taunyane etc.

So, when on the second day of the shoot it took us time to start working I felt that the pace was understandable – the reason we were too slow to move was because we were carrying the whole township on our shoulders. When someday director Shaft mounts that stage and receives that award for Best Picture, when he mentions the derelict kasie nestled between affluence, the whole world will have to stop and take a notice. They will have to ask ‘where in the damn world is this celebrated Alexandra?”

Of course there are landmarks in the world that gained their notoriety from having served as movie backdrops for some of the world’s award-winning flicks. We hope when we call it a wrap, Alex, Ga-Mampjana will be a tourist destination with all the benefits of Euros and dollars accruing to this community. Movies don’t only make sense when they were shot on expensively constructed sets, think Slumdog Millionaire and City Of God. They make sense because a good story is getting told – with apologies to Sex & the City II.

While on set, in conversation with the crew and cast we joked about spaghetti westerns where they simply secure vacant land from the municipality and recreate the whole damn El Paso or Texas with wood and nails. They shoot on that set with every living object being an extra and every cauldron and spike being a prop. Their wardrobe is imaginary as if it was borrowed from Terminator 10 – I won’t be back. They love crane shots to market the set builders who are the producer’s cousin. After the shoot they demolish everything and leave – well, nothing except dead grass. Or in a twist to the script the whole town gets burned down by a deranged Sheriff.

They don’t feel indebted to any local as they shop the film to festivals and scoop awards for gore and a number of bullets fired in one shootout where nobody got shot. Maybe that’s why that genre never survived civilisation – it just lacked soul.

Kanye West raps I’m Coming Home, “in my heart is where she’ll always be/ she never mess with entertainers cuz they always leave’. Maybe Alex can claim the same thing about its heroes. Most of them always leave for Sandton next door – but it can rest assured in the heart of the crew of Cast the First Stone that’s where she’ll always be. She can mess with filmmakers cuz they always bring the Oscar back.

Making films is always about networking – building those eternal networks you will tap into at some stage in your life. When you are on set with talented actors such as Bra Jeff Sekele, Vuyo Dabula, Siya Ngwekazi, Kagiso Gwyza and many others there’s no dull moment. I always suspected from his music but I found Gwyza to be such a funny guy, I don’t know if he knows it – he can crack a stand-up comedy set hands down. He said a whole load of funny stuff about Brazilian weaves that kept me and producer, Sechaba in stitches.

Slums are disturbing as well and Alexandra has its fair share. While policed like South Central Los Angeles (minus the ghetto birds) it is surprising that some suspected conman at 3^rd Avenue still got jumped so bad it gave me a cramp in my stomach. I hate blood and gore even though a few will get spilled in Cast the First Stone.

With its ever-smiling people and lots of schoolchildren who just wanted to be part of history and the hard-working cast that just wanted to have the job done, it was sad when on the second day one said ‘goodbye’ to Ga-Mampjana (Gomorah) and its squalor. Like Kanye said, ‘in my heart is where she’ll always be’. Come on, mess with me baby cuz I’ll be gone til November but I’ll always come back.

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LUV UR HOOD - MANGOZI YA TALA KA SPICE

Mpumalanga’s flagship hip hop pilgrimage, Luv Ur Hood (themed Marope Ra Maja) kicked off 2011 with a bang. Within a short space of four months the session hosted two shows that exposed new emcees, new voices and new patrons to this grassroots hip hop extravaganza pioneered by Katsuko and Masta H.

The 2011 revolution, started off on 26 March with an outing to Love Life Centre at Acornhoek. Luv Ur Hood has never been held outside of its home Ga-Kabila, which is a chillaz doubling as a car-wash.

In its inaugural outside venture it attracted new emcees who have performed in bedrooms and garages thinking the world was four by four metres wide. It exposed the talent of cats such as Eardrumbusters whose intimidating lyrics reminds one of deceased geniuses, Tupac and Biggie. There was also Thulamahashe’s finest in Crazy Doggz, who are a tight set led by C-well, a

veteran of the game.

Mesmerizing was the performance of KFB and newcomer to the game Young KC. Modelling his style and swag after the Young Money crew, KC had half the crowd eating out of his palm as he was accompanied by his cousin and hypeman for the day Masta H. At least a hundred patrons were entertained. With regulars DJ Sparkle, newcomers JOP, Wonder, Chris Force Feed and two DJs from Radio Bushbuckridge KP and Matt the show gave a platform to b-boys Wild Cats. There were also life skills offered by the Love Life team.

