Velaphi

 Uyaphi Velaphi? That’s what I imagined, the lady in the red Mercedes soft top convertible was thinking; or even saying to her passenger. I was some 19 kilometres into a 320 km bike ride. This was on the N3 southbound. 

The N3 must be cursed. How can it be that this road always have so much traffic? Like all the time! Poor red mercedes, crawling along while Velaphi merrily cruises by, lane splitting. This was the beginning of the longest ride I have done in over many years. The last time I was on a long ride, life and all else were different. It felt fantastic to be on the bike and the open road.

It was windy. I was not aware just how windy it was until I left the built-up areas behind. The wind was howling. It had been a long time since I had ridden in the howling wind. I reminded myself of the rules: keep enough real estate on either side of the bike, and you’ll be fine. Lean into the wind and let cycle do its thing. It feels like you are riding straight, but you are riding in a figure of “S”. There is another rule of riding in the wind: move as far left as it is safe, when there is an oncoming truck. I stuck to the first rule. The first oncoming truck unsettled the bike as it roared past and almost sucked me in behind it. That shook me up a little and also reminded me of the second rule. From that point onwards, it was easy peasy.

 I got off the N3 and onto the world’s skinniest roads. It got trickier to observe both rules of riding in the howling wind. I also realised that I broke one of my riding rules: stop often and take the surroundings in. My backside reminded me of that rule and I had to take a bum break. Whatever happened to those stop and eat or whatever places along the road? There were none, nowhere. I eventually found what looked like as safe spot to stop. Even then, every time a truck came past, the bike looked like it will fall over.

I eventually made it to that bustling metropolis of Bethlehem. Before that though, I rode through beautiful countryside. I remember thinking – South Africa is really a rural country. A beautiful rural country. It was a welcomed stop and bum break in Bethlehem. Plus, I only had 30 odd kilometres to my destination – Clarens.

The last time I was in Clarens, my heart was ripped out through my arse and fed back to me. It was only when I was 10 or so kilometres outside Clarens that I remembered the last time. It was a pleasant surprise that I felt no hint of sadness or anything like that. I was excited. Excited that I had ridden 320 kilometres and that it was as good as it used to feel, riding.

Riding into Clarens and eventually Rosewood Corner, everything felt great. I was smiling ear to ear inside the helmet. I was back in Clarens and it felt like a new experience.

It was at that moment that I realised that I was new, it was a new me, riding into this cute little town.

Tomorrow is another riding day, all 450 kilometres of it and across a border.

Words matter

Aren’t words nothing but the bricks that our beliefs are built on? Perhaps, words are the stuff that betrays our beliefs. Maybe, just maybe, the two statements resolve themselves into the same proposition. This may also be gratuitous self-pleasuring (my words, not yours – so there, I said it first).

A friend/brother, during some vulnerable conversation, intimated that I am being somewhat philosophical (whatever that means). My retort was, Prof, being dumped when you are in your 50s, will either kill you or make you philosophical. Of course, I got to share a drink with my friend, the Prof so, being dumped did not unalive me, hence the philosophical inclination. The good Prof made a telling observation. Not that I have become philosophical, but that I have come to question everything. Trying to find the meaning of meaning. That of course is an entirely different blog and story. No, this blog is not about me being dumped either.

Most of what we get to know (loosely speaking) and sometimes also believe, come to us in words, written and spoken. “Men are trash” are words that most have come to know and that some have come to believe. Nothing to do with me being dumped. For peace of mind and mental health, that is all that I will type on those three words. Philosophical I can live with. Sour grapes and defensive? No, that is a bridge to far – burnt or intact.

My forebears have a saying: “lefoko, ga le boe, go boa, monwana”. Which reminds me: I was told that I use punctuation like confetti, throwing it everywhere. Well, that was said to me by a NQF level 9 English major who is also an award-winning poet and an editor of other people’s writing. He gets to say that to me and I get to swallow hard and move on. About my forebears: what they meant or conveyed is that once the word(s) is out your mouth, you can’t take it back. However, pointing your finger at someone, you can unpoint your finger. I don’t altogether get it but I get enough. Words, like black lives, matter. Apparently, Jacobs coffee matters too, but that is hardly the point. Besides, what kind of a guy would…never mind.

