Flip Flop Fock

Let me start by saying that under normal circumstances, I do not have smelly feet. I take care of my feet with creams and even though they may be a bit big and flat with long toes, I don’t have ugly feet.

Also I need to stipulate that when it comes to shoes I feel that a shoe HAS to be pretty. It HAS to be! Ugly shoes just wont cut it. Obviously everyone has a different view on what is ugly, but this is my blog and not yours, hehehehehehe.

So a few months ago when we went to Hartenbosch I was in need of flip flops. The kind that you just stick your feet into and start walking. I mean here we are at the beach house and I don’t have shoes for the occasion. So we went to the shops to go and buy shoes. Now going shoe buying with me is not easy and it takes a real woman to be able to handle this. As a matter of fact it takes a real woman to go shopping with me, period. When it comes to spending money, I am a fucking pro and if you have way too much money and you don’t know what to do with it, well honey come pick me up for an hour or so. I will help you. Anyway, back to my point. So we walk around in some or other mall (can’t remember the name now) and go into just about every shop there to find a nice looking pair of flip flops. I eventually found a nice pair of cream ones that covers the bridge of your foot and it had black stitching. It looked kinda surfer jock from Mosselbay. Tag nogal said Genuine Leather, nou toe how can you go wrong with that? Hmmmmm…….

It was comfy and when we returned to the house I showed the friends that we took with and everyone loved it. I felt confident, knowing that this has to be the right shoe. After all it got compliments.  A few weeks later we are sitting in the car, windows opened as much as what we can without fucking up my hair and it is hot. I am wearing my flip focks (purposefully mis-spelled). As it is hot I decide to take my feet out of the flips focks and put them on top of them. I feel better, colder, comfier.  As I am talking away to Paul I get this weird smell creeping up to my nose. I didn’t know what it was. It’s not a familiar smell. I can’t identify it. At first I think that maybe Paul had a glips and farted silently. (I say glips, because that is something we don’t do in front of each other or other people. Yes I understand it is natural, but I don’t fucking care. You gotta fart, don’t do it in front of me. It’s bad manners). So I let it slide and don’t say anything. We reach our destination and I put my flip focks back on and think nothing more of it.

But as the weeks pass I start to smell this smell more often and everywhere I go. I can’t figure it out. I am very conscious about body smells and walk everywhere with some form of deodorant in my bag as well as waterless hand soap and Paul often has wet wipes on him. You never know what will happen. Well imagine my surprise when I eventually figure out that it was my shoes that gave off that horrible smell. So what do I do? Bucket of hot water, soap, jik and whatever else I can find. I go to bed feeling comforted that my flip focks no longer smell like a shack on the Ganges.

Well apparently there is a secret shoe washing club that most people belong to, cuz I then discovered that just about everyone knows that you should not wash leather flip focks that has a glued rubber sole. Of course at that point I didn’t know it. The moment they were dry they were on my feet. I was excited, wanted to wear my newly washed shoes. I took one step and nearly saw my ass. The rubber had come loose from the shoe and as I walked folded double underneath the flip fock making a clack clack clack sound everywhere I walked. The inside sole was never quite the same and as I walked it sounded like I was walking and farting as the sole clung to my feet and released when I lifted them.

And the smell. I tell you the smell could be used in Auschwitz for a gas chamber there.

It is also when my boss looked at these shoes and suggested that it may be time for a new pair that I got the hint.

So Saturday past I went shoe shopping. Oh My. At first I decided that maybe I should think about this practically. I walk a lot, so I should get a shoe that is comfy. I have always heard that Crocs are very comfy. I never bought a pair cuz personally I think it is the most revolting shoe ever to be made. But there I was in Pick ‘n Pay, Crocs on my feet getting ready to pay for them. So R40 later I am walking around in the mall bitching about the ugly shoes on my feet.  What is a queen to do? Buy more shoes. That’s when I saw the nice black pair that I eventually bought.  I picked it up and inspected it for a Genuine Leather tag. There was none and that is why I bought it.

