There is a ninja of mine who is a tenderprenuer, his favourite catch phrase is “everybody speaks from the stomach”. He kept on repeating that annoying-ass phrase as we were vigorously arguing about the moral and social implications of corruption. The argument took place across the background of eNCA’s live broadcast of the inquiry into state capture.
On a lively Friday afternoon with open beers on the table emotions ran high, as the alcohol ensured that nobody would be pulling back punches in a titanic verbal clash between two know-it-all armchair generals who do not know when to stop. On multiple occasions in the heat of battle I was often struck by flashes of homicidal intent, incapable of processing the words I was hearing from a man whom I considered a friend and a good person.
I am completely convinced that there is a subliminally insidious campaign by Caucasians, Arabs, East Asians and Latin Americans, aimed at demoting the status of black people to that of less than human in the collective consciousness of humanity. The reason they do this, is to justify the criminal exploitation of African resources. While I might not have solid evidence to support my hypotheses, it is close to the truth. My certainty derived from reported and experienced actions of then coloniser. My ninja believes this to be utter nonsense, the paranoid delusions of a naïve idealist and even if I am correct in my assertions. It would not matter if I had “real money” in my bank account.
He is of the view that race is an unprogressive artificial construct, along which people should no longer organize. In the 21st century all that matters is the money. Instead of focusing one’s energy on religious, tribal and academic aspirations, those Africans who are strong enough, should focus on acquiring material wealth at whatever the cost. According to this treacherous shinobi, the ignorant black masses are a lost cause, whose sense of identity and purpose has been irreversibly perverted by centuries of colonisation. Thus when our political, religious, cultural and social leaders sacrifice the futures of black children for financial gain, they are simply saving themselves from an already sinking ship. In the future, my friend deduces, there will only be haves and the have nots, race will not be a factor. Thus it is each person for themselves and god for us all.
Admittedly I have considered embracing my ninja’s loss of faith in our people’s ability to escape the clutches of mass poverty. Which largely stems from the people’s failure to decolonise their minds because if we were to do so, the people would recognize that we do not need the West, nor the east for that matter, in a time where knowledge is readily available. A resource rich continent, such as ours, should not be the basket case that it is at this current moment in space and time. Through tribalism, greed, religious mysticism and hedonism, black people largely remain at the bottom of the pyramid scheme that is capitalist.
With all that taken into consideration, we simply cannot give up on each other. A Tribe Called Quest said it best there’s no space program for niggers.
The money pig’s quest to amass as much wealth as possible, is an act of pure evil. With evil being diametrically opposed to life, with its assertion relative to individual or social interest. The money pig’s hunger for opulence is changing mother Earth’s atmosphere at such an alarming rate, that soon it will become inhabitable for human beings. Simultaneously the money pig is searching for other planets to colonize, them motherfuckers are done with continents, they are levelling up to colonizing planets and you best believe motherfuckers aren’t planning to take any kaffirs with them. They will have artificially aware robots to tend to there every need. Obviously this is a hyperbolic metaphor of the coloniser’s intent but there is more than a grain of truth to it.
Thus I believe a black man’s participation in the corruption of private and public institutions, for whatever reason, is treachery of the highest order. Liberal individualism is not an option for the black person because its logical conclusion is the annihilation of black culture through appropriation and the vilification of black people in the annals of history, through propaganda.
My ninja was insulted by my rationalization but fortunately for our relationship my phone rang. The honies I had organized for the night’s club hopping were at the gate and somebody needed to pay the cab driver. So naturally we put aside the politics to deal with the more important issue of the day, turning up and getting laid.
While driving this past Sunday to Witportjie in Roodeport with friends, we saw a white female beggar. We were on our way to a church gathering to cap off the day set aside by the Lord.
As the robot turned red, we stopped and the lady approached the car in front but quickly turned away on noticing the car was driven by a black man. She turned to us in the car behind, then quickly retreated on noticing our pigment.
Her face of desperation quickly turned to a smug grin. This was not only disrespectful, but it was a look that made us feel like lesser beings. To her we were nothing.
“It’s no secret, white people don’t respect us blacks.”
I can’t stop thinking about that Sunday drive.
I often wonder about racial undertones in society. Racism still exists and is institutionalised so much, even a white vagrant on a corner looks down on darkies superior to her.
This is why I was very bothered when President Cyril Ramaphosa in the past week addressed the Afrikanerbond’s centenary ‘celebrations’.
There are mixed reactions to this and I have a strong opinion which I however will keep to myself.
“White people must examine themselves.”
It’s no secret, white people don’t respect us blacks. It’s not just in the older generation but the young ones are keeping the legacy alive. One only needs to take a trip to Krugersdorp to see what I mean.
There are dividing lines all around us. Look at the national rugby team, even with Siya Kolisi as captain division persists. Personally I feel white people are not prepared to change, not prepared to share what’s rightfully ours, not willing to learn, regardless of who they are. Heck, even the DA leadership laments the colonial past.
You don’t agree.
Most white adults in South Africa have been here their entire lives and have not bothered to learn one South African language, instead they parade the word ‘Ubuntu’ all over the place.
Now you might be thinking to yourself, why am I complaining when I don’t have a solution to this? While your observation is true as I don’t have a remedy, this isn’t one of those situations where it’s up to us to find common ground.
Obviously masculinity is an artificial societal construct that has been strengthened over the ages as man has asserted his dominance over everything he can lay his eyes on. Regardless of its artificiality its consequences are real, thus masculinity is real. It is a product of its social actors although as it exists today within the context of South Africa I find it hard to claim it as a product of my creation as an early millennial.
Nobody cuts the black man some slack, NOBODY!
As far back as I can remember a suit has represented the triumph of western hegemonic domination in my mind. I have always viewed its wearer as a sell-out of the highest order, who deserves nothing less than a tyre around their neck and a good dose of paraffin to get the fireworks going. This militant idealistic notion has been tempered down over the years by the politics of the stomach, although my disdain for a suit has remained. A finely tailored suit made from the most exquisite fabrics known to man exudes power and success in the minds of the masses and I would be lying if I said the same sentiment does not resonant in my mind when I see a tall, young, black, athletically slim man, coming out of the latest German machine as he means business in Sandton. This image is consistently peddled by mass media, defining what aspirations I should have as a young black man and I say fuck that!
Unfortunately I cannot sleep my way into a warm bed and a regular meal.
When I turn to my tribal teachings as a *Xhosa man, I find no comfort. At the age of 29 I am supposed to have a third bun baking in the oven, preferably a boy who will be able to carry on the family name. Although a girl will be welcomed considering how valuable such property is when it reaches an age of maturation and it is able to breed. With the addition of religious fanaticism on top of that, I’m stuck with the same woman for the rest of my life and I am not allowed to love anybody else as long as my wife lives. Regardless of the fact that most off my male relatives, going back three generations, had children outside of wedlock.
On top of all these unmet societal expectations of masculinity, I have to deal with the traumatization of the black psyche as a result of colonialism as it manifests itself externally and internally in the lives of my people in the dirty South of Africa. Nobody cuts the black man some slack, NOBODY!
Shit is real out here and the coloniser needs my undivided attention…
Unfortunately I cannot sleep my way into a warm bed and a regular meal. I have to kill, lie and fight for everything I want in this world and that presents the very real possibility of perverting an already troubled mind towards unspeakable offences of homicide, femicide and infanticide as is the case in this troubled land of ours. I am both the victimiser and the victim.
So while I sympathise with the feminist agenda I simply do not have time to give it my full support and dedication. Shit is real out here and the coloniser needs my undivided attention if I am to win the battle that was lost by my forefathers.
*I am actually IBhaca but Mzansi bureaucracy does not recognize the nuances of Nguni politics.