Activism in the not so new South Africa

Since the dawn of democracy, what we all experienced as activism dwindled. The last real fights for people was the Treatment Action Campaign forcing government to give HIV patients antiviral medication. Arguably, this is the battle that tainted the legacy of the Mbeki presidency. It was clear who the winner was. 

Many years down the line, there are many pockets of activists for different causes. But the main social issues remain a thorny issue for poor Black communities. It is my view that gay lobby groups will be fighting the same fight ten years from now if they are not seen fighting social ills of the broader communities alongside their own agenda. Simon Nkoli was an anti apartheid activist, gay rights activist and Aids activist. If we can say this about one man, why can't we still contain social ills when we have so many lobby groups? 

Activism should start with the communities that we live in. If Matuba Mahlatjie wants hate crimes against lesbian and gay people to stop he has to know and understand his community. Why can't Matuba lead a march titled LGBTI community against drug abuse. Why can't he print pink posters with a message that support the community's battle against a wave that's killed the soul of so many parents? You cannot fight for your own cause in a volatile atmosphere where family life is destroyed. People have to be in the right mindset to acknowledge your cause. They also have to see you as part of their "family". 

I referred to Simon Nkoli, who was part of the movement that fought and eventually dismantled minority rule in South Africa. There were no gay rights at that time. But he priorities freedom for all before moving to desensitise his comrades about gay rights. This is a good formula and a formula we should all follow. Imagine if sex workers, LBGTI community and environmentalists all marched on the same day at different times and venues? Where is the impact.

A recent good example is the EconomicFreedom Fighters' successful march in Johannesburg under a common cause. More than Fifty thousand people heeded the call. I will take a wild guess and say among them were people who supported many other causes, but felt on that day, they support emancipation of the working class. 

Let's not be Like the political elite that takes  all the credit for our political freedom, but have lost touch with the people they say they liberated. 

The twenty one years of freedom is long enough for all of us to realize and accept what is working and what is a setback in our bid to move South Africa forward. Politics affect the price of bread. We need to be involved from the bottom up. 

Activists cannot be seen rubbing shoulders with government officials cutting ribbons and "earning respect" of their peers. If we deserve it, we should be earning it from our communities. That is where I believe we should be contributing positively. That's where we should be explaining Laws that protect minorities. 

Sisonke Msimang,  a writer and activist says com minty members can document their little victories, but it's important to get journalism involved in exposing everything that stands in the way of Justice. 

She said, "Citizens can take pictures and they can document events, but journalism is an art and a science and it matters because it makes our country more honest and true. A normal person cannot dedicate the time and resources to interviewing people and phoning lawyers and securing documents."

Whatever our cause is, we need to be consistent and aware of the broader community so that we can apply the effective remedies to address our challenges. 

Pain, humiliation and a near-death experience

When you're  sitting comfortably in your home and prefer not to be depressed by news bulletins, you simply use the power of your remote controller. It's that easy to shut the whole world out of your life, for that moment. But I'm starting to believe that you're not a typical South African family until you experience a few episodes of crime. That's the moment you don't get to choose whether you want to experience it or not. Members of your community will invade your space, cause pain and leave you hopeless. 

Few weeks ago my elderly mother was kidnapped on her way from Thursday traditional women's prayer service. In her full church uniform, she was a target to people who wanted a quick buck. Thankfully she was dropped off a few kilometers from home unharmed. That did not deter her from walking alone to the Spaza shop to get bread, airtime or whatever she needed. But that incident left us in pain. Pained by this confirmation that we cannot trust members of our society. It dawned on us as a family that we had a potential to feature in the depressing news bulletins about the rot in our community. 

A few days ago, my 69-year-old father was attacked, beaten up and left for dead in Mabopane. Every Saturday without fail, Papa takes his car to a car wash. That's how he starts his preparation for his Sunday at church. Car was, then goes to the market for fresh veggies for Sunday lunch. This build-up landed him in ICU. The church fundraising cash he had on him stolen while lying there helpless. This was something I had seen on TV or heard on the radio. It was always another family. This time it struck ours. A 36-year-old man was arrested. Appeared in court and denied bail. His future probably doomed, because he fell into the cycle of many young men in the township. Jail, drugs or die of Aids. My father suffered pain, humiliation and a near-death experience, but somehow I still felt pity for the young man who now seemingly regrets his actions. 

He almost killed the man who sacrificed everything to make sure his five sons do not fall into the vicious circle that emasculated men in the townships we grew up in. This young man becomes a reminder that there are many individuals like him who will beat the crap out of a defenseless man in his late 60s. 

Maybe we are all victims of a system that widens the gap between the members of the same community. We also can't make excuses for criminal acts. But it makes you wonder why so many people opt for this shortcut. Crime.

This is a heartbreaking story. My father will probably never be the same man he was after this traumatic experience. But with the best medical care, he may recover and go back to enjoying what he calls "his last days". With a possible criminal record Sylvester Bafo Mashigo may never find employment. He's hurt so many of us I doubt karma will have mercy on him. There are no winners here.

The end of a generational crisis?

Since the beginning of the #FeesMustFall campaign, all we've been doing with some colleagues and friends is exchange how we survived this unjust system. It was some sort of therapy session, because most of us thought no one would understand why we lived from one cash loan to another. Today most of us look back and realise we need to catch up with people who did not have this burden.

It would be unfair of us we just stood by and not try reverse the situation for future news editors, doctors and other professionals that will take this country to greater heights. In most of my blog posts, I sound like a CD with scratch. I complained about how the ANC government deliberately kept majority of the people illiterate just to stay where they are. In power. My complaint was supported by the living conditions of the township I was born in and still live in. Poverty stares you in the face. But people are pacified with short-term solutions like social grants. And that is part of their campaign trail when they seek votes. We need money for bread. We will vote for that money. 

It has become normal for a child from Mabopane, Soshanguve or Sebokeng to say, "I have matric but I didn't have cash to further my studies". Not all of us have the fighting spirit to see us through beyond our circumstances. Why should we all work 15 times harder to have a decent life? 

The #FeesMustFall protest has revealed how sons and daughters of the working class survive to get education which they will spend first part of their careers (if and when they get jobs) paying for. It is clear that the "bornfrees" will no longer accept the generational crisis. Their fighting spirit reminds us all of the 1976 uprising. Sadly, some of the people in government today were in the class of 1976. The people who survived live ammunition, fighting back with rocks and blocking with rubbish bin lids. They are our leaders today. Using apartheid-style tactics on peaceful protesters. Have they forgotten?

Personally, as a journalist, it is not easy to be objective in this matter. The ripples of aparheid have set me 15 years behind my white peers. It is a painful reality that only makes me want to be in solidarity with the protesting students. This is not some sort of "reverse racism mechanism" as some suggest. If you look closely, the marching students are from all walks of life. It would be disingenuous to use this as an opportunity to be vindictive to irrelevant people even. 

I commend these young people. Long live the spirit of Steve Biko. Long live the spirit of Robert Sobukwe. Mandela. Sisulu. Ngoyi. Sekhukhune. Moshoeshoe. Makhosi amakhulu esizwe! 

Black people and their Sangomas

I have been holding back on writing about Black people's relationship with Sangomas. Being Umngoma, I battled with the ancient concept which today is known as the "doctor-patient-confidentiality". The silence on this burning issue was just helping deepen stereotypes and robbed off my community crucial information. 

First, I want to address the practice of Ubungoma or being a Sangoma. I am uncomfortable when it is referred to as culture or cultural practice. It is not. This is part of African religion that has been demonised by the advent of Christianity in Africa. It brings me to one of the reasons why I am writing about the disturbing relationship Black people have with African religion. 

On Sundays, most Black South Africans are in church praying in the name of Jesus (peace be upon him). But Monday to Friday they don't mind the burning of Impepho to ask for guidance from the ancestral spirits. I know this is a testimony of many Sangomas, especially in more urban areas. Late night unexpected visits from people seeking a bone-reading session for different reasons. Late night because people still don't want to be seen paying a visit to a Sangoma. I don't know I have accepted this situation. 

Before I tell you some of my experience, let me give you this analogy; When using western medicine for an ailment, you need to adhere to a certain diet, behaviour and other conditions for a speedy recovery. 

Now, the same principle applies in African religion. I have found that most Black people who do not even believe in African religion use Sangomas as a last resort in their desperate situations, expecting miracles. Miracles do not happen without faith and a firm foundation of belief in anything one embarks on. Ubungoma goes hand in hand with Ubuntu. It is part of my training as a Sangoma to be compassionate. And this is the principle that has forced me to be patient with people who come for consultation, but have no relationship with their ancestors or even family history. It is our belief that our ancestors are the intermediary between us and God. A Sangoma is a link between those who have departed and those left behind. This is very important to understand for anyone seeking help from a Sangoma. 

I am sure you are familiar with the saying, 'An apple a day, keeps the doctor away'. My advice to Black people who subscribe to African religion, if you want to avoid misfortune and last minute visits to a Sangoma. Start a relationship with your ancestors. It can't be right that you consider African religion when everything else has failed. Burn impepho, buy brandy or whiskey or even water if brewing proper Umqombothi is too much work and perform a ritual to announce your promotion at work or your new house and car. Sometimes just give thanks to the gods. Perform rituals at least once every quarter. Visit your Sangoma for clarity and advice. Visit your Sangoma for that persisting headache that medical doctors could not fix. Visit your Sangoma if you need someone to talk to about anything. Visit your Sangoma for a steam bath with some sacred herbs. Get your Sangoma to explain the importance of prayers to the ancestors. Yes, prayers, not worship.

We need to break the stereotypes. Why can't you have a relationship with you Sangoma, the same way you do with your physician? Sangomas do not dish out korobela so you can keep your tenderpreneur. Sangomas do not bring back lost lovers. But they get you on a path where you won't lose anything that is important to you. 

Makhosi! 

Kasi Car Wash Conversations

Township rich culture amid the poverty and heartbreaking inequality, is something we use to console ourselves. The getting together on Sunday afternoon, after church. For some, after a hectic night out. Alcohol is cheap in the hood, so even the township diaspora come back home for fun. I am talking about the few that beat the odds, living in the suburbs and closer to work. The kids that beat adversity and got education and avoided jail, drug abuse and teenage pregnancy. There some like me who chose to stay in the township. Living side-by-side with these social ills. 

On Sundays we all gather at various fun points. Car wash here, Shisanyama there and the barber down the road. Someone will play some good music from their VW GTI for everyone to enjoy! Yesterday I heard guys talk about their one-night-stands and some talking how they went to bed alone. There was a group of guys exchanging Sunday newspapers and talking about Nkandla. I heard all the new Nkandla jokes and laughed until I cried. 

After my car was washed and ready to go, I realised I spent all my cash on meat and two Savannas. Didn't have money to pay the car wash boys. I asked if one of them could drive to the ATM with me. One of them jumped up and got in. Off we went! He calls himself Josta Dladla, he kinda looks that the famous soccer player. Except he has lots of gold teeth.  I have always asked how unemployed, young Black boys pay for these gold teeth. He told me his story and I guess it's a very layered, complicated issue. A story that needs to be told properly. Josta rolled down the window and he was  waving at everybody in his hood. He just wanted to be seen! 

He started asking about me; where I work and so forth. I lied to him, because I could see we are more or less the same age and he was starting to reflect on his own accomplishments. He wasn't buying my story. I told the truth eventually. And he opened up. I did not expect him to reminisce about the Bophuthatwana days. It's so difficult to tell it now in English even. But he was singing praises of Dr Lucas Mangope. He believes he would have been a police officer or in the army if Mangope was in charge. Apparently Mangope did not like boys loitering around the township doing nothing. He got them into the public service somehow. This is Josta Dladla's testimomy. 

It may not be enough, but I am glad he is making an honest living. He also forms part of this kasi culture that we embrace. 

I just feel all I can only tell these stories. I believe in the power of telling stories. It is sometimes a stepladder for people in Ivory Towers, to come down and smell reality. 

1990: Before we knew what we now know

11 February 1990, the day that hope was renenwed for the oppressed people of South Africa. It was before we knew FW de Klerk would want to cement his legacy using your release from prison to ease his guilt of being an apartheid sponsor.

It was before we realised that the white population of this country never met us halfway. That's because you crossed the midway bridge and told them "we will forgive". You were not without fault Madiba. You were only flesh and blood. Human. You accepted political power. Economic power remained where it was during apartheid. Your intensions were good. 11 February 1990 got us all drunk with euphria. We never saw it coming that some day a government you once run would kill workers during a protest.

When you were released, we did not know that some you would have to come back from retirement to scold the one you annointed, Thabo Mbeki. For refusing to save the lives of our brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers. It was long before we knew that some day there would be burning of schools. Even after our thirst for democracy was quenched in 1994. 

We didn't know we would still be at the bottom of the food chain. When you were released from prison, Hope reigned in our lives. We unrealisticly thought our dignity would be restored. 

But we remain with generations of memories of that day. When you walked out of prison and raised your fist. That is a permant reminder of where we come from. That day definitely put some of us on a path of personal success. It is bitter-sweet because communities we come from are today almost dysfunctional. Poverty is at the top of socio-economic woes. 

No doubt, you paved a way. Made the bumpy road look easy. But it seems Mbeki and Jacob Zuma started their new paths. There was never continuation of what you started. We didn't imagine racism, sexism and the access to clean water would still be our pain. 

I will admit that South Africa feels like home today since 11 February 1990. I just wish we all inheritted your fighting spirit against injustices on our people. Wish we all fought our social ill with the same strength you defeated aparhteid. Thank you for dedicating your life to ensure that some day we would work WITH white people, and not FOR them. Thank you for making us imagine the possibility of coexistence between us. My children and their children will know about you and your work. 

We always imagined how this country would be 20 years from that day. Now we know. And you had a lot to do with it. Thank you Tata! 

Ah Dalibhunga! 

I typed this during today's church service

I have been trying to justify coming to church to myself for almost two weeks now. The church as an institution, has been at odds with the person I have become over the years. The identiy that I am comfortable with is a total opposite of what the church wants me to be. 

But today and for the past two weeks, I have been attending church services at the church where I grew up. From Sunday School, through to confirmation class. Also a place where I made friendships that still remain on solid foundation. A whole community that nurtured the leader that I am today congregates here. My love for music, especially classical music was born here. Everything that I am to my community, I learned here. 

I am typing this while in church, during the sermon. That's because the big part of my service is over. The singing. The music. 

I don't know why I have been trying to justify coming to church to myself. Is it because I have made friends with academics and professionals who have strong views against the church? Is it because I have failed for so long to defend what I believe in? Maybe it's my failure to mimic my own mother, who is also a Sangoma. She managed to be with our community, the church and remained committed to passing down traditions of our ancestors.

I feel like I belong here. It feels right to be here now. 

I have always maintained that being Lutheran and a Sangoma could never go together. Maybe it's time I reconciled the two without compromising myself. 

Terrorism and a Clash of civilizations

I was one of the people who voiced disappointment when the mass media completely ignored a story of a ten-year-old girl who blew up a Nigerian market in a suicide bomb attack. It was almost like this incident was destructing the media's agenda of squeezing the juice out of the French terror attacks story.

But more people had already died in Nigeria at the hands of Boko Haram. And the reaction of that country's government has not been inspiring. It only embraces the widely known fact that black life is indeed cheap. How can we blame anyone for not protecting our own people? 

In my little experience, journalism has evolved. So much that when a certain media agenda setting is in full swing, nothing can shift it. Journalism is a business too. It is no longer a case of giving people something to think about, but we tell people what tot think, grab their attention and keep them consuming "our product". So, death of scores of Africans is not new to headlines. It has always been part of the headlines. Perhaps a decisive government or a President that reacts like French President Francois Hollande is a story we would rather tell. That's why I thought perhaps our reaction to tragedy highlights a clash of civilations. We react differently and the media will most probaly choose the reaction that will keep the story alive. When a man attacked a restaurant in Syndey, Australia, there were murmurings of why we went big on a story on such small scale. Small scale because "only two people died". For some countries, one life is one too many and they jealously guard their sovereignty. 

We can use the race card till the cows come home. We possess the power to change the way the world sees us. 

Africa needs young vibrant leaders to salvage our dignity.