Mwah!

A Box of Paints

I never got into fine arts, which was something I really wanted to do. Apparently my art is not good enough to qualify for fine arts. I wont say that I am the best artist around. On the contrary, I describe my work as childish doodles. I work only in pencil and ink. I went for a job interview once that needed me to draw cartoon characters; they told me my work is too realistic. Funny, art school told me it’s too cartoon like.

I remember in Grade 7 we had to do a piece of art for some or other eisteddfod or some or other competition. I can’t remember exactly what it was for. We had to work with chalk and only three colours. I chose sand colours. Variations of brown. To this day I love brown. It’s such a rich colour with so many meanings and with so much depth. This piece of art was an A4 size and it had to be all natural things that kind of fitted into each other. The trick was, the teacher gave us the items and we had to basically make it fit like a puzzle, by re-drawing the individual pieces, as they slide into each other, not leaving any of the background open.  I hated it and thought it was really stupid. I thought mine was a piece of shit and that the sooner this crap was over the better………. I got second place. I still have the certificate somewhere.

I am not good at working with colour. In my opinion, I just fuck it up when I add colour. So I do my sketches, but every now and again I get the stupid idea to try and add colour to my work. It seems like a good idea at first and then it all fucks out when I start doing it.  Inevitably the piece lands up in the bin. So a couple of years ago, one of my students, Gigi, was doing a painting and she asked me to paint with her. Now this girl can paint. Me, well my paintings look like 6year old finger paintings from the Avril Elizabeth Home. I told her that I cannot paint and that I have no idea what to paint. She handed me a board and a brush and she said “Just Paint. Don’t think about it” So I attempted once again to paint.

My Painting.

When it comes to painting statues, not to blow my own horn (wish I could), I am pretty good. But I cannot paint on canvas or wall or anything that is not a 3-d statue. However here I was, paint brush in hand, canvas in front of me and a need to connect with this student. So what do you do? You fucking paint, that’s what.

I painted the biggest load of kak. She thought it was wonderful. To this day I don’t know what the fuck it is but Paul won’t let me throw it away and believe me when I say that he checks up on it. I don’t know what it is, I don’t know what it is not, I don’t have some symbolic explanation for it. I can probably think one up though. Nothing went through my mind while painting it other than our conversation as I was getting to know her better. Maybe one day when I am very old or buried, it will be worth a lot of money, kind of like John Lennon’s ugly sketches.  Who knows.

Then this year started. For some bizarre reason I now have it in my head again to try and paint. I know it’s gonna be a fuck up of note. But I now agreed to paint a Kali for the director of the Tradition. Why? Cuz I am a fucking idiot, that’s why. But even though my name is not Gerda Louw and I cannot paint to save my fucking life, I am going to try it. But it doesn’t stop there. In my confidence about this being a painting year, I have also agreed to do a Baphomet for a friend of mine. Can we say “Stupid”? And you know, I don’t know how I get talked into this. No actually I do it all by myself, and the worst part is, I do it when I am dead sober. If I had a bottle or three of some dry red, I would never agree to doing this kinda shit, that I know for a fact I cant fucking do. But I agreed and I don’t break agreements. So when I am done with these pieces of ‘art’ I will be sure to show you all. Until such time, don’t take me seriously when I tell you I will paint you something.

Mwah

Is Being Human so Bad?

So we are in 2012 and it seems to me that everyone is loosing it. Ok yes that is harsh as some of these people are my friends and Temple members but still. I can accommodate everyone up until a certain point and then I more often than not get lost in my thoughts while they talk on and on and oooonnnnnn.

It would seem that everyone is reading Doreen Virtue, Syvia Brown and more authors of the like all on roughly the same topic...

Atlantis and then about something other than human. Now I mean no disrespect when I type the next part but seriously It was fun in the beginning and there are a few people whom I will take seriously on this matter cuz they are talking sense in a way that I can understand. The rest of em’, stay far far away from me please.

