Cape Town come back to South Africa

Africa my Beginning

They came from the west

Sailing to the east

With hatred and disease flowing

From their flesh

And a burden to harden our lives

They claimed to be friends

When they found us friendly

And when foreigner met foreigner

They fought for the reign

Exploiters of Africa http://www.sowetanlive.co.za/goodlife/2011/07/08/africa-my-beginning-africa-my-ending 

I came from the East headed towards the west suffered from a disadvantage stereotype or belief although I believe I had no disease I suffered from uncertainty and abundant hope. Why was this? For the first time I was going to reside in an enormous city which was once hailed as Africa's capital city. I have had good things about it in fact all I ever heard was all good, 'I would be great there' I thought 'I would finally make it as a footballer'. I needed to settle, part of that meant I needed to find a school, not just a school, but a prestigious one. This involved putting on my Barnetts 'all weather' stuck in an office with my sister, father and a doubtful Principal. This was my first 'one on one' although it lacked any ‘da uomo a uomo’, my sister started it went well I suppose, but seemingly her definite success relied on me. My results were awful, I knew that I wanted to study there that's all ke qa, to the Principal seemingly my results weren't the problem, but where I came from. I came from the Eastern Cape where nothing good seemed to have descended behinds 'over glorified' liberators it's education, health and everything was flawed and beyond repairs. Taking me would be taking a product of that system, he chose to ignore that my educational foundation did not commence in that province (Eastern Cape). His misinformed notion of thinking all schools were defective took over him; I mean Holy Cross High School is one of the schools that hold educational achievement cradles for this beautiful but haunted province. Whatever I said meant nothing, to torture the deluded belief he actually thought I wouldn't survive diversity as if I have never had contact with Indian/Muslim/Coloured People, I went to school with these people we interacted with no regard of our identity.

'I have arrived', I thought

And 'fuck it' I told myself,

After he said 'I want you to tell me what you think I don't want to hear'

My response was silence,

With my dad interjecting 'kwedini thetha'

I was so disgusted by the thought of being undermined that I unashamedly responded by saying 'andifuni'. 

When we left that office with a desk and a chair in the bag I made a vow of achieving as highly as I can in his name, not to spite him but to show that the east is not all rotten. My dad's comment of me taking a break on football scared me forever I hated football receded from it for it only brought me pain and its educational competition had its odds in its favour. 

My philosophy was do everything you are asked, they know better ask no questions, study every day, express your heritage every time, sit in front, act confuse no one would expect anything from you and when you conquer 'they won't see you coming' (devil’s advocate), be in the shadows, don't be afraid of being forlorn... I knew as much as there were benefits for being different it came at a price of which I was willing to bear.  Firstly, I had competition driven by the same odd notion of lack of educational background I possessed due to my previous provincial situation. I made no affiliation to this challenge and when I conquered people continued to be surprised till I matriculated. I must say the environmental change was rife with the subject that I cruised in; in June I changed to the Standard Grade class where our fall was so important then their own rise. The work ethic of the previous class made me ndiceleze (venture with ease), not all was bad after all.

My solitude led to self-discovery and a lot of curiosity led to the love of words in books not just any books, but African literature. Thanks to the rebel Irish blood this was possible, my first thick book Indaba My Children was recommended by Ms Forgarty God rest his soul, in me she saw a philosopher don't know how since I dear to utter a single syllable. For the first time English was not a curse, but could be used to connect my heritage dots of expression, later strengthened by the inclusion of Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart in our curriculum; this concealed my anger of the racial characterization of Othello by William Shakespeare. My long trips were not in vain Mrs Du Ploy dug my automobile enabled vision I saw on the road; the rivers, landscape and diverse climate I witnessed and experienced was advantageous what we learnt in Geography I saw and knew. The close relation I had with nature and drawing meant Physical Science would be possible to conquer, thanks to Mrs Kay she realised my potential and the first time in a while I was marked, the answers I produced at UCT scientific invitation confirmed her inkling. 

The Table Mountain

A place of beauty and rekindling of hope is where I resided, but my township trips painted a bleak picture not all were beautiful in the mother city.   What contributed towards the segregation and naiveté was the mountain that captured the prisoners who were on route to the East for spices. They came for the Mountain and the Mountain is what they got. The closer you are to this overrated natural structure the better you are. I could see it from my bedroom window, it was in the periphery but I could see it. The scene of seeing uTamkhulu Two dying with no honour for a farm that he so much identified with in a room so cold, sunless and small that could have contributed to his death made me become conscious of the economic gap that I and my family embodied. They came from the east, they served the mountain like everyone not on it, but they were further away so their service was vainly rewarded. I saw two worlds in my time there, a fight for crumbs between Coloured and Black instilled by Whites, I saw a picture visible to the whole South Africa a picture of perfection, Cape Town extends further than the natural structure, I saw a place where being foreign or white meant being treasured with no contestation, I saw gang ridden Cape Flats with no prospects of growth in the ground where sand blinded the masses for tomorrow would arrive with a forced smile, but most importantly I saw a country on its own. If you still dwell in one of the British Colonies come back to South Africa...

iXhora yidolopu hayi mani!!!!!!!!!!

KuCwebhe

‘It is s ironic how exotic people describe a place we just see as home; some yearn for the lavish lands with grandeur buildings the likes of America. We live here or they live I only come during vacation here; frustration, hunger, lack of activity suppresses the awareness of beauty all due to the race created by technology. Making us linger for a sudden life exchange...glad you found the pure untainted nature ravishing your imagination...stories shared by people from afield of how great Xhora is brushes off the shame of proudly saying I am from Xhora!’ (This was my two cents comment I wrote on Tones of Home: The Village of Hobeni Cwebe (Cwebhe)) a blog of Mario Machado it transcended the thought of telling the world; it's the world wide web after all, of us amaBomvana while creating pride and tarnishing the shame that has become of my people. I want us to realise that what we are is also valuable and purely humanistic as displayed by the picturesque nature we sometimes shamefully call home.

kukude ekhaya ngenyawo Sophephe mani!!!!!!!!!

I cannot stress how fortunate I am, to be part of the lineage of the great Bomvana people of the great Mbashe and the Wild Coast. The stories shared by the elders I had the pleasure to let my ear linger for the brain arousing sensation of thought provoking pleasures of imagination. The stories were of current activities and of the sad past left behind because of westernisation, in this instant all I can do is imagine and create my own picture guided by these old folks' tales. They speak of umtshotsho, intonjane, umtshato, umgidi, umendiso, ukuqatywa kwabantwana, ukukhutshwa efukwini, ulwaluko, iindidi ngendidi zembola, isiphorha, ubufazi, ubudoda, amankazana, abafazi, umtshakazi, ikrwala, umfana, amakhwenkwe, amatyagi, ukuhlonipha, umtshilo, intlombe, umngqungqo ndibala ntoni na. Their events or depictions of these events are so recent that I thank God (uQamata) that I witnessed some and their memory still speak of what they lived and acted rather than books miswritten due to influence by lost or westernised cultural thoughts; thank God ubuqobhoka busandul'fika eXhora bendiyakwazi ntoni?

Donald Zweliyanyikima Woods

"Donald James Woods was born in Mbashe, Eastern Cape. His parents, Edna and Jack were of Irish and English descent respectively. In the early 1900s Jack walked 300 kilometres to set up a trading station at Hobeni on the banks of the Mbashe River. At his birth on 15th December 1933, there was a complication which the local white doctor was unable to fix. Riding 40 kilometres cross-country on an impulse from Idutywa, Tiyo Soga’s grandson, Dr Lex Soga, arrived at Hobeni and immediately remedied the problem. Born among the amaBomvana at Hobeni, he was given the Xhosa name Zweliyanyikima - "the world shakes", by the Bomvana people. He spoke Xhosa for three years before he spoke English. This helped him later on in life when arranging meetings with Robert Sobukwe and Steve Biko who were both banned at the time." (http://www.donaldwoodsfoundation.org/donald-woods-profile-details.cfm). 