I have come to accept, thanks to “social media”, that people can and do write anything, anyhow. Just by the way, I am habouring a belief that it should be called “anti-social media”, to be fair. Nevertheless, people say and type all manner of things about people, events and things, with absolutely no care. Yes, I get it – limited characters, etc. Is the time to reflect before posting also limited? I have witnessed words cause grievous harm on others. I have also witnessed the after the fact, back-tracking and explanations which, did not undo the harm, sometimes making matters even worse.

Then there are words like, WE, US, THEY, THEM. Pronouns yes, but that is not where I am going with this. At the heart of all conflicts, wars, mass killings and general hatred, are these words. It is the belief in these words that make it ok for people to be downright dicky. 

I am fascinated by words. I am enthralled by well put together words. I spend time thinking about words, trying to understand them; yes, I love using them too. There is so much good words can do, too. I am reminded of the time I heard“not every Singh is a Sikh but every Sikh, is a Singh.” I don’t even know if it is true, I just loved the words, put together that way. Oh, there was also that time in my life when I was said, unfairly, to be afflicted by eastern fixation. Now that, is another pair of pants I’d rather not unzip.

So, why is it that people (sentient, as we are said to be) say things that are not true, as if they are, or things that we know will cause harm. “She is not South African, she should not represent US”. Is this true? It sure is harmful. We know how it all ended for her. Not even the minister of Home Affairs knows this to be true; at least as far as I have followed the news, so far. It may well be shown to be true (or not). As I am typing this blog, it is yet to be shown to be true. The last I am aware of is the minister stating that “there appears to be fraud…” and, his officials asking for more time to investigate. I hope that at some point, the minister will take the nation into his confidence, to borrow a well-worn Mzansi phrase.

The stone in my shoe is that, without any factual basis, other than the nationality of her parents (if that too is factual, who knows), the anti-social media declared her to be not South African and therefor…So what will any investigation help? To be fair to anti-social media, words have been doing harm long before twitter and facebook. I am old enough to recall Maki Skosana. A woman who was killed by the infamous “necklace”. Look it up. Someone said that she was an impimpi, others believed it and proceeded to act out their belief. Those who were there, will tell you that she was not an impimpi. Cold comfort for her and her loved ones. Words, just words. 

So it will continue. Stories will trend, true and false. People’s lives will be upended. That is just how the anti-social media works. There may be lawsuits too, for those that have the means, time and gumption. 

More should be expected from those who spread words in some or other official capacity. I expect a lot more from the minister of Home Affairs, from members of Parliament, from news media, and so on and so forth. It does not help anyone to repeat the “it appears; there’s prima facie; it is said that, and so on. This just solidifies unverified versions of a harmful story. Our institutions, including the ailing fourth estate, must do better. Of course, each individual also has to do better. The words you put out into the public sphere, do matter. They have an impact, intended or otherwise, on people’s lives. 

I am looking forward to the outcome of the investigation by the Home Affairs department, whichever way it finds on this child’s matter. And no, the outcome will not and does not make the harmful statements okay, after the fact. The proverbial horse may have bolted, hopefully the next horse will keep its mouth shut and the barn door will be kept shut too.

Our institutions must do better. Everyone must do better. Words are not just words.

In honour of Maya, in honour of Woman

Maya Angelou writes

as she speaks

She writes and speaks of you

She writes of you

and multitude

of brave caged birds

who against the odds

against the gods

rise with the sound

of their song

rise and not let

their song

be silenced

 

Maya Angelou writes 

beautifully, too beautifully 

of the ugly visited on Black Women

the ugly that harm their wings

and dares them to fly

and some

with a child under each wing

still fly across wastelands 

against headwinds 

to freedom from memory 

to find joy in the present 

hope in their children’s eyes 

and power in their selves

 

she writes of the caged birds

that break the bars

of some cages

and strengthen others

caged birds that know freedom

from the lessons of bondage

Maya Angelou

through her pen

mothers and nurses

broken wings to full strength

they rise still because they know

of another time

another life endured

unbelievable

in retrospect

 

Maya Angelou writes

of tears shed

wishes for things

heard of in stories told

of other lives in a different world

far from home

from cold winters

and unbearable summers

from this place too

caged birds sing

songs of triumph

and caged birds

find freedom

unfathomable

in retrospect…

Just a view

I am said to be and to always have been contrarian. I disagree. However, considering whence this appellation comes, I shall revel in it. It could not have been said to me by a more contrarian individual. I am mirthly reminded of George Carlin’s take on human beings. He says they are great, one on one; once they get into a group, they become a tribe and, well it’s all downhill from there. In the Carlin sense, perhaps contrarian is not such a bad thing. I also read somewhere that, “if everyone thinks the same, and then no one thinks“ or somesuch like. 

Take our opinion makers, on and off twitter. How much of our views, on anything and anyone, are in fact, our views? How much are these views formed and packaged for us? Ok, let’s take the views on our members of parliament.

The prevalent view is that Dr John Mandlakayise Hlophe, should not be a member of the Judicial Service Commission. I use “prevalent” with trepidation. What with this view being expressed by the likes of the Daily Maverick and by Mr Barney Mthombothi, no less. 

Afriforum, generally referred to as a civil rights organization, does not only hold this view, it has made an application to the Constitutional Court, to enforce it. The Democratic Alliance agrees. There it is, prevalent.

I am here, reminded of the Monty Python skit. The one where there are several rooms, in one of the rooms, you could pay to have an argument. Well, it is a long time ago and a long story, but I do remember – “an argument is a series of statements, meant to establish a proposition” or some such like.

Mr Mthombothi sommer starts with a proposition. The appointment of Dr Hlophe to the Judicial Service Commission, is a bad and scandalous idea. He implores the apex court to save us from all of this. He also lauds Afriforum for the civic duty, and so on and so forth and stuff like that.

I am a little at a loss on this issue of Dr John Mandlakayise Hlophe. Here are a few things that boggle the tortured mind:

1.     The good Dr is a member of the national assembly.

2.     The Judicial Service Commission is made up of 23 members.

3.     6 of the members are appointed from the National Assembly, 3 of whom must be from the opposition party(ies).

You will remember that the honourable Julius Malema was/is a member of the Judicial Service Commission, at least from the previous administration. You will, no doubt, also remember how he made his voice heard during some of the proceedings. Anecdotally, Mpofu SC was also a member of that august, never to be tainted institution. Mpofu SC, a member and leader of the EFF, a senior member of the bar, a lawyer of the EFF, Public Protector, and so on and so forth. 

The good Dr is also an impeached Judge. The prevalent view is that the good Dr should not be a member of the JSC. The Daily Maverick article says something to the effect that the good Doctor will be part of the very body that found him guilty of impeachable misconduct. This is however not the whole story. The part of the Judicial Service Commission that deals with the conduct of the judges, is made up, only of judges. In the good Dr’s current status, he can’t be in that room. He will however, barring the apex court rescuing us, be in that room that Julius set aflame.

This part of the commission, interviews, sometimes even disparages and ultimately recommends candidates to the president for appointment as judges. This is where the good Dr is one of 23, all brought to heel by the indomitable Maya CJ. 

So far, these here ramblings, have been about why the good Dr should not be in these spaces. The opinion under law may suggest that he can and should. Here is the thing, anyone eligible to vote, is eligible for election to the National Assembly. Once in the National Assembly, the good Dr then hitches a ride to the JSC, thanks to the voting members of the very National Assembly.

So, why is it so objectionable that the good Dr be a member of the Judicial Service Commission? Objected to by, such held in high regard commentators? Is it, perhaps, time to change the law, to suit the facts? Just a view.