“Y” equals “X”: AN ARTIST PROVES HIS THEORY

I recognised him with his signature Afro, surrounded by a group of energetic break dancers jerking their bodies to paint a quaint image of what they had in mind. I was outside the infamous Baxter Theatre in Rondebosch, Cape Town. It was my first night in Cape Town after a 12 hour long bus trip down to the Mother City.Emile YX, as he is known in the Hip Hop circles, started his career as a rapper and break dancer with the Hip Hop group, Black Noise, during the late 80’s and early 90’s. He grew up in a neighbourhood called Grassy Park, a neighbour to the notorious Cape Flats. 

P.O.C (Prophets of the City) and “Brasse Vannie Kaap”, were part of the movement, that pushed boundaries enough to break some new ground in the Hip Hop scene, especially as the new dispensation was taking shape in South Africa.Without wasting time and space, Emile leapt into conversation, by drawing a comparison between body movement and the musical composition of a jazz song. “It is the horn section, takes the dancer to another tip,” he enthused. Like many artists coming from the Cape, what has given him “staying” power is his desire to pass on the baton to youngsters to continue being ambassadors of the Hip Hop culture but also teaching them that music is a pervasive tool used in dance for pure expression, such as a painter would choose what kind of paint brush to use for the final finish.

His opinion is that to be able to understand jazz, it begins with understanding the historical journey and impact of the genre. “People listen to more than just the beat, but the entirety of the song,” his illustration a mannerism that he made often of the full circle.  He alludes to listening to the likes of Robbie Jansen, Basil Manenburg – Coetzee and Abdullah Ebrahim while growing up and found throughout the years that jazz, specifically Cape Town jazz, had an influence on his career as a Hip Hop artist.Goema,Carnival, Cape Malay and Khoi-san music are all mentioned to have solidified the distinct sound and flavour of the Cape.It has been a dear relationship with Hip Hop for Emile Jansen, who has dedicated his life to the group Black Noise for 23 years, growing the B-boy phenomenon locally and abroad; teaching, creating and coordinating Hip Hop events and recently running for councillorship in Grassy Park in the 2011 Local Municipal Elections.

Now, 6 months later at Toko MC, two months into my temporary residence in Amsterdam, having been tipped off  by a work acquaintance on Facebook, I was listening to Emile bust a rhyme live in front of a young, hip and happening audience, jamming along to the rhythm of the lyricist. He was touring The Netherlands with the production called “Afrikaaps” that tackled issues surrounding identity, culture and the Afrikaans language. “I am just going to recite a poem, not going to do anything special”, he began, but we all knew, those of us who understood his cause and movement, it’s never about “special”, it’s always about how music is able to move people.

Love Prays and sits on a humble stool

 I love love. I love love because with all of its consequences, human beings still have the will to find love. I love love, not only for its character to turn things upside down,but the sheer joy it brings to one's unfulfilled affair with thyself. Temporarily, it is able to  disarm you with its charm and adrenalin as if its like,if not almost, swerving on a roller coaster. At the innocent age of 7 years old, I stood frightened close to the adjoining wall  of my own bedroom,ears widely plucked to hear my parents argue, on the other side. My mother was complaining about how my father did not have the time to even look at her, while she was getting undressed or even be  enticed by her while she walked around naked in their sacred space of a married couple. I was not shocked, I felt sad and the very same feeling has been part of my own love life as long as I can remember. I grew up being told that due to the failed marriage, perceived  to be  my father's fault, that I needed to concentrate on my own career and studies in order to subtract that ugly feeling of being betrayed and hurt by a man. 