Sinebango ngwelilizwe iyangqina imbali, the fact that Donald Woods was born amongst my people and shared ideas with the greatest revolutionaries of our liberation cannot be ignored, Xhora unebango kwelilizwe, when the Pan Africanist Congress PAC was banned the POQO movement made sure this congress does not disappear with time it all happened along the banks of the great Mbashe river. The journey of Dick King from Durban to Grahamstown left footprints of the horse as it trotted hard and tirelessly on the rich black soil. The grave of King Sarhili lies kwaGcaleka ngaseTsholorha, apho amakhwenkwe akwaGcaleka ayelala khona kwimfazwe zabo namakhwenkwe waseMngazane this is known as the war of the axe kodwa it came due to petty disputes, apho kukho impunzi engazingelwayo ilifu lisoloku lilele. KwelikaS'gcawu kulapha ngapha kwendlela kwasekhaya eMngazana apho kwakukho ithonto lika Sigcawu, if you deny the richness of such history you deny your own heritage. The discovery of the original Xhosa word for a female Springbok; Imbakazi rather than the misnomer of Imbabalakazi, the Fort Hare professor had to go eXhora to hear this; uyeva? Unedlebe nje unetyala!

abakhwetha bazekutshila

I thank my father for being always keen on sharing these stories some of which he has seen, but many have vague memories and few he have heard of. I know my interest gave him so much joy his face glimmered whenever I so much inquired. When he first told me about umtshilo I wouldn't picture it I tried to let my mind set itself afar back in time, it came back with no image. He told me that abakhwe that came from afar ukuzotshila kwaban’, if you were good you were destined to be known emazweni (the world didn't extend much beyond the fringes) owaye waziwa ngokutshila amaziyo ngumzala wakhe the late Zweliyatshukuma. The tall people were better equipped for this display and Zweliyatshukuma was tall as his mother who was my grandfather's sister. Okay me and my dad are short took my grandmother's height. This was the initiates dance done kwasokhaya, it was such a big deal that people went as far as ukuthwala and doing all kinds of things just to see their favourite win over the crowd doing body manoeuvring moves. The preparations were quite thorough ranging from announcements, now announcements are mainly word of mouth up until today mainly done where many people are present mainly esicini. The display provided such great pleasure amongst the audience, the movements of bodies with animal prints covered at the waist with umhlanti. The winner was pronounced by the best movement of the waist and constant poking gestures or rhythmic extension of the hands while looking away from the women. The great tale that still lives on amongst many is that okaSo...(forgot the father's name) lost because wabekwelwa ameva ngenye indada kuba efuna angogqithi umkhwetha amthandayo. This might seem as petty stories with no explicit value, but trust me I have met people who hanker for such stories many nations were based on great legends of their people as they evolved with time. They don't shy away from their past, you are your past as there is no present without future, no past without the present and present situations which influence our choices are constructed by one's past.

eMthatha othathayo; the concrete jungle

The 2002 world cup, there is a football frenzy everywhere not that new to me since at uMzimkhulu football was the root of every boys’ dream. The whirl only came in June as this great phenomenal event is held in the summers of Europe. This time, for the first time it was held in the colossal and vastly populated continent of Asia, Japan and South Korea were the joint host nations. I have had peeps of past world cups most notable the 1994 world cup held in the nation where the football zeal worse knowledge was absent. I know one would expect me to make reference to the 1998 'siyaya eFrance' world cup where our nation made its first appearance into the global arena. I want to forget this world cup my favourite team lost dishonourably thanks to the great Zinedine Zidane's decisive greatness. I shared tears with the controversy that preceded that match when my favourite player, the real Ronaldo mysteriously could not rise to the occasion. It played during the holidays so I watched almost all the matches, in 2002 I got 'sick' and had to witness again almost all the matches. The year 2002 marked my first year in the capital city of the formal Transkei, and like the world cup of 1998 I want to keep those years into the past. I never liked and would never like that place.

I wanted to be a football player nothing mattered and besides I never liked school anyway. School became a drag, Corhana was awful hated every moment of it, moved to Police Camp discovered something that could edge me closer to my dream, but football became a chore and although memorable and full of statue performances I dread most parts of it; it was my refuge. I must confess when I went to Holy Cross High School; though it was a prestigious school with a lot of accolades it belittled me. I suppressed the imposed insecurity by rebelling. My rebellion was spelt out of my marks excelling exceptionally in Maths and getting the ‘rugby poles’ in English. My rebellion gave me recognition and 'fame', trouble followed me, but it came with joy as my character of ‘tsotsi’ was received with much fondness amongst the ladies. I became part of something, the Fantastic Four invited me to be part of their syndicate team the memory of me signing that hand written contract still lingers in my memory. The other member failed grade nine because of that and one member’s recognition of my potential that even the teachers botched to  recognise (besides Mrs Fuduswa) I became a member. We did all kinds of things of which I cannot disclose. 