On 24 April, barely a month later the duo took the session, themed Mangozi ya tala ka Spice, back to its spiritual home, Ga-Kabila in Shatale. Characterised by a proliferation of tight emcees and ghetto merchandise on sale and display, the Freedom Day eve show was off the hook.

Krazy Doggz brought their whole entourage to the show which was graced by hundreds of good-looking patrons. Blue Noise from Sabie performed and bootlegged their CD titled Focused. Young KC held down the stage but the show was flipped by Dwarsloop’s manic Dialectic. This brother to Sparkle free-styled with so much flow that even KFB who free-styles had to pick up his game. On the day Katsuko performed what is undoubtedly going to become the Luv Ur Hood anthem titled Ke Tšwa Bush. On a show that was more about flexing muscles and impressing hordes of senhoritas, C-well blasted, KP and Masta H spit rhymes in Get Your Swag On, a song from H’s still-in-the-kitchen mixtape.

On sale were mixtapes from Krazy Doggz and Blue Noise. Also sold were tons of t-shirts by 100% Lepulana/Tsonga, Re Phela SOH, Luv Ur Hood, Shatale Ya Rocka etc. Langa Media’s Nellie Ndlovu (publisher of Bushbuckridge News) graced the event and showed interest in a partnership. The next Luv Ur Hood show will be hosted by Krazy Doggz in Thulamahashe in June.

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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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EVENT

The Kriel Chapter

We have been saying it for some time and it finally happened. I'm quite certain that you have been wondering why this allegation that we are also doing Bantu Letters going to be realised. Okay, I will start at the beginning.

Bantu Letters is a collection of poetry from the province of Mpumalanga. It is poetry written by the residents. It was almost done with some languages missing. That's until Sixteeen Days of Activism Against Women and Child Abuse happened in White River and here I was meeting these bunch of ultra-talented individuals from a namesless dorpie called Kriel. Well, I should emphasize that when the sixteen days session ended I knew right there and then that Bantu Letters was not complete.

So, Lois Reeds and Matete Motsoaledi had to make the cut.

The Kriel bunch is made up of rappers, musicians, poets and those I would really dread to box. So, it was almost automatic that I would go for the poets, even though I would have loved to work with the rappers as well - maybe next time. So, Matete and Lois were roped in to strengthen the book. I today confess that the book couldn't have been the same without these two gems. I am forever indebted.

So, come April 2 here we were on our way to Kriel. Leaving at 04h30 and making it to Witbank (oops, we were not even supposed to get there). A few logistical faux paus later we are in Kriel. Nice possie I should say, if I had money I would invest in a safehouse here and stash my ugly ass whenever I felt I wanted to rest.

Kriel is like any other town built by apartheid. You have a town, which is where the business activity takes place. You have a suburb which is where the whities used to live and a few kilometres out of town you have the black area - as always meant to keep the labourers who are servicing the town and the suburbs. But when I got there it seemed the darkies have made inroads. Some of them actually live in the 'burbs.

So, we had our session at the Rugby Club regardless of some muthafucka still caught in a time warp who wanted us to account to him why we can use a few square metres of Azania. The chap was cocky; he was the type I usually tell where to get off, but you know when you have capable comrades you let them handle their own homegrown cocky dudes. So, we got on the a flaming start. Poem after poem, song after song and what after what. We had mad fun. We had the maddest fun when Dineo flipped it.

I should apologise at this point for not getting the names of my comrades right even though I don't forget an ugly face. So, the launch for Bantu Letters finally happened. Autographed, fresh, white in colour with a black Afrikan map containing a poem which you will never get right - deliberately.

We started with Matete explaining the muse behind his poem about love. Then he moved on to my favourite poem, Re batho le mmino Matabane, dedicted to Lebogang Seputule Matabane; who incidentally was there to babysit his muse. Then Lois read a poem about being Coloured (not in over-supply anywhere) and then a poem I love titled Ek Noem Jou Pa. She captures in a poem here love-hate relationship with her father. Then Pitso Mashilane took over and flipped it with Molao o a Tshenyoga. He profiled what had gone wrong with the moral fibre of our society.

And then we had an open mike session with Humanity, Lois, Thuli, Za, Dineo, Matete and many others. And to top it all we had a braai and we had a music festival. I remembered an advertisement I loved, "starting a band baby, starting a band'. And this is my entry for the Kriel Chapter, we had fun and I bet you my last dime we are going back.

Bantu Letters is retailing for R100.00 and is available if you learn to ask the right questions.

(Special thanks to Xpression Sexion and the community of Kriel, we had fun!)

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