Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Purity, Certainty and other intellectual vices . . .

Andile Mngxitama is nothing less than a gem. He would of course not take kindly to being called a black diamond but a gem he is. There is never a doubt in his mind (as reflected in his writing) on the issues he holds dear. He provokes thought and debate and all things dear to a healthy democracy.

In this, his latest offering in Sowetan, he pulls no punches. This piece is one in a chain whose recent link was this post on Thought Leader, by Sentletse Diakanyo. Sentletse like Andile habours no doubts about his views. Please take time to read these two pieces of riveting reading; while you are at it, read a whole lot of other writings and offerings by these two writers - it is the right thing to do.

Unlike Andile and Sentletse I am not so certain on the question of who is an African. It is with this uncertainty that I disagree with Sentletse. There was a time when there was no Africa, no Europe and no Blacks. The physical land mass we now affectionately refer to as Africa was there but I am not sure what it was called before the days of compasses, discovery and conquest. I suppose if the question Sentletse was answering was "who were the Africans?" then I would agree with him.

What I find most disagreeable in the piece by Sentletse is his reliance on the term Black as if it is real. On what basis do we now rely on a social construct to support a proposition of what is fact? There seems to be some reality that dictates the identity of an African outside of the meaning of where such is located. To illustrate: we look to Nigeria for Nigerians and Namibia for Namibians. So, at a certain level African should similarly denote those who are located within the extent of this land mass.

It may well be true that many years ago, long before the white man came to Africa, it was the home of the Black people. The problem is that before the white man came, there were no Black people. Those were created by the white man. In spite of all sorts of horrible things visited upon Africa by the settlers, Africa is here and is populated by its people - the Africans. These however come in all manner of shapes, colours and interests.

Now what point is there to the declaration of being or not being an African? So I am an African, me and Van der Walt both, so what? This is a question Andile asks. To him, unless you have a point to make about being or not being an African, you best shut up on the matter. It contributes nothing to the betterment of the down-trodden (I am putting words into his pen here). Well, it is the Blacks among the Africans who are cowards - I believe Andile meant to say. In fairness to the Blacks though - the horse bolted when the nation decided back in the 90's to just get the hell on. In short, we got played. One can understand how we got to be played. I mean we were so excited to be free to go and come and go again as we please, in our own country, that we forgot to focus on the detail. Besides, when the guys in charge have been out of the country for so long (yes, Robben Island is out of the country) how could they know better?

All this talk about African coming only in one colour like the old ford is dated if you ask me - just look at the ford fiesta, it too has come a long way since the famous words of Mr Ford. Africa has come a long way too. Even though some countries still view albinos with suspicion, Africa has come a long way since the days Sentletse speak of. In any event I would rather listen to what Sobukwe had to say on matter African rather than some automaker.

To now insist on purity and certainty would probably be intellectually mischevious if not downright devious.

Saturday, 5 February 2011

Praat my Bilingual Country

Whatever claims our fearless liberators may make, it is just the way it is - ours is a bilingual country, with both languages having nothing to do with most residents of our country and having everything to do with just getting along for peace's sake.

This is of course strange some 16 years or so after calling truce and apparently changing the rules such that the woman on a wheelchair could also have a fair chance of being CEO. Don't get me wrong, I could not give a shit what language the conversation at the water cooler is conducted in. I mean, one of the two languages of course. For my sins I got an A in matric Afrikaans and spent most of my formative years in the Afrikaans heartland,so met respek, fok u, I say. You have by now noticed that I keep using the uppercase everytime I refer to Afrikaans. So, whenever there is a switch between the (pronounced "thee") South African business language to the other South African business language, I'm still smoking (pronounced smoooken'). That however, is hardly ever the point.

The point is a lot more subtle as most points generally tend to be.
What does a non-Afrikaans speaker do when he gets to the water cooler smack bham in the middle of an Afrikaans conversation? No problem, she must just go find a water cooler with isiZulu speaking colleagues and problems' solved.

Of course if you were to raise any of these issues at work you would promptly be told to relax a little, be more like . . . Nelson Mandela, be accommodating. Not to have such a chip on your shoulder, the war is over now. The joke is on us though because such are the things that cause wars, not the chip on anyone’s shoulder. I apologise for digressing.

The question on my mind is why our country is bilingual while our fearless leaders proclaim multilingualism and 11 official languages etc. Frankly, the last time I checked, Setswana was only ever an official language back in the day when Bophuthatswana was a republic and Tautona was its president. Granted, on the pages of the constitution of our country there are 11 official languages. The big idea is that within reason, one can be served in her own language, especially when it comes to government services.

In practice though, there are only 2 official languages, English and Afrikaans. This, for the same reason “die stem” sits snuggly in the middle of the national anthem. It is hard being a South African with a memory and a chip on your shoulder. It is not easy to be all fuzzy and warm inside about what it means to be South African. Maybe it is because I am not a “forgive and forget” kinda guy. I am more of a “don’t do it again” kinda guy. It is however done to me again and again. The only change is of course the perpetrators. Sipho made a point of making an appointment for us to meet after work only to tell me that it is not nice of me to keep yapping in vernacular in front of our colleagues who only speak English and Afrikaans. This is absolute bull because this is Marthinus and his mates that Syfo (as he is affectionately known to us) is talking about. These okes sit in the coffee room and yap in Afrikaans all the time, even when Syfo, myself and hottie from Zambia are in the room. Syfo, as far as I know has not taken the issue of inclusiveness up with them.

All institutions (public and private) that matter in this country conduct their business in English and Afrikaans. I was part of a debate about this once where I was told that it would cost a fortune to produce materials in all 11 languages. I conceded that point. I also asked the guys to concede that it would be even cheaper if we only printed the materials in English, which seems to be a generally accepted business language anyways. My request was politely declined on the basis that the business has a large number of Afrikaans customers. This is shortly after a powerpoint showing how black people have become the biggest customer base was shoved up my ass by Marthinus himself.

This is why I advised the hottie from Zambia to invest in a “tweetalige woordeboek” and to start watching 7de Laan. This here is a bilingual country with 11 official languages.

Wednesday, 2 February 2011

Suuushi Already!

I mean shush it, shut up, thula'msindo! I have just about had it with this sushi story because - yes you have guessed right - it is not a bloody story! Some guy spent some time in prison for fraud, came out, started a business or three, made some money, threw some parties, etc. Now this guy has become the very barometer by which we measure the state of the rainbow nation!

Why is this a story? Why is it of importance to the public that some guy surrounded himself with music videos girls at his birthday party, also ate sushi off one of such show lasses? Blues restaurant has been doing this for years! Beautiful blondes in jeans and exciting tops to serve the clientele! Footballers, playboys with money, Kerzner, Hefner - you name them, they have lots of money (by the looks of it) and they all have hot girls grace their parties and everybody loves it or so it seems. So, what makes Kenny different?

Mr Vavi came out guns blazing on some self-righteous bullshit of how Kenny was rubbing his faecal wealth on the faces of the poor. What a load of bull! The poor get to watch the people they elected to look after the poor's welfare drive down the road in flashy cars with blue light escort! The poor get to watch other kids go to school in flashy uniforms and their own kids get knocked up by the very teacher who are supposed to be "in loco parentis"! The poor get to listen to Vavi support the walk out of the classrooms by the teachers to the detriment fo the children of the poor. This is long before the poor get to see a week old SundayTimes portraying Kenny and the video girls.

Oh, you will of course remember that the lead communist, Dr Nzimande himself, stepped off his beemer to add to the criticism of the king of sushi. Then he walked off the podium and into his million rand plus worth car and drove off or rather was driven off to some palatial abode for the night.Kenny has publicly said that he didn't get his money from the government or from his relationship with the government. Personally I think the brother is talking crap but hey, that is a matter for another post. I do however know for sure that the South African citizenry paid for Blade's car and his hotel accomodation. Insofar as Kenny is a thief go after his ass and send him back to Bloem prison otherwise, save us the self-righteous bullshit.

There are stories out there. Stories worth telling. Stories worth the honour of being called a newspaper.