And so i write again. It was decided not long ago by the brain and i that perhaps i would let the blog wither away and die, no real problem with that… it’s had its run, I thought to myself, plus anyway i have far more important things to write these days, i rationalised. But maybe its the 10 issues of Ennis’s “The Boys” that i just got through, paralleled with the 6 African dub cd’s on my right, the South African Lonely Planet clumsily placed under those cd’s and the sepia toned cover of Lebogang Mashile’s “In Ribbon of Rhythm” on my left, whose powers combined have brought on an onslaught of South African nostalgia that’s given stimulus to this post (stimulus now there’s a relevant word these days- and look at how I speak of nostalgia like I was in Africa 10 years ago, when I was there 8 days ago….behold the melodrama!). Filhaal (oh how Salman Rushdie of you -n- throwing in hindi colloquialisms to exoticize the utter crud you write on this blog- try that rubbish with your script and watch how easily it gets picked up….idiot) i’ve decided to write a little something on my South African sojourn, I usually only publish these things when I can blog whilst traveling because I believe its purer that way. I didn’t have this feature available to me this time round so I’m blogging now long after returning home. I had however written a spasm of thought here and there in my trusty notebook whilst leaving Soweto and donkey dodging in Botswana, the chances of me posting separate blogs on these places depends on the potency of my scribbles at the time. We’ll see what happens and those blogs will be in the mould of my older ones, far more formal and analytical than the current diarrhoea I pen, but for now lets begin….
Eight to ten months ago the thought of going anywhere but India was an impossibility not only financially, but mentally I wasn’t willing to accept another travel destination. As you all know India was a relative disaster for me (if you don’t know this, masturbate my ego by reading the rest of this blog…like every damn post), and making amends for the atrocity was on the top of my agenda, after all I did sacrifice quite a bit for it, a great permanent job and a small fortune amongst other things. But when I got back I vowed to go, a good friend was getting married over there so I decided that was a good excuse as any to make the 20 hour flight across. Managed to pistol whip a few friends into going with me and things just fell into place. Even at that point I wasn’t really expecting much, South Africa was by no means an “essential” travel destination in my mind, Nepal, Morocco, Myanmar, Tibet tickle my fancy far more, but I was in no position to haggle, I had traveled alone for a bit, found it incredibly lonely (I’m rather gregarious by nature) and thought even if I couldn’t derive an epiphany from Mother Africa I’d sure as hell enjoy the camaraderie of a bunch of mates in a foreign country. But as the cliché will have you believe, South Africa did poke at my third eye, not only do I feel somewhat redeemed, I have accrued a molecule of wisdom not only of self but of life. I also have a new mistress her name is Capetown and I believe Mumbai maybe slightly jealous, but hey how about we Devdas this one and keep you both? (It really is a classic indicator of the barrenness of my love life when I have to take cities as potential partners). In short, I have grown, I may have reared my head from the perpetual immaturity that many say plagues my existence, but I have come to accept that as part of me. It’s not going away anytime soon, but hey that’s one for my shrink yeah?
Africa is so different, yet so similar to what I am accustomed to. I openly enjoy the uniqueness of the third world, I was born in (and have an unhealthy love for) the subcontinent and enjoy the more grassroots approach to travel as such. Give me a bustling market of locals and I will thrive, give me a cocktail bar of hipster jeans and I will want to hit someone. But I digress, I genuinely believed the subcontinent had toughened me for travel anywhere and to some degree it had whilst in Africa. I’m vigilant, I’m a master haggler, I can put up with a lot in terms of lack of space and even sparse accommodation, hell my knees can still handle squatters. But there were things I wasn’t ready for as well, simple things like, not being able to take my mobile phone out on regular intervals to check the time, openly being followed every now and then, having to “urban commando” my way through certain areas to avoid a mugging, carrying my backpack in the front, having a light dependent curfew, ATM’s that wouldn’t work etc etc. All a matter of heightened vigilance that im not used to, but the stories I had heard about South Africa’s all permeating atmosphere of crime were in the most part far fetched. Yes one has to be careful, more so than you would in India, definitely more than you’d ever have to be in Sydney, but I don’t know how justified stories of needing “flame throwers” on ones car are and wether its true that you should never stop at traffic lights, perhaps my experiences were more sheltered than others, I guess that could be true. That said, yes your bags can be broken into when at the airport (it happened to two friends, more than once I might add) and like I said earlier, you can be followed occasionally, but in broad daylight anyone silly enough to follow you isn’t going to get far exactly. But drawing an onus on the negatives does no justice to the country, a typical case of a few bad apples I’d say. The positives grossly outweigh the negatives. To begin with I’m a sucker for culture and the arts an interest that admittedly finds me few contemporaries (read: I have geeky inclinations….. and few friends I like), but that aside I found in Capetown a comrade of sorts. Long Street’s bohemian beatnik vibe is one I revelled in, indie music stores, hippie op shops, second hand book stores, shops with art galleries outback, vegan cafes and roadside satsangs were a fresh breeze on the crop circled harvest of my headspace (ozmocote would have been a more appropriate metaphor I know). The nightlife in many ways moves away from the more social aspect that many Australian nightclubs personify and becomes purely about the music, and my God the music that comes out of Capetown! Drum and Bass, triphop, afro dub, Cape Jazz, opera infused afro beat, the list is endless, it’s all close by and most importantly it all has an audience that supports it. There is a respect for music in Capetown that I adore, and the music is unique in that it doesn’t lose its character to the American cliché. It is African through and through. Much like Paris is the current alternative hotbed for cutting edge developments in the pop culture scene (the usual mainstays being London, Tokyo and New York), a situation I theorize has arisen from the melting pot of different cultures in Paris these days. I genuinely believe the same for Capetown, in time it will become a juggernaut that will contribute greatly to the pop cultural diaspora of the world. The multicultural aspect contributes in this scenario too, but too a lesser extent than say the uniqueness of the work produced and the audience support domestic art and culture receives.
Controversially enough I’d say the people of Africa are far warmer than my own people of the subcontinent, the hard drinking drum and bass loving Namibians in Capetown, the youth workers of Soweto, the rich black elite of Durban, the constant stream of Rastafarian preachers (oneness!), shop staff that within an instant became good friends, there really wasn’t a moment where cracking a smile wouldn’t lead to a insightful conversation, and South Africans usually have a lot to say. Also South Africans find my warped sense of humour far more appealing than Indians, or Australians for that matter too. Infact it was often remarked by a friend of mine that “everyone back home hates us, what’s the deal exactly with South Africans?” He was onto something, we had audiences captivated by our stories, laughs were a plenty, we were hitting all the right notes almost always, we were invited to art exhibitions and moving and shaking with the cultural literati of Capetown. “This never happens back home” my comrade would whisper between sips of his Windhoek. “I know…..we are so cool” I would respond after even larger swigs of mine, knowing full well a cubicle, the rat race and tumble weed silent responses to my tales awaited me back in Sydney. But there is definite tangible warmth to the people here, something that may have been amplified by booze and the veil of holiday gaiety, but I doubt it. It’s a feature of South Africa that stays with you and you notice it’s absence when you return to your respective nests, it’s a feeling that will definitely take me back there again and again. I am only now uncovering the works of South African poet Lebogang Mashile, but i understand what she says when she states in the first stanza of “Style”;
“It is the very liquid soul that oozes from these pores
To Light the sidewalks with our magic beyond the distant shores
It is the joy from which the laughter of the dying is drawn
Style is in the essence of my people”
And truly it is….so when I go to snort another row of finely cut nostalgia, the first thing that will intoxicate my temporal lobe will not so much be the arts and culture, or the magnificent scenery that is endemic to the region. It will be the friends made, the jokes shared and the camaraderie I enjoyed from South Africans everywhere and from all walks of life….their “Style” if you will. It seems as though Mother Africa has taken a piece of this cynic’s heart and now takes her place side by side with Mera Bharat Mahaan (My Great India) as a home away from home…….….what I would give for Malva pudding right about now.
-n-
**Apologies for again the lack of coherence and the doped up randomness of this post, it’s a feature of my writing im too lazy to edit. Rest assured future posts (possibly two on Africa) will be far more refined and less opaque….. or so I will attempt anyway.
