Reflections of Melville Poetry Festival I
12 – 14 October 2012

This past weekend was inarguably my best of 2012. Nothing feeds me like a swarm of poets and intellectuals; intelligent souls indeed who never listened when their mothers told them never to try and change the world. This here is screwed up already. True, i often think that poets do really believe they can change the course of history. You pick it from how they have banished fear so they can speak their minds. In South Africa they are not scared to chop on Jacob Zuma and dare an acolyte to hate them for speaking their mind. I picked Zumaphobia (hahahahahah!) from Lesego Rampolokeng and Tumelo Khoza. White poets are scared of sniping darkie leaders lest they be called racist. But i think that’s an old paranoid narrative because the license to shoot Zuma is actually green and barcoded.

Medieval philosophers and poets tried and only left us with words and punchlines that matter hundreds of years later. Their generation called them crazy. How we find them interesting is primarily because we are scared of being labelled ‘counter-revolutionaries’ by the ANC. Flip a bird to that.

My past weekend was such. I arrived in arty Melville’s 7th Street on Friday afternoon after a long bus trip to a very interesting literature activity which’s tag i still need to ask Alan Kolski Howitz. Look, what was happening here at Lucky Bean Restaurant was a joint Wits Writing Centre and Botsotso venture where a few people are prescribed a Japanese short story book translated into English and written by this author i am ashamed to confess i forgot. They have to share with us their impression of a short story they read; then read from material they generated inspired by that short story or mused into it by the Japanese short story.

Actually here’s how it was marketed: [The mentor protégé writing group has been running at Wits and in Melville for three years. It consists of a variety of published writers all interested in cross fertilization and experiment. Two years ago the group wrote in response to the Senegalese writer, Boris Boubakar Diop, specifically his record of the Rwandan genocide, Murambi the Book of Bones. Last year the group wrote in response to the events of the Arab Spring. This year they have been inspired by the short stories of Akutagawa, the early 20c Japanese stylist. Hear what a diverse group of writers can produce given a common, artistically challenging theme.

Writers participating include Allan Kolski Horwitz, Bezi Phiri, Lwazi Mvusi, Paul Miles, Kgaogelo Lekota and Thabisani Ndlovu.]

Well, this was pretty interesting because i got to learn about different people’s approach to literature; informed by their backgrounds of course [socio-economic-political]. Truth be told white, black, brown and grey people don’t see things the same way. But then i’m not one of those who look for differences but similarities and i found plenty. This was called Mentor Protégé Readings.

Hailstorm came down and as I was connecting with MJ (Mashapa Machaba) and his manager Darula outside Lucky Bean we were forced to find solace into this activity again after i sneaked out to socialise. The night ended with the three of us devouring pizza at Camps Square and wiping our lips dry. Hahahaha

TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

Reflections of Melville Poetry Festival II
12 – 14 October 2012

Now day two starts on a rather blast from the past note. The last time i saw the Botsotso Jesters as a trio was probably seven years ago at that spot they killed in Newtown to make way for ‘development’ [Kippies] named after Bra Kippie Moeletsi. Kippies was the first casualty since after we kept quiet at the rape they have raped quite a few other virgin pozzies and are about to prostitute Newtown to capitalists. We should have seen it when they came up with fancy programmes like Urban Renewal.

And now on Saturday here I am cruising down 7th and the first two people i meet is Bra Ike and Siphiwe. Long time no seeing; mehlomadala comrades! We chat like old times before i see Alan across the street and at getting to him i find Mphuhlane wa Bofelo, Mxolisi Nyezwa and other poets i still need to humble myself and ask for their names chilling over tea and coffee. I am such a good person that i end up scoring a Kotaz, a Botsotso and Kolski-Howirtz’s Meditations of a Non-White White. I felt like a kid in a candy shop. I also meet Gary Cummiskey for the first time in a long while. Thanks to Facebook, we would have been strangers. Here i reconnect with the 2011 South African Literary Awards Poetry winner Kobus Moolman.

A cup of coffee later the first session i attend is in Melon and it’s Lionel Murcott setting the house alight with his visual art-inspired deliveries. There are these two artists who are providing a background to his art; just as you’ll see the Jesters doing their thing during a performance. Poets have become multi-media artists by integrating other artforms to create a dish.

I am usually a purist but i must confess i found Lionel’s poitjiekos quite yummy. I listen and watch – quite like television. Interesting enough there is an imposing painting right behind Lionel that has been covered; maybe not to interfere with his artistry. I don’t take time to ask why or why?

Lionel also has an exhibition in one of the pozzies here which feeds very much into his poetic aesthetic.

Next to serenade is Dave Chislett. Now tattooed and broad-shouldered Dave pitches to deliver his piece wearing a dodgy black t-shirt loved by club bouncers and security guards usually imprinted with the swear-words ‘SECURITY’. Now, Dave’s tee is inscribed with INSECURITY which provides a moment of laughter. He confesses that he started writing at the age of 11 but only started really looking at his work as poetry later on in his life; actually when Facebook was invented; which is yesterday at Harvard.

Where i am sitting i am with my dear brother from my other mother Mphuhlane wa Bofelo who is telling me about the mentorship programmes they usually run in Ethekwini to unearth and nurture new talent. He tells me they have produced brilliant wordsmiths who are ready to take over the baton from their living ancestors and soldier on. So, we will outlive Zuma’s bollocks after all but he won’t outlive our spears, hahahaha!

So, i am excited when one of those takes to the mike to deliver her venom. Poet Tumelo Khoza has serious social issues to tackle in her works. She spits so much well-calculated venom i am left wondering how she will sound once the pot has been past simmering and is on the table for servings. Bitterness can be so sweet that sugar will make you puke; i think.

There’s a poem i like where she brings down her full feminist [read womanist] might against abortion [legal or illegal]. Though the poem sounds kinda moralising but I’m thinking ‘damnit it’s a blerry poem and she has her license to annoy’. Marie Stopes is on her scope.

Later on when i read Gary’s Facebook i notice he refers to her as the future. All i can say is; sublime.

Later on the day i find myself at Sophiatown where my old friends are doing their thing. Old poets don’t die but start distilling whisky poetry. Sis Makhosazana Xaba of these hands’ fame is composed in her aging she makes me wanna get old like her. Masoja Msiza is waxing lyrical in isiZulu and his good command of the township Zulu as well is astounding. Masoja is a performer so the stage is his oyster.

Then British poet Yrsa Daley-Ward takes to the stage and we have that crossover (not soutpiele) thing with her saucy lines. Yrsa is a humble soul who you notice immediately she takes to the stage that she has no illusions of being a messiah for African poets but she is here to take part and learn as well. The poem that leaves me impressed is one for her departed mother. Wow, beautiful.

That’s one thing i often find annoying about so-called South African celebrity poets who art in our backyard. You don’t get to see them in any festival if they are not participating. And they never participate unless they are paid lots of money. And they always want to use other people’s occasions to brand themselves for capital gains. Yrsa, who is also a model is just brilliant and non-antagonistic and i love her – truly.

My highlight for the afternoon is Afurakhan and his troupe (actually i want to say troop). Afura or Thabiso as his parents minted him has been a spoken word soul for the better part of his artistic life. I loved his passion then and today i’m impressed to taste the fruits of his labour. The protégé poets he has lined up are extra-ordinary and i can only take off my hat to them. Actually i let him know i appreciate his candle lighting others.

TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

Reflections of Melville Poetry Festival III

12 – 14 October 2012

Sunday is the day that i have to utter my two cents. Actually i don’t have two cents to render but twenty cents worth of stuff. Having closed off Saturday night with an Afrikaans sessions that reminded me of die boere orkes and Johan Stemmet. The performances were music driven and full of Afrikaans linguistic heritage. A patron was so sloshed she nearly stole the show with her Voortrekker dancing antics. The beauty of people who take their kuns en kultuur seriously to the point that every world you have in English they have in Afrikaans is impressive. I had fun and was choked by cigarette smoke.

However on Sunday i start my day as usual with a walk to a book shop to check for old copies of the novels that made me such as Black Beauty, The Color Purple, Shane etc. I find one and they say they will check the other for me. Fine, they don’t have Fanon, Cesaire or Garvey.

I move on to have coffee next door. They spin a good brew that makes me realise that Ricoffy is not coffee but percolated dust masquerading as coffee – fong kong. Later on i meet former New Coin editor Alan Finlay and we have a chat. He comes across as being reserved; almost introvert.

