Stuck in the mud... dead in the water...

In the last few days I have begun to accept more and more that South Africa is a nation divided... where race used to be the greatest cleavage, class and socio-economic status has comfortably replaced it.. much to the chagrin of those who coined the term way back when we have "redefined" apartheid... So much so that if you are a poor, black African living in one of the biggest shanty towns in the world, best believe your death is meaningless. The "investigation" into your death will be conducted by a novice desk officer and nothing will come of it.. On the other {manicured} hand, if you are a touring foreigner, visiting Africa to experience the glamourisation of poverty, rest assured yours will be the "death of the year"...or at least the week...



Yet... EVERYDAY... every single darn day.. at least one murder is committed in this country... at LEAST... most of the perpetrators never make it to the dock and may kill again... the few who do find themselves in court will mostly be acquitted - usually on a technicality, sometimes because despite clear witness testimony "there just wasn't enough evidence" to convict - and often because prosecuting these poor murderers is "a waste of state resources"... after all the NPA has the murderer of big fat fish like Brett Kebble to deal with! Even in death some animals are more equal than others... *oink*



While my heart and thoughts go out to the family and friends of the deceased honeymooner, I can't help but think of her as an unwilling martyr, one whose death has in some way got people talking about the rampant violent crime within these borders in which we find ourselves... The media... the vultures that they are, have found a carcass upon which to feast once more.. {The pun, while regrettable is purely intentional}...and we - the public - can {re}start to think about crime in South Africa...



After months of living in a relative state of psychological safety after the South African Police Service (SAPS)'s head honcho released data showing that there was a marked decline in the incidence of violent crime, we were once again reminded that we are in danger... So, please go back to locking your doors {your car, your flat, your office, even the trap door from which words spew every day... lock EVERY door} because WE ARE NOT SAFE.. Were we ever? Seriously. Were we?



It took the hijacking and killing of a Brit for us to be woken up from our self-induced slumber or complacency to realise that crime is real.. it was real BEFORE the honeymooners ventured into Gugulethu and it will continue to be real for minutes, hours, days, months, years to come if we do not commit ourselves to addressing the root cause of our societal malaise.



As bad a series as it is, I can't help but think of "Ghost Whisperer"! With all the restless souls purportedly floating somewhere close to the Ozone layer hoping their killer will be brought to justice, it would explain the growing cancer eating our society up... I'll bet my love-handles PW Botha is smiling his wry crocodile smile right now, rubbing his wrinkled hands somewhere in the doldrums of an imagined hell, thinking "I DID leave a legacy!"...


In the words of my friend Kwezi {duly tagged to avoid plagiarism charges}: "Township blacks you can kill other township blacks fine, but kill a tourist and that will be bad for income and we will set up a tourist desk, and give tourists an escort every time they are going into a dangerous area. fuck that shit."



So? Does anyone else see the elephant in the room? We painted it in rainbow colours in 1994, but we were too fixated with the idea of finally being "democratic" that we neglected to chase the damn mammal out! Trouble with elephants is they need to be constantly fed... I vote we get rid of the damn thing... the stench of its dung is not good for the house in which we live... though it will linger for a few more years, at least it will eventually go... right?

No Black in the Rainbow

I not so recently got a job in Pretoria… after I received my acceptance letter I squealed a bit called my sister to celebrate and together we jumped around like the primates from which we evolved… as we were catching our breath my sister asked me how I’d “survive” in Pretoria with all the racism there. I told her that I didn’t think whatever racism remained in the country’s capital could be extreme… I would soon learn that there’s no "black" in the rainbow… not yet anyway… and on closer inspection you’ll find that there’s not much brown or "white" either…

Every place I find myself in teaches me a new lesson about life and even more about the sociological bubble I grew up in. While, it would be unfair to over-generalize and say that Pretoria is a racist city… Allow me to be unfair at this juncture. The irony of Pretoria’s racism is that it is juxtaposed with the internationalization of the country. Pretoria, as the country’s capital is a hub of international activity… that is how I found myself seeking employment here in the first place. The non-believer in me told me that people who allege racism are those who perpetrate it and so I reasoned that because I wasn’t racist I wouldn’t experience it… twisted logic I know, but I tend to try to rationalize irrational behaviour… suffice it to say, I was wrong.

My article is likely to only make people more aware of the “racism” – latent or otherwise – in the beautiful jacaranda tree-lined capital city… and in effect it might actually perpetuate the vicious cycle that South African society is failing to extricate itself from… BUT maybe, and only maybe, this heightened awareness will allow people to reevaluate their own relations with their friends, coworkers and Jack and Jill on the street… only maybe.

I have always said that racism is an external manifestation of your own internal self-loathing and/or feelings of inadequacy. My sentiments have not changed because the racism I have suffered has mostly come from people who don’t know me, people who attempt to measure my successes and failures within a split second at the till at my local supermarket and decide there and then that I am either not worthy of their services or grab hold of their bags because, the flying spaghetti monster forbid, I might just try to snatch their handbag and run home… aaah well.

In writing this note, I had one person in mind… a seemingly friendly girl who told me that I could not live with her because “[she’s] not sure her friends would be comfortable with [her] living with ‘a person like [me]’” (her words not mine). Unfortunate as it is that Miranda had no idea what ‘a person like me’ is other than that I have a high level of melanin, she got her way… I changed house…

So, here I am… trying with great difficulty to put a little black spot on the rainbow that is South Africa… but maybe the whole notion of a rainbow is inherently flawed… given that it makes it so patently clear that we are all not one “colour”… I’ll take an amorphous mélange of colour any day… or some whiskey… on the rocks… shaken, not stirred.