16 years old, I grew fond of a particular young, smart and terribly good boy who lived in my neighbourhood. He liked me a lot and for the first time in whole entire life, I was scared to have those warm fuzzy feelings that made one giggle by themselves whenever they thought about that certain person who made them feel good. How dare I go against the very same lessons I had been taught by my own mother, who was now raising a teenage girl, all by herself in the nineties, living from hand to mouth?. How dare I go against all that I had heard through those walls in my own home with my mama and daddy? I broke it off immediately over a long conversation  on my first cellphone, about how I was too young to be involved in romantic affairs. Particularly because I had been told that " If I wanted to be pregnant, having a boyfriend would be the first step to that". So, as a teenage girl,while most of my friends were losing their virginity, I was meditating about love. 

Track back to 14 years old, I am dropped off by my own mother and my mother's great aunt at a party in an upmarket suburb of Bloemfontein; Boom Shaka, Mdu, TKZee are blasting out of cars parked outside the venue  and I get checked in line by my mother about curfew and not having a sip of alcohol. As embarrassed as I was, We both knew that was not going to be the case. I had always been the friend who would hold the bags, watch over the drinks and give advice about who to not go for in situations that required careful consideration at house parties. I was comfortable with that and it only mattered when I was not approached by anyone at these sort of events.That did a lot for my own self-esteem. So, for most of my high school years, I pondered constantly on love and its meaning in my life as a young woman. I asked myself many - sometimes being overly obsessed- questions about why I only had my first kiss at 14 with a guy that later became a boyfriend of  one of my closest friends and how come attraction was not mutual when you most needed it to be. 

At the impressionable stage of being 19, after a long break from having a boyfriend, I met a man I fell in love with; I imagined him loving me for as long as he wanted to. It was always about how men would determine the time span of a relationship and not I or both of us. For about 3 years, I was consumed in his life and he in mine. This was the time when I had shaken off the baby fat and my whole physical form had taken a sharp turn to a "respected" beauty. All the boys that never had time for me, had the time to talk to me and all the boys that were with those ravishing beauties at parties, were now looking at me. It was an ego boost, for real. One that took me a long time to realize that it was not love, it was lust. I confused attention for love and I am sorry to say that I still do. Its my battle, It was my mother's battle with my father and its part of the pathology that Iyanla Vanzant talks about when she speaks about our relationships with men, the fact that those that are toxic have such influence to paralyze women in such a belligerent manner.

Now, almost a quarter of a century into my life and almost the same age, she gave birth to me, I am still wondering about love and how it has managed to deepen me into misery and lift me out into growth. I have men that I have loved so much that they loved me less. And not, because they did not care for me,but because I wanted that love so badly, I was willing to do anything for it. Even if it meant going against Steve Harvey's 90 day rule of not giving it up. But, well, what the heck, even when I did try the damn thing, they managed to leave anyway. So, what is the point? 

The point is, I have taken a slight turn into love, where I will grow with love, knowing the difference between wanting someone and partnering with someone, love that heals and love that mends, love that relays sexual freedom and harmony, moreover love that conquers and nurtures the soul. The latter is that kind of love that is not obsessive, jealous, unfulfilled, depressing, cheap or shameful. Its the kind of love that prays, sitting on a humble stool and waiting patiently for a mirror  that answers "Yes" with acceptance, joy, realness and vulnerability.

No matter how much I try

I may try by all means to deny the fire inside me, but one thing is for sure,

I will not be able to hide it any longer.

I may try even to afford to replace it with other passions but deep down my empty heart,

 I know I can't survive without it.

Even if I try to block the images going around in my head, I will never be able to stop my subconscious mind from making them re-appear in my dreams.

For we know, my creator and I, that without it, my life would be of no use. Of no purpose.

Just a taste of it, is all I need to go on and rise my head up among the masses.

It is a form of healing, one that's being there since the beginning of Man. 

Because of it's importance in my life, I pray every day that I may never lose or waste it to deeds that suit the underworld.

 Deeds that ruin lives and my self-dignity.

I have come too far to deny it now. 

Helping me throught the many struggles I have rebelled against,

Compelling me to break free and seek truth and love.

I feel like I'm a prisoner. 

A prisoner of own my emotions, my actions and thoughts that are ruled by this art.

 I will still maintain tomorrow; I may try to separate myself from it, but it will follw me wherever I go.

No Matter how much or how hard I try. 

WHERE WORDS FAIL....MUSIC SPEAKS

It will always remind me that I need just a taste.

And my voice will ache to create more of it.

SHUT UP!!!

Bare witness to the picture of Africa

We sat around a table just like we would if  we were at our own homes. Durban was represented,Bloemfontein was mentioned and of course,Cape Town had to be revered for its uncompromising character to mix and match languages,cultures and style in the conversation.We sat around a table, spitting words in IsiZulu,Sesotho and IsiXhosa, happily chewing on  words that made us crackle with laughter and muse with intrique because that was the only way we could relate to home.  We were South Africans in a foreign,rainy and busy city,hungry to invite those at the"Africa in the Picture" (AITP)Fim Festival into our daily reality. 

Though Film was at the centre of the cultural debate and its effect on the African continent to bring about change, a striking feature, was emerging within us about Africa.Without taking away from the festival's achievement of bringing the message to those that were interested enough to pay to see  the films, we realised that Africa was assumed to be a "country",not  only that it is not taken seriously,but for the mere reason that Africans did not make enough noise about themselves. Even more so, Africans do not even know that their stories are being told in  Film Festivals half way around the world.

8 weeks ago,when I landed in Schiphol Airport,Amsterdam,all I could think about were the opportunities that I could find to show my support and love for the continent. This is a totally misguided notion to have in one's head that Europe is the only place that can cater for an audience that is culturally educated and in-the-know about the  Arts and Culture of other countries,meanwhile the  black community- whether from Africa or  the Diaspora-  in the very European cities are not informed about the cultural exchange that is taking place in the city that they are attempting to create a home in.

I should not have thought that coming to Amsterdam would feed my hunger to see,hear and feel differently than in South Africa(or Africa). What I should have initially asked myself was whether I was coming here to adopt a life or whether I was coming here to re-engineer my thinking. A Ghanaian friend,staying in The Netherlands for almost 8 years is fond of saying to me:"This is Europe,anything is possible". The idea of this sentence existing in many people's minds back home is as vivid as the idea that the Western world shan't stop being fascinated with Africa,but the fascination stops the minute the film stops rolling and the doors shut.

Zamo Mkhwanazi, a female film-maker at the festival summed it up by indicating that to be able to live in South Africa (or anywhere in Africa) it would require that you negotiate your way  to stay alive, have bread and milk  on the table and maybe if you are lucky enough, have a film screened in The Netherlands.  Her reply was to a question asked by an audience member about her motivation to create a short fiction film about fraudulent marriages that are a gateway to gain citizenship in South Africa. Her statement  to life and to the rest of the world through "Philia"  was that as Africans we need to evaluate our relationships with each other on a level that expresses a different kind of love - a friendship- that surpasses all our physical boundaries. The  characters created  in the film are a replica of dreams being built on opposite ends of sacrifice and life  continuing  to knock on heaven's door just as Africa is trying  to reach its peak.

As in Africa, Europe is also a place where we negotiate for our lives to be better and not a place that is as full of opportunities as people might think it to be. It is Europe,only a little fancier than home and it continues to exhibit Africa's works more than Africa does. It is not even about lack of skills or infrastructure anymore, that argument is long caught on another train,but it remains an issue of working towards makiing sure that all Africans participate in the dialogue to spread our stories to each other,in that way creating a channel of friendship bonds that are  of true essence to  the meaning of "Philia"-  a kind of brotherly love.

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  From Left : Rosygal; Zamo Mkhwanazi ("Philia"Film-Maker);Heidi Sincuba (SA Visual Artist)
  From Right: Sanele Makhubu ( SA Film-Maker-"Pushers");Zanele Muholi(SA Visual  Artist,Photographer,Film-Maker and winner of the AITP 2011 Short Film Category); Akhe Beku (SA Film-Maker-"Ride Your Freedom")