An hour later i am fascinated by the Botsotso Jesters at Sophiatown who are on the same stage with poets such as Frankie Meintjies. The Jesters’ delivery touches on Marikana and what Zuma’s regime has been doing with human sacrifices. Meintjies recited a poem for his brother who died of cancer; that poem could easily have been mine for my mother. But me i just have the October doek wrapped around my neck.

Afternoon comes and viola! I’m the first to land on that stage for our instalment of venom. Well, my people [the ones i invited] are here so i’m not going to shiver nor shake. If i’m about to fall i’ll just stretch my hand so that one of them can hold me. If i am feeling i need elevation i will just climb on one of them’s shoulders so they can fly with me; no spliff.

After introductions from Alan it’s crunch time. To be honest i love performing. And the fact that i have been doing it very little recently has robbed me of my ability to memorise long poems. But today, i have memorised my opener dedicated to my township. That one with a line that kills; ‘last night i humbled myself and dialled mary the virgin’. Soon my set is done and Nova comes to kill the audience. Yeah, she does kill them; me included.

Next up is Charl Pierrie Naude who does not kill but leaves us with food for thought. Actually he feeds us. I’m left wondering if Charl intend to come back and do the dishes. Now, Lesego Rampolokeng comes through to murder. You know poets like Lesego are always expected to have a knife in their back; ready to stab without provocation. Now he never fails. He questions some colonial stereotypes and vents his anger at the slow pace of transformation. But i have a feeling for a man who in 1989 prophecied ‘it’s a new world/ we compromise everyone’ [paraphrasing] what is happening now is expected.

We have fun really and hook up with old friends and comrades; poet Matete Motsoaledi, activist Dipuo Mahlatsi, artist Mavis Taole etc. And as the sun sets at Sophiatown at 7th Street i am certain without fear or contradiction that what i have had was the best week of 2012 by far.

TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

Bitch Please! I’m Toilet Paper – by Khanyi Mbau – An Analysis


I’m fresh from adjudicating good literature over the weekend so pardon me if I am suddenly scathing in my post and sound like a literary purist. Purity kills; I know. My morality is not yours; I know. However I reckon this uneasiness should be expected after a jolly Sabbatical that started in July this year with 75-brilliantly written books that kept my mind stimulated for three months. Books that all deserve to be prescribed for schools and given awards.

Still fresh from a one-man literary marathon I have got rubbish on my infra-red sniper rifle scope and my finger is aching to peel a cap. The kak I want to snipe as you might have figured out by now is the paperback of South Afrika's pseudo-gold digger Khanyi Mbau titled Bitch please! I’m Khanyi Mbau written by none other than 'celebrity' journalist Lesley Mofokeng. That this piece of bollocks was even published as a book is an indictment on the lowered standards of some publishing houses in this country that see vanity publishing as their short-cut to tenderpreneurship.

What did literary editors and fruit-pickers see in the little twat’s story? I used to understand why magazines do it because since there are advertisements for hair products between their pages and it’s a science to distinguish fake Mexican weave from the real. But it’s hardly an art to tell a fake person from a real. The last time Mbau had a reality show on e.tv the only insects attracted to my TV screen were flies. And I am left wondering if bookstores that also carry on their shelves quality titles are that desperate for Summer decor that they will even risk butchery ambience.

Quite frankly, based on the serialised chapters and a quick perusal of the pulp there is no book [literary work] between those poor white pages.

The second indictment for promotion of such intellectual bankruptcy goes to local entertainment journalism [read BLACK JOURNALISM]. The standards have lowered so much that these youthful journos who love launch-party freebies cannot even tell the difference between a book and a publicity stunt. I’m a book reviewer/publisher and literary judge so I know; truth is, Khanyi’s story is the most boring piece of crap since I read Julius Malema’s biography that failed to rise to the occasion regardless of being romanticised excessively by the gutter press; especially City Press which has developed compulsive obsession with Juju.

South African media is obsessed with so-called celebrities. Which leaves me wondering what a celebrity is when there often is nothing to celebrate but promiscuous lifestyles which end in AIDS and death. These folks are not celebrated, not even by their pets at home excerpt for a group of mediocre journos who worship at the altar of alcohol and drugs. Thus, in that narcotic induced state they see a Marilyn Monroe and a Madonna in Khanyi. What an insult to talented people since to draw parallels Madonna, though controversial and kinky actually had some grey matter between her ears.

I doubt any sober minded person who has not been whipped can say the same for Khanyi. I mean there is even a whole 15000 kilometres of Atlantic difference between her and recording artist Nicki Minaj.
We must probably be the only country where people who work for radio stations, television stations, newspapers, magazines and online news outlets are classified celebrities. In other countries celebrities are innovators and creatives who are bound to leave traces decades after they are gone.

For the life of me who wants to know how a married couple [Khanyi and Mandla Mthembu] bonked when there are trivial mysteries to crack skulls over such as why a caged bird sings [thanks to Sista Maya]. If you want to share your sexual antics you make a sex tape and license it to taxi rank vendors at Noord and Berea ranks. I don’t mean to attack Khanyi as a ‘hustler’ but the society that makes her feel worthy of the attention. I cannot engage Khanyi intellectually because it is abusive to indulge in a battle of wits with an unarmed zit.

If you think that piece of trash deserves a slot on your book shelf it’s still your right. However you also need to ask yourself if it’s acquired as a book or souvenir. Is it another Capitalist Nigger, I Write What I like, The Battle for the Soul of the ANC, Thabo Mbeki; A Dream Deferred, Rich Dad Poor Dad, Losing My Virginity etc which I see all the time in households of people whose conduct defies the contents of the book. Unfortunately they were bought as souvenirs.

Khanyi should try to focus on something she might be good at; the real reason ‘rational’ ex-Robben Islander Mandla married her and not other girls he could have chosen. That’s where her goldmine lies. But writing books; B*TCH PLEASE! THAT SH*T IS TRASH!

TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

September’s Very Own is On

If every month could litter its own rapper and stand proud there are a few which can hold their own. Do you remember these rap lines? “june one six seven one/ the day mama pushed me out her womb told me ‘nigga get paid’”. Ja, that was June’s very own rapper Tupac Shakur yelling props.

Now fourteen years later October has Drake while September’s own rapper is a Bushbuckridge emcee called Young Kay-Cee. Swagger-laced lyrics popping on oft-auto-tuned deliveries lay a blue carpet for this 18-year old’s introduction to a game that does not tolerate mediocrity.

Young Kay-Cee’s real name is Kamogelo Namane and he has been holding his own down since he burst into the scene during the Luv Ur Hood sessions at Ga-Kabila, Acornhoek and other Bushbuckridge locations. His first real media breakthrough came in Masta H’s 2011 release Mapulaneng Mixtape Volume One on a track titled 1, 2, 3 Mabhebeza with KFB.

After that glare he has been seen at various sessions dropping ill rhymes. There has been criticism though; often valid; often not since every generation is entitled to its own ‘unique’ style. Truth is that rap has lost its street witness (poetic) creds and very few rappers are telling tales about funerals, drive-by shootings, teenage pregnancy, drug abuse and socio-political messages. If you do that you are called ‘deep, underground or conscious’. You don’t receive the same mainstream acceptance that Nas, Biggie and Tupac enjoyed when they covered these beats.

Rappers of the new millennium often relate stories about the cars they drive, cribs they screw b-tches in, bottles they pop, clothes they wear and whose swag drips the most. It often tastes crass.
While Young Kay-Cee does not really fall into any of the two aforementioned categories, what stands out is that he is the next big thing in South Afrika as he kicks ass big time. He’s neither AB Crazy, Kwesta, Morale, Maggs or L-Tido. He is one of standout rappers featured in the upcoming Masta H album, Mapulaneng Volume II with his kick ass solo ride ‘We On’. He also features on one other song with his All Star partners in crime Masta H and KFB.

Masta H’s Mapulaneng Volume II will hit the streets in October 2011.


TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

THE PRESIDENT’S PATIENT – A REFLECTION I

AUGUST 30, 2012; After a long creative sabbatical I was once again back in the field; meeting the cast for a script reading at Chikitsa, a joint situated on what used to be Horror Cafe. Script reading is most often a tedious and time consuming process which very few creative people would like to be part of. They would rather be a fly on the wall of casting than sit for half a day listening to would-be actors pronouncing difficult words.