It seems that being a human being on Earth in the 2012, is simply just not good enough for thousands of people. Everyone wants to be something different. Anonaki and Dragon riders and mermaids and unicorns and and and.

Really?..................

Do you listen to what you sound like when go on and on about this? Do you not hear how t sounds like maybe your should take some time out in a padded room? Let me do this little skit for you. This person is on a reality TV show. Lets call her Anne and the presenter of the show is called ………Jack.

Jack: “Good evening and welcome to tonights show as 4 new contestants battle out to be this weeks winner. Lets meet them. Evening Anne tell us a bit about yourself and where you come from.”

Anne: “Ag fank you Jack, Ja my name is Anne and I frrrom Krrraaifontein in Cape Town. I am a house wife wif frrree childrrren, who I prrromised to say hello to. Hello Saartjie, Janneman en Katinka, Mamma is baie life vir julle en luister nou vir Pappa ne.”

Waves hysterically at the camera

Jack: ” What do you do for hobbies Anne”

Anne: “Ag Jack , I knit and cook and bake and then I like to tame drrragons and rrride them. But it is difficult since I am actually a unicorn myself.”

Really?............... I mean really? And you teach people? No wonder this country is so fucked. I am sure it is at this point where the producers of the show phones Stikland and as Anne comes off the show they give her a nice jacket and then lock her the fuck up.  I don’t have a unicorn horn, well only in the mornings and when I am randy, but I promise you its not between my eyes.

I went to a talk last year where this woman professed that she is a dragon rider and that Madiba ripped open his chest to tame one dragon while the Anonaki was terrorizing it and lots of other stuff like that. I just cannot grasp onto these concepts. I have tried. I have read the books and gone to so many workshops and talks and I just cannot see these people as anything other than charlatans.

I have been trying to figure out why these people sell this shit and secondly why people buy it. And here is my conclusion.

I think that people are tired of God. After all the wars and horrible things that has happened in this world, people are now tired of unanswered prayers. So they are searching for something else that will put value in their miserable lives by giving them something that will make them feel like more than just another person. And then there are people that see this as an opportunity to make money. Hell if I was a bigger asshole I would also exploit this but I simply cannot. I cannot swallow this and I don’t normally have problems with swallowing. On more than a few occasions I have asked these people to please impart their knowledge with me and show me how this is true and then the only references they can site me is Hollywood movies. That’s what they find their foundation in. Telling me that I have to pick a side cuz the battle for middle Earth is coming and the Elves and humans have already united against the orcs and all the time I am thinking “Maybe you have seen Lord of the Rings once too many”. Whats worse is the seriousness that these people have about this.

I just don’t get it. I wish I could be refunded for all the talks that I have been to, to try and understand this. Maybe I am also just to dense to get it. I admit I am a natural blond. But with all this happening and all the issues that these people/creatures have with each other and that they portray in their own charracter, I am thinking “Hell it’s kinda nice just to be human”. 

Mwah!!

To Truly Stand Out

Last night my oldest sister phoned me. She asked me if I had seen all the comments on the Robinson Regstreeks show regarding my appearance on it on Sunday past. For those of you that are a beat behind shit, I was interviewed by Freek Robinson on his show as a ‘Kenner’ in the field of  Near Death Experiences.

Apparently there is some concern for me from the regular viewers, saying things like:

“Ek sou net graag n beter kenner op hierdie veld wou gehad het. Iemand wie se ik ons nie aan betwyfel deur om na die kolletjie op sy kop en armbande te kyk nie. Ekt regtig baie meer verwag van hierdie episode.”

“Freek het jy iets teen die sg 'Afrikaners se geloof"? Is dit die enigste 'kenner' wat jul kon inkry of raadpleeg in die program?:-) Wat beoog julle met hierdie uitsending? Ek sal voorstel wees maar versigtig met hierdie tipe goed hoe om daarmee om te gaan en in wysheid en navorsing.. John 5:24 "I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and beleives him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life."

“En dan die kenner, hoe kan hy s dat watter gode jy ookal aanbid, jou "destination" gaan dieselfde wees?”

And this was just on the Facebook page. From there I followed the link to the website.

“Dit is so jammer dat jou 3 gaste nie weet wie Jesus is nie.Ons bid vir hulle en hoop satan kry nie weer n geleentheid op jou program nie.”

“Ek is ook onseker oor die grysgebied maar die wat dt regtig beleef hul moet weet waarvan hul praat as hul bereid is om dt aan die werld te verkondig.”

I was very upset when she told me this and to be honest I didn’t know if I should do anything or not. Here I am trying to help and then this is what people say. And then I had to think about it and be honest with myself. I had to sit down and say “Zeo, you knew this was going to happen. You stand out in a crowd. People generally duck and get away from you. You were told that the audience of this show is predominantly staunch and stiff upper lipped.” And then I had to think about it some more and realized that this is not the first time someone wants to pray for me. The first time that I vividly recall is walking with our Domestic, Anne. We were on our way to Sanlam Centre and I must have been 10 years old or so. I recall I was wearing a silver ring with a skull on it, that my Mom bought me. It was a little big for me but I wanted it and so I had a small piece of cardboard wedged between my finger and the ring to keep it from falling off. As we were crossing Tygerberg train station on the way back, this man came from out of nowhere and grabbed my hand. Anne was going on like only Anne could, keeping in mind Anne was only sober for one day in a month, when she visited her mom.

This man went on about how I had to throw away this hold that the devil has over me. That it is not right for a young child to wear such rings and that I must repent my sins and he will pray for me. I didn’t give him my ring. To this day, you will have to kill me to separate me from my jewellery.  I only looked at him and then thanked him for wanting to pray for me. If he did, I still don’t know. In that moment in time I was not myself. I felt so much …older and wiser and how I handled it is just not how a 10 year old would. Maybe there is truth in the fact that my mom used to call me an old soul. Who knows, and really, who cares?

My Beautiful Sister.

Many years later I was working for the Casino and as such was not allowed to have long hair or piercings. I was travelling back from work one day in a blue jeans, grey T-shirt, normal sneakers, no jewellery and a boys cut hairstyle. I looked perfectly ……….. normal. As I got off the train on Cape Town station and walked over the platform to go to the escalators that will take you underneath Adderley Street and then up again into St Georges Mall, an old lady walked past me. Well, Ten steps in front of me she froze in her tracks. She gave me a scornful look, crossed herself and made a turn in the other direction while mumbling something about witchcraft. I really looked completely normal and she crossed herself. That same day while wearing the same get up, I was greeted in the road by a woman that I have never met before and she greeted me by saying “Merry Meet” (A traditional Wiccan greeting). This was way before Facebook.

My Stunning Handmaiden

I was not made to fit in. I was not made to be another face that can just blend in and not be noticed. I have tried but it seems that this time round it is not part of my life. Two people though have made all this worth while for me. Two people that are showing me that these opinions are only the opinions of small minded people that cannot get out of their stupid boxes.Two people that are making say that I wil go on Freek's show again, even at the cost of these personal attacks.

My sister Claudette is actively telling these people off in a very diplomatic and polite manner.Making sure they know where they stand.

My Handmaiden Augustha is constantly telling me that I am making a difference and that I must not give up due to the opinions a few small minded people.

Thank you to both of you. I love you very much.

Even when when I look completely normal I stand out. Some say I stand out more when I look normal. So in this life at least, you and I will both just have to deal with the fact that I will never be mainstream.

Mwah!!

Full Stop

I wrote this poem for my mom in 2009. Exactly two years after her death, to the day. I am not feeling morbid or anything I just wanted to share this poem.

I am not a poet so please don't expect something breath taking, but it is one of my favs that I ever wrote.

Full Stop

We are born
And we learn to love
Those around us
(Full stop)

We love and give
With all of our hearts
And smile when you are around
(Full Stop)

We have fights
And arguments
But we never stop loving
(Full Stop)

Then one cruel day
I get a call to say
Your life has come to a
Full stop

I love you still
And one day my life
Will come to a
Full Stop

On that glad morning
When this life is over
There will be no more
Full Stops.

Weight Busters

I have been looking back at the last year and realized that even though it has been great for me and my life and the Tradition, it has most certainly not been great for my body. I have picked up so much weight that it is unreal and I vaguely resemble something that is used to scare kids. So I decided that I will have to do something to get rid of this weight. I need to loose about enough weight that can feed a small village in Ethiopia. Last time I did that I got divorced. Was brilliant, but this time round I am not planning on going through such desperate measures and drastic changes.  So I have decided on the unthinkable. A few of my friends have decided that I should start walking. I do not have a problem with this. I like to walk. However they do not mean stroll down the mall. No, what they meant to say was you need to walk so fast that it feels like you are dislocating your hips. While you do this you need to also swing your arms so as to keep you knocking yourself in the face and all of this you do while your lungs and heart are being dragged behind you cuz they fell out of your ass. But I decided that yes maybe I need a new look, so I will go walking. The question was, when? I teach three nights a week and when I am not teaching there are rituals, or chanting or something happening. ‘Ah-Ha’ said some fucked up Greek, many years ago as well as my one friend, as she decided that I should go walking in the morning. This means that I now have to lift my ass out of bed at 05:30 just to let my intestines hang out of my behind. Now let me just explain here that I am not a morning person. I cannot function until I have had my second cup of coffee, which I normally have at work and then it still takes about an hour for me to actually wake up. Now they want me to wake up at...........when God is still sleeping.

I was surprised however this morning to see that the sun was already out when I woke up. I was always under the impression that everything that comes into manifestation at about 06:00 every morning when God also wakes up and scratches his sack, like just about all men do. But apparently I was wrong. They also tell me that Cardiovascula exercise is good for you. I cannot even comment on this, If you had seen me this morning you will realise that they fucking lie. I nearly died. I very nearly just fucking dropped down. Good for you, my ass.

So besides for walking I then also agreed with Paul that I will go on an eating plan with him………………………………

Do you know what ‘eating plan’ is code for? It means, ‘We are going to make sure that we suck every bit of fun from your life until you dry up and eventually die cuz all you will have to shit out are the intestines that tries to escape when you walk, briskly as they call it.’

R.I.P.

So we go through this 'eating plan' and things seem ok. It seems like you are allowed to eat quite a bit of things during the day. But then as I am telling him how we will from now on buy everything that is ‘light’ as in ‘Mayonnaise Light’, he looks at me, and at that moment Pauls sweet angelic face became that of a clown out to freak the shit out of me. And he said “you wont be allowed Mayo”. My heart sank, I went cold and I suddenly had the need to become catholic and confess my sins.I lost interest in life in that moment. Mayo can fix any meal. ANY MEAL! You got kak to eat and you put some mayo on, and not drip drip with a spoon, you smother it and Ta-da, a meal fit for a king! And now I wont be able to have it…………ever. It is like my best friend just died. Or they tell you that you have 30minutes of life left. What’s the point of those 30minutes without mayo. Now lets say I have 50years left. 50 years without mayo. Can I do that? Is that humanly possible? I don’t think so. I can see a nervous breakedown on the horizon.

Then as I am mourning for my loss he carries on reading and I realize that there are a lot of numbers involved in this 'eating plan'. Never in my life did I think I would need maths to be able to eat. I am so glad I had geometry until metric. I did however think that maybe, just in case, I should just go out and buy a calculator for the kitchen. Can you believe that, Kitchen Maths. Teach that in school especially in America.

“You have to take Kitchen maths until metric Oliver”

“Oh but why mom?”

“Cuz it will save your fat ass one day.”

I then got told that Ronald MacDonald is no longer allowed to come out to play. Can you imagine that. It’s not like we were best friends but we knew each other well and got along even better. Now he is no longer allowed to come and visit……………ever.

Eventually Paul said that I will have to cut down on wine. Well that is where I drew the line. I can say farewell to Ronald and maybe even get used to no more mayo and no more chocolate and no more ice-cream and and and, but how the fuck does he expect me to do all of that while being 100% sober? No, pull the other one mate.

But in all seriousness now, I want to loose weight so I will listen to Paul and Monique and Catherine and Samantha and my Tai Chi Instructor, Warren.  My coffee mug at work is pink and it has a crown on it and written below it is “Suck it up Princess”. Well if you wanna be thin, suck it up.

Mwah!!

Perceptions of the Youth

I remember when I was a kid of 4 or 5, the simple facts about my grandparents. (Goddess bless both their souls) My Granny was a big woman with perfect Jensens Violet hair that was styled as a dome around her hair. If anyone was available in the house you would have to stand behind her with the comb and make sure there were no "holes" in her hair, as she called it. All granny did, just about the entire day was to make food. My Grandfather was an austere an strict man in his coat and tie and worked as the chartered accountant for the district municipality. An extremely intelligent man that could not be beaten at chess. 

But one thing that I will never forget about them is their bedroom. As you walked in they had matching cupboards that was separated by a mirror piece that had a drawer.  As you come in on the right, by the door was commode, even though the water closet was right next to their bedroom. They slept on separate beds divided by a bedside table. The beds were covered in matching quilts that had a pink/peach colour, pattern on top and pleats hanging down the sides. This would be slightly tucked underneath the first pillow and folded over the second (top) pillow so that it seemed that the bed and pillows were all one single unit.  Then at night when they go to bed the quilt would be removed as well as one of the pillows so that they only sleep on one pillow. I never understood this and always just thought that maybe that is what old people do.

Our Bedding

So about a week ago we are getting ready for bed. We take of the Continental pillows. The three scatter cushions. Fold up the quilt and take one of the sleeping pillows off so we only have one pillow each and as I am getting into bed a single thought dawns on me.

“I have turned into my grandmother”

Granted we sleep on a queen size bed and not two separate beds and our bedding is not pink/peach but black and grey with lots of sequence and embroidery and diamante but the thought was there.

I then allowed myself to carry on with that train of thought and just started thinking back. When I was young I used to think that antiques were meant as memories for people who are in fact themselves antique. Well today I love antiques and one of my most prized ones is the phone I have in my lounge. It is an old post office phone that only has a receiver you pick up. No buttons to dial, no lever to turn, nothing. It is so old that the writing on it states that it is still the Union of South Africa. Way before the Republic days.

Hydrangeas

Plants, well as a kid this was an old people hobby. My granny had in front of her bedroom window a row of blue, purple and pink Hydrangeas. At the gate she had Malva’s which I always thought stank. By the formal lounge window was a Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. Of course there was lots of other plants as well but that is what always stood out to me from the front garden and at the back I remember the damn Guava Tree that we always had to clean up after and her small herb garden that was over run with Petroselinum.  I didn’t care much for the garden and today I love plants. I am so happy that after a more than a year my Japanese Peace Lilly is finally getting her first flower. The Cycads are getting new leaves and my daisy seeds are growing. Yes I have lots more plants like my granny used to have including Petroselinum.

Petroselinum

Not that I am an old person, but as I am getting older I enjoy the entertainment of my own home more. I don’t like going to the movies. I wake up early on a Sunday to go to the shops before they get busy as the malls annoy me. I dislike ques of people and sending me into a bank is hell, you may as well kill me. I am using skin care products and drinking 4 different pills every morning. This is besides for the alkaline powder and megan pulv. If I was a 4 year old boy looking at myself now I would be thinking that I am really old. 

I have decided this is the year that I prepare myself for my coming birthday, cuz life begins at 30. Have a blast but also make sure that you got all your ducks in a row for one day. And yes if that sounds responsible and old person like to you young kids. Let me just say a few things.

1.   None of you can ever replace me. You might take someones place but it aint gonna be mine, so follow this you bitches.

2.    I can legally buy smokes and booze and porn

3.  I am allowed entry to all the interesting places that you are busy discovering  and still are not allowed into.

4.    If you start getting tits or if your natural tits start to sag, I will point and laugh at your stress and hand you the granny panties. Mine of course will have sequence on them by then.

So keeping all that in mind I am ending this blog with a poem.

Warning - When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple

By Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

and run my stick along the public railings

and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

and pick the flowers in other people's gardens

and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

or only bread and pickles for a week

and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

and pay our rent and not swear in the street

and set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Mwah!

Hometalk!

Some 22 years ago a young woman went to audition for a local band when she was just 17. One of the people listening to her said that her voice was too soft, but she said that she wasn’t given a microphone.

On the 1^st of January this year I had the privilege to see that woman perform live with the band that she auditioned for so many years ago. Three of us arrived at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. We were amongst thousands of fans, all there to see the South African wonder band called Mango Groove. I was so amazed. I, admittedly, expected lots of people but mostly my mom’s age and mostly non white. Well let me tell you that the majority of the people there were white South Africans, my age. I was shocked and then it dawned on me that just as I grew up with Claire singing in the background, so did they. I think one of the most amazing things about the setup was the fact that we were all there as South Africans, white, black, coloured, Indian, it didn’t matter what you looked like or where you came from. We were there to experience the Groove that we have been hearing since we were small.

By the time we arrived we had to sit almost at the back and had a very bad view of the stage but still good enough to see as the band stepped onto the stage. The three backup ladies, Beulah Hashe, Marilyn Nokwe, Phumzile Ntuli, were as full of energy as we all remember them to be from all of the music videos, wearing bright reds, yellows and oranges with black. Claire stepped on wearing a red hat, and a top with the print of the South African flag on it.

Then the weirdest thing happened and I cannot explain it. I don’t know if I was proud or what emotion went through me. In that moment that they started singing I wanted to cry. I felt the bulge in my throat and the tears welling up. Thankfully I was wearing sunglasses and I managed to cut before really starting, cuz once I start to cry there is no stopping me. Throughout the show these waves of tears would come over me and I still have no idea why. I have no explanation for what I felt, as I do not even know what it is that I felt.

They had such an energy about them and they created such a vibe that not even halfway in the show I though to myself that I want to be there where she is. I want to be on a stage like that and wear iconic clothes and sing and groove and have an audience of people with whom I can enjoy the moment. Paul and Hobbit seems to think that I can sing. So who knows, maybe I will start singing. During the show it also hit me that I think the reason why they are so successful is because most of their music is happy music. You cannot help but get up and start to dance. And it is not a verkrampte style of dancing where you sway back and forth that comes over you but an African blend dance where you shake your hands and ass like there is no tomorrow and when the music for ‘Special Star’ started (which was their fourth last song) the entire crowd stood up like one man and started dancing in that African blend style. It was like it was pre-arranged. I got gooseflesh. There were no issues with your fellow man, even the woman that was sitting behind us with her chipmunk laugh didn’t bother me anymore. There was no racism left as we were all dancing together, white, black, Indian, couloured we were all dancing and laughing and smiling. And again I wanted to cry. I still couldn’t tell you why.

In the middle (roughly) she explained what she was going through at about the end of 1993 and then wrote the song, ‘Another Country’, ag jirre again I wanted to piss through my eyes when she started to sing it.

The energy I felt there at that concert is one that I have never in my life felt before. I have never been to a single ritual that made me feel like I did that day. I have never felt so close to my fellow man as I did then and I have never felt so connected, not to deity or god, but to Humanity. I felt like we were all in this together and if we can all just stop our petty kak and have such a beautiful energy, everyday, then wow. That is a future that I would like to share with all of you.

To Mango Groove, I thank you for brining us South Africans closer again. Thank you for making it real and never giving up on us. No matter what we have done as a people you have been there to tell us that we must ‘Bang The Drum’ and ‘Dance Some More’.

Thank you

Mwah!