Like the characters of Scarface, John Dillinger, Jessie James the consequence of rebellion was imminent, I landed in the principal’s office for something I still believe it was unjust for me to be 'interrogated and prosecuted' (within the school confines of cause). I got a week of cleaning after school only getting off five o'clock to escape expulsion, I could not access my sanctuary the saddest part was I wouldn't be part of the team that will go to Beaufort West for the Transnet Foundation games, to go play with the likes of Ajax and Pirates. This marked the start of a phase of troublesome Q and my dying hopes of being a football player came with a phase of disinterest towards the game. 

The environment can make you do things you not proud of, the place or people expected people to do or think the same, difference meant solitude and Good God how forlorn was I since I saw and chose different paths? I was constantly made fun of from 'iwoh uyaboniswa’; even dressing different was an issue one could not express themselves without being a constant dupe of ridicule. 

Would I want to go back there? God willing, No! My football dream could have been gone, my love for the beautiful game could have been almost lost but it still remains, I am still intact and I cannot run away from the fact that the concrete jungle is part of my prime existence it made me stronger and more determined. Ndiyakubulele ndingakulangazelele kodwa Mthatha othathayo...

9/11 The day of revelation

The son of Zamkhaya and Nosapho Mathentamo born in the mists of the former Transkei, while he's from eXhora, seemingly living two lives, has transcended into a profoundly influenced teenager. He has always been a rural and an urban boy hankering for the authorization of the former, these are his last days in uMzimkhulu. He has had mixed events that have had great influence into how he views or considers about the world. He has experienced hardships with  mature people, has had no ferventness of ever befriending his age group, has done and lived through the fringes of the 'criminal' world, been loved dearly by ‘thugs’, has always believed in being tough and detached as a man should be even though he has been known to be soft. He yields to this personal foe by inflicting pain on other pupils just so he can feel manlier. He has been taunted for having a church loving family hated church for that, stroke the bell as instructed ran through the forest to avoid attending it only coming back faced with the fear of catching a beating, but felt escaping was worth it rather than being teased as a soft church boy. He has witnessed racism unaware, teachers’ comments about good past times where there was no need to pretend to stand for these intolerant bad behaving 'black' children and government leaders fully incompetent, 'these are your leaders' they would say. He rebelled every chance he got endured the punishment for the greater the pain the greater the cause and satisfaction. He hated school the loathing of young or peer authority was his reason for looking forward to school, because he knew that tormenting them gave him such joy that he wouldn't dare miss their misery. He was certain where ever he went there was division, whether tribal or racial, between the religious or pagan, educated or non-educated, rich or poor, class divisions, and any slight difference. He played and enjoyed good times with people of different tribes or race without noticing the difference, although it became apparent with time and age. 

On the day when the twin towers crumbled to the ground he met Osama Bin Laden in person; so it felt. A television stand came in; their hearts were filled with bliss he is sure, because they knew no school or learning but screen conquering the battle of imagination an eye for laser flash. The stand made it crystal clear to them, they knew less about life on that day it became barefaced, on that day it dawned to them or to him that one nation's disaster could be inherited by other nations like theirs. They saw planes crashing into enormous buildings, people were flying out of these buildings there was thick smoke all over thicker than the forest fires he had lived to see, and there was chaos. They didn't know why, but for the next week or two if his recollection is correct, they will know. The television stand with few narrations in between will tell the entire story, and it became known to him that it was different from what the screen at home presented. It gave a detailed story as to why would people blast themselves; all because of Jihad. In that day he knew off a world beyond, bullying extending beyond the play ground, retaliation so vast and bizarre that it made no match with the retaliation he knew. The world seemed to be in tears, but the narration and screen was filled with justification and anger. He listened to the screen and narrations more than the screen at home and he looked forward to its story day by day.

On that day a lot dawned to him, he wanted to know beyond the visible amongst the masses, to think different no matter what, not to be driven by group thinking, and most importantly he knew there was a bigger world out there beyond his horizon, but astonishingly was as miniature as it could be since it could not escape his hands' ability. He was to leave Ixopo and uMzimkhulu as a person who is on the quest for the truth, for something different from what we praise everyday as fundamental for our existence. He would fall in love with difference and the frowned upon, he would believe in the goodness of the 'deviant' acts of mankind. He would realize that men are driven by ideals and fantasies, there will be those who would have voices within them they would listen and follow these voices, sometimes frustratingly to become legendary or crazy. But he knew of an indelible power which is throughout the whole universe, the power of nature.