I should say i was looking forward to this exercise because I tend to use big words in my writings and to actually see the next person bite their tongue to pronounce them is often a game for me. So, here we were at Newtown making our way to Chikitsa, a nxa pozzie next to World Of Beer for our session.
I should say i was impressed by the professionalism of the actors as they pitched one by one. The core cast was there, Regina Dube (Lieutenant), Napo Masheane (Susan), Paul Mzaca (Tshepo), Thabo Monareng (Lukas) etc. They all came excerpt for those small roles which we call bit parts. You know when you get to utter a single line in a film we consider you gifted and worthy of every praise. So, on the script reading day we decided to give them a rest so we all chipped in to deliver the lines.

What made everything more interesting was when Gwyza popped in; on his way to another meeting and we had a chat. You should remember that Gwyza was the guy who got popped in the last film; Cast the First Stone. He was quite a maverick and played his role so excellently I crossed my fingers that it was going to open doors for him – I am waiting for his big day. We discussed his upcoming album and what I can do. Maybe I can do what I am doing right now, write some few lines and get you hooked.

So, after director King Shaft have explained how broke we were and how everybody had to give their all as if we were operating on a fifteen million budget it was my time to explain the concept of The President’s Patient. I tried to be brief that the cops should understand that they are actually a task team made up of the cream from the NIA (State Security Agency), Crime Intelligence and Organised Crime. I explained the moral of the story.

And as we finished and got down to munching our lunch I couldn’t wait for the first day of shooting. I couldn’t wait to see all the research that Napo told me she did for her role kick in as she will be kicking butt.

I looked forward to Paul being a cop and not a toughie. Day One carried so much promise the night just dragged on.

TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

THE PRESIDENT’S PATIENT – A REFLECTION II

I  know you have been wondering why it took me this long to update you; well this is what I remember since memory is weapon. I am unleashing it right now

DAY TWO: JULY 31 - First day of filming stars with music and dance. Now you know if there’s one thing that us Afrikans have as an advantage over everybody else it’s our ability to sing and dance over anything. We don’t need a beat since we got music in our DNA. Every single Afrikan you see infront of you can sing and dance; they may just be shy but tell them the key to their emancipation lies in them impressing a jury with their dance moves I swear to you everybody can do that and leave whites incarcerated. The late Busi Mhlongo once said, paraphrased by culture writer Bongani Madondo; “we were in church before we went to church”. I love that. We are born in worship and we worship with our body and voices!

So, this day starts with King Shaft, Mikhail and Sibusiso leading in song and dance outside our peach operations nerve centre in the heart of Newtown. The building stands proud like a penis on Viagra. There is singing and dancing as the technical crew is assembling equipment which we will need for the shoot. Apparently we will be shooting our first scene barely hundred metres away from here. The scene is the one when our radical young minister gets shot - not potshots but automaticed. I shudder to notice that I have made love on that street a million times; busted a million nuts but I hardly remember its name. I hope it is Henry Nxumalo Street. I loved Nxumalo so I hope this is his street. You know it, that one way main artery of Newtown that passes past Mary Fitzgerald Square.

The first scene we shoot involves the attempted assassination on a young radical minister who wants to change the way government has been doing things for the past eighteen years. The scene is about the actual shooting with an Uzi automatic and the bodyguards getting into the action. Our bodyguards are reaaaal huge.

The assassination attempt goes through without hiccups and our two heavies are real pros; in dark suits and pistols. Our minister is suave, played by Momelezi Ntshiba. The scene is wrapped as soon as it started and then we move to the assassins. On set we have some of the people whose call-up will be in about two hours such as Napo Masheane, Paul Mzaca and Thabo Monareng who will have to change into wardrobe soon and become the team investigating the crime.

First our assassins are having a field day with the 1973 Valiant that they chose for the hit. It’s surprising why these two hitmen, played by Mofenyi Malepe (Calvin) and Motlatsi Mahloko (Alexander) chose a vintage to take out a freshly minted politician. We take our time to shoot the scenes that involve Monde (Prince Twala) when he was going about his hoboic ways of writing people’s numberplates and being a nuisance.

It’s a logistical challenge for the crew members responsible for art and continuity as every little detail should be repeated over the five days that we will be shooting.

On the day we actually shoot too many scenes that when we finally audit them at the base camp we find that we managed to can nineteen, including the on-location investigation, interviews with eyewitnesses, parts of Monde’s life on the street and a scene that involves a confrontation with streetkids by first the assassins and then cop Lukas.

At the end of day one we all can say we have had a good start. As those who have made films before will tell you; the first and last day are always the most challenging. We await day two with anticipation.

TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

The President's Patient shoot in Jozi

TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall

Shoot the Enemy; Not the Public!

Last Winter we were shooting a movie titled Cast The First Stone in and around Johannesburg. Being an under-funded local production meant we had to beg and borrow to access some crucial filming locations. One such location was the renowned Regina Mundi church in Soweto where a confession box scene was to be shot.

Cast The First Stone was a low budget Mzansi Magic production that explored the moral cost of forgiveness; a concept that is daily preached in Christendom. The film was, without sounding Calvinistic an undeserved free promo for the Catholic Church’s self-assumed role of mediating between God and the sinner. However, irrespective of such divine intentions; even places dedicated to God have to be paid for if utilised as film sets. Regina Mundi is a tourism destination.

That was forgiven because the Church Council did not demand to read the script which afforded us an opportunity to smuggle a knife in and record some crude dialogue that wouldn’t have made it past many church’s gatekeepers.

More scenes were filmed in Alexandra, CBD and private homes which were offered to be converted to movie sets. But the support that failed to materialise was that of the SAPS.

According to an ambiguous security regulation; filmmakers are not allowed to impersonate police officers and dress actors in SAPS uniforms – even if that’s supplied by wardrobe. They are not allowed to temporarily brand vehicles in the insignia of the SAPS. What filmmakers should do is request SAPS to provide required props (wardrobe included) to create the right ambience.

That was the undoing. Producer/Director Shaft Moropane spent countless months being sent from pillar to post by SAPS in Gauteng about whether they will make a showing. A showing meant providing an interrogation room; optionally providing a consultant who will advise on protocol during filming. It also meant providing those token cops who will be in uniform so that when our actor/detective tries to pick a needle in a haystack viewers can see some extras fiddling with a police sedan or van.

It also meant permission to take an establishing shot of a police station in Alexandra, the two flags, cars parked on the driveway and cop traffic. That took months of waiting for a simple ‘red’ stamp that never transpired. We started wondering if those films we saw with SAPS co-operation had someone bribing their way past the red tape.

This is the undoing of South African filmmakers; they hardly get co-operation from government. I remember seeing a beautifully made television series titled Homeland in the 1990s which was exploring SADF’s cross border raids. The series, according to the producers did not get any government backing, either technical or infrastructure since they required a Puma helicopter and coaching to portray how Special Forces carried out their missions. I thought I understood because the series was shot in early-‘90s and the Government of National Unity had reasons to conceal some of these activities since the Truth and Reconciliation Commission had not yet happened.

However when it becomes impossible in a democracy to get state backing and assistance to tell South African stories one starts to wonder whether there is any will to grow this industry in South Africa?

In the United States there is a Department of Defence Hollywood liaison office whereby studios can facilitate Pentagon technical support; from access to multi-billion dollar military hardware and free consultancy including permission to film at key government installations. You don’t get that in South Africa and that’s a concept killer for a talented filmmaker trying to make an independent project in a province like Mpumalanga which does not even have a film office.

The night we wrapped Cast the First Stone we were driving around Sophiatown when we were twice stopped by police wanting to search our car ‘for guns’, “because people have been using guns to shoot at cops and shit”, that’s what the dramatic constable said. And I thought, ‘here is an animated cop we could have used as an extra’; but his co-operation is bogged down by Lieutenant-Generals in ivory towers.

And then our cinematographer told me they experienced the same let down before and were annoyed when after they wrapped they bumped into a police road block where the cops demanded they open the film case. “We told them they better arrest us because we can’t allow our rushes to be exposed and ruin the project”, Mike Sono remembered.

Maybe as a measure to grow the industry a liaison office to facilitate a relationship between government and filmmakers should be set at provincial Arts and Culture offices instead of dealing with a police force that seems not to understand the tourism value of the country as a filmmaking destination.


TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall