Goodbye Nelson Mandela

It is 2 am. A night out cut short to report back to work after hearing about the passing of our nation’s father. As I sit here I can only imagine the implications of his passing, but to reflect on his past ... A man who birthed new nation of believers in their own inner strength, who knew that true freedom from oppression starts with the oppressed themselves. I have no words to express my sorrow, only to say that I wish that I could leave this world having lived it as he did.
Goodbye Tata, you leave this world a better place. I love you.

Thor and IMAX premiere at Gateway

The lovely lady on my left is Estelle Sinkins, arts editor at The Witness.

After a crazy week of  general newsyness which comes from working for a large news machine - and cleaning (see previous post), it was lovely to have been invited to the Thor premier as well as the IMAX opening at Gateway. 

As usual the traffic to Gateway is hairy but once we arrived we were greeted by a lovely big cocktail and an assortment of really yummy finger foods ranging from burgers to fish and chips, pasta the list is endless and dahling - I helped myself. 

But the real treat was watching Thor on IMAX. We were told that four weeks ago the whole theatre was rubble. Tonight I sat in state of the art, world class entertainment. My seat was big enough to put my feet up (what a treat to be the first person to sit on that seat). The 3D glasses now look like snow goggles, but I am told that they are an upgrade for those who wear glasses as they fit perfectly over the frames.

So yes, I am a fan of the new IMAX and I am waiting in anticipation for The Hobbit which will be screened next year. 

Isn't she beautiful?

Mavis

I am so exhausted this morning. This is the norm for a Thursday as the beginning of the week is dedicated to Mavis. Mavis is our 'maid' for want of a better, less pregnant-with-apartheid word. Or to my mind: Wonder woman. Not only is she a good friend and mother figure, she literally whips my world into shape, leaving behind her a wake of order and a pleasant wood polish smell. Her name really is Mavis - this is not just me being an ignorant mlungu. 

It starts on Tuesday. All the laundry must be washed, ironed and folded back into the cupboard. The floors need to be scrubbed; mirrors and windows need to be polished. Dusting and scrubbing - it goes on all day and I actually enjoy it because I see it as my exercise. It has to be done on Tuesday because Mavis comes to clean on Wednesdays and we wouldn't want her to think we actually live like this. 

Although I spend all day cleaning, every Wednesday when Mavis walks in she clucks her tongue lets out a gasp and tells me she will have a long day ahead of her. I am so ashamed.

Veranda Panda and Goodluck at Tiger Tiger

I think this sums up the evening...

Good morning! I write with a hangover from the comfort of my bed after a rather pleasant evening.

I am reminded that it does not matter where you go as long as the company is good. I spend the evening with two new friends Liam and Jane who perform as Veranda Panda and did so last night at Tiger Tiger Pietermaritzburg. 

They got going after their set to play another club in Margate which left my friends and I dancing to Goodluck. 

It was only after being pushed around by the bouncers that I was reminded why I don't like club venues. Apparently there are people who have more privileges than others on the dance floor. One has to first filate the bouncer before he allows you the honour of being on his turf (I speak metaphorically of course). Too bad for him I was already gagging on my drink (I'm sure I asked for a gin and tonic). But I have met this bouncer before; he was the one who would not let a certain DJ into the club even after said DJ confirmed that he was actually playing the club.

I am not writing this with any bad spirit to anyone involved, but as a journalist I see so many stories where bouncers lose control and harm patrons and this kind of thing is unnecessary. I think that perhaps Mr big dick needs to come a few steps closer to earth so we can all just have a good time.

After all it was a good night and I daresay I shall be back (this is an unavoidable sad fact) but for now I am going back to bed. Thanks everyone you are awesome. 

DEF Day 1

Discussion panel at DEF U day 1.
Photo: Russell Grant 

Today sees the start of the second half of the Durban Electronic Festival and if you aren’t there yet then I suggest you put on some sneakers and get the fuck out of the house right now.

The first half of DEF has to be one of the most exciting things I have seen on the Durban electro circuit for a while.  Yesterday was the start of the annual Durban Electro Universities, a series of free demonstrations and talks from industry professionals. What I saw was a group of likeminded people coming together to share and talk about their experiences in the industry. For a person like myself who is starting out in the industry, the lessons I learned were invaluable and I am so excited for the next instalment.

Nick Matthews aka. DJ Invizabel
giving a demonstration at DEF U.
Photo: Russell Grant

The evening ended on a wonderfully high note with a DEF U after party where I got to see first hands some of the tricks I had learned. A highlight was watching The RA Project and DJ Invizable doing their thang onstage.

Today’s event takes place across the Origin complex, where the event will take place in three stages.  You can enjoy a street party stage, Block party, live art, Winston beer garden/sports bar with live visuals of (Sharks/Chelsea/Liverpool games) and a VIP stage area set in Origin's balcony area.

Impressionable youths and industry kids watching a demonstration at DEF U.
Photo: Russell Grant

So if you haven’t got up yet, please get your shit together and go, gates opened at 12pm already! Tickets are: R100 (computicket ) / R120 at the gate (street party only) general access.
http://online.computicket.com/web/event/def_street_party/763230629
Or  combo tickets R130 (Computicket) / R150 (at the door) Day street party and includes entrance to Origin after party : limited to 400 tickets)
http://online.computicket.com/web/event/def_combo/763231441
Or R300 VIP : covers FRIDAY + SATURDAY Day street party and Origin after party ) limited to 200 : Computicket only *
http://online.computicket.com/web/event/def_vip_access/763231487

The K-Bomb performing at DEF day 1.
Photo: Russell Grant

The lineup:
DEF 2 - STREET STAGE
12:00 - 13:00 - FUNKY G 
13:00 - 14:00 - DJ FEEL 
14:00 - 15:00 - RICHARD THE THIRD (CT)
15:00 - 16:00 - NIGHT VISION 
16:00 - 17:00 - PH FAT (CT)
17:00 - 18:00 - VERANDA PANDA 
18:00 - 19:00 - NISKERONE (CT)
19:00 - 20:00 - BLUNT B (AUS)
20:00 - 21:00- JAMIE SAINT (CT)

DEF 1 - ENGINE ROOM PARK STAGE
12:30 - 13:30 - ICARUS 
13:30 - 14:30 - REBEL CLEF 
14:30 - 15:30 - CHRISTIAN TIGER SCHOOL (CT)
15:30 - 16:30 - DYNASTY (JHB)
16:30 - 17:30 - Bhashkar 
17:30 - 18:30 - Amigo
18:30 - 19:30 - FUNKY B 
19:30 - 20:30 - BRENT CRUDE 
20:30 - 21:30 - MARK E MARK 


STAGE 3 - RED BULL TRUCK (WINSTON BEER GARDEN)
14:00 - 16:00 - RENAUD 5 
16:00 - 17:00 - TOUCH OF SOUL 
17:00 - 18:00 - DJ RANGS
18:00 - 19:00 - GATORWADE (GMT)

Durban Day 2013

I recall a little tiff I had with an East Coast Radio presenter over a previous article I wrote which painted the ECR organisation in a bad light. He mentioned that his team had a meeting after reading my post, but decided not to persue the matter because I had paid for my ticket. He felt that if I had paid then I must have wanted to go, and that was all that mattered. I pointed out that I had paid for my ticket, but that I would not do so again.

I went against my own feelings and attended another ECR event: Durban Day. I know there have been a lot of write-ups about the event and I know that this post is after the fact. So, instead of writing about my feelings, I will stick to the events of the day.

I arrived at the stadium to a huge crowd of what I was told was about 12000 people. I don't know the exact number or if this is correct, but what I saw was a sea of white faces and a few dots of colour. I had not read the rules which stated that although you were allowed to bring a picnic, beverages were prohibited. This is my own fault, and so I cannot complain that I had my sealed plastic bottle of water confiscated. My friends were allowed to take their glass bottles of alcohol onto the premises. Perhaps security had not seen the alcohol bottles among the Nicknacks. 

I paid R150 entrance to celebrate Durban, but listened to bands from outside the province instead - although Toya Delazy did mention she was from Berea. Perhaps next time we could paid some local artists to perform at a day which honours their city. 

The day ended late and I drove home feeling like I had waisted my time. I wish I had spent my R150 on a local gig instead, that would have honoured Durban.

And now I will say again that, unless things change, I don’t ever want to attend another ECR function again.

The Fruit-basket

I had an interesting weekend - spent it with wonderful friends, good food and a good wine. There were so many great conversations, but the one that stuck with me the most was a conversation I had with my good friend and neighbour. We were making tea and chatting when I announced that I had just bought a huge bag of dried fruit. This is significant to my life as I realised that I will save a heap of money this month because I won’t be buying so many small packets of dried fruit. One may even call it a minor triumph! I digress… The man, obviously sharing in my delight, asked if there were any ‘ears’. I handed him the packet from which he pulled out a dried pear. He held up his prize and pointed out the many ways in which it looked like an ear. I plucked a pear from the packet but instead of an ear all I saw was a vagina. I didn’t want to be ‘that’ girl so I just offered a feeble: “Well I guess if you hold it like this it looks like a pixie ear.” He took a moment to contemplate this and said: “Actually it looks like a vagina!” I was so relieved that I was not the only one who thought that. I said as much and carried on rummaging in the fruit packet. But he just carried on exploring his dried pear. “Look it even has that beaky thing.” He pointed to the part of the pear that looks like a clitoris. I just replied with: “hmmmmm”. But before I could add anything to that, my neighbour continued “I am not really sure what that thing is all about - I just generally ignore it!” I stopped drinking my tea and stared at him.

I share this anecdote with you not only because it is funny, but because I have been thinking about the pussay for a while now. No, not in that way. It’s my annual you see - every woman dreads that visit to the gynae – but we gotta do it I know most people don’t want to know about this stuff - but for the rest, let this be an education.

The test is pretty standard, and I know that the doctor has seen a million vaginas and she really doesn’t care, but you still want to look your best. I decided this year I was going to go all out and surprise the good doctor with some vajazzeling. This is the art of bejewelling ones V. Unfortunately I couldn’t find a salon that did it, so I opted for the old Hollywood wax instead. You know – give her a real good view. (A Hollywood is the art of removing every single hair from the pubic region. EVERY SINGLE ONE).

The Beautician asked me what the occasion was (she could see that I had not been there in a while), to which I responded: “I am going to see someone really important – someone that I haven’t seen in a while.” She asked me if I’ve ever tried ‘bleaching’ - which I hadn’t. “You simply must try it,” she said, “This is the new thing that everyone is doing.” I was convinced. The next thing I knew, I found myself on my hands and knees with the beautician painting bleach onto my actual ass hole! I don’t know what I expected when she said ‘bleaching’ – but it was not that!

Actually the whole ordeal was rather liberating and the bleach was rather soothing in a cold-ointment-on-anus kind of way. And once I left the beauty salon I could not wait to show the gynaecologist. I have a strict rule: Only sexy people are allowed to see/touch/feel my vagina. My gynae is the hottest doctor I have ever seen. She is always dressed is sexy evening attire, full make–up and jewellery. I don’t mind her around the bits. In fact, the worst part about the visit is sitting in the waiting room, because at my age people assume I am a pregnant teenager or that I have a venereal disease! 

There is a point to my mingy ramblings – I am not just a crazy feminist wanting to do another vagina monologue. I just want everybody to be aware that they have a V and, unlike my neighbour, I expect everyone to know exactly what it does so that you can use it properly and protect yourself from people who can’t. And even though it is a really uncomfortable visit, you should go see your doctor once a year. I guess that concludes my women’s month monologue. (Also get the breasts checked – because you are special.)

Imvula/ Hope at The SA Women's Arts Festival 2013

photo: Val Adamson

Whilst discussing art, a friend of mine said that the role of the artist was to feel - to feel so completely that they took on the burden of ‘feeling’ for the world. He said that art allowed people to see their own feelings through the eyes of the artist without having the pain of going there themselves. I came home from the opening of the SA Women’s Arts Festival last night feeling emotionally vulnerable. I made myself a cup of rooibos and honey (that is what my mom used to do for me) and popped a Bella Jo lasagne in the oven (that is the closest thing to a home-cooked meal I had) and sat down to write about my amazing night of dance.

I was privileged enough to watch Imvula/Hope which is part of the double dance bill featuring Flatfoot Dance Company's Hope and The Playhouse Dance Residency’s Imvula which was choreographed by the award winning Christopher Kindo.

The show began with a moving piece of choreography with music played live by Shannon Hope. For me this was one of the best Flatfoot pieces of recent years. I am such a huge fan of the company that anything they do is really remarkable. This piece showed a sensitive, more feminine side to the company that I haven’t seen in a while. Their work often leans towards a more serious persuasion but this piece was also a lot more playful, even interactive at times.

The second piece of dance was the first I had seen by this relatively new company. The dancers were so technically skilful, although their performance lacked a sincerity that I had seen in the first half. That was what I thought until I saw the second act which I am told was a tribute to a young dancer from the company who had died suddenly. Within the first few minutes I felt fragile and vulnerable. The piece showed an organic circle of life where the dancers evolved from crude forms into tribes of people. Indicative of the life that they had just lost, it showed a kind of organic fragility which was so human I could not help but get caught up in the beauty of the piece. I was in absolute tears by the end – I mean ugly tears, not the womanly sob one would find from a lady.

Needless to say – you need to get to see this amazing piece of art - the artists took me to that ‘feeling’ place. And if you’re not into that ‘feely’ stuff, then go anyway because it is lovely to go to the theatre and watch beautiful people dance.

The SA Women’s Festival runs from the 8^th till the 17^th August. The Imvula/ Hope double bill will be showing at The Drama Theatre, Playhouse on the 8^th; 10^th; and 11^th August at 3:30pm and 7:30pm. Tickets cost R 80 or R 35 for students. Contact Box Office at (031) 369 9596/9540 or Computicket at 083 915 8000

Durban International Film Festival 2013

At the Blue Waters Hotel, the DIFF headquarters.
Look at me all smug with my DIFF bag and media tag!

Ok fuck!  I have been moping around for a month now complaining that “I have writers block”,  blah blah.  Meanwhile I have spent July going to the most amazing functions and parties – what more inspiration does one need! I tell you – sometimes I could just slap myself. Naughty! So within the next few days I will try to catch you up on the last month.

Ok so the last thing on my agenda was the Durban International Film Fest (DIFF). This is always a highlight for me - remember last year with the strippers and the getting drunk – well there was none of that this year. I was the picture of a good journalist, which I had to be because the whole festival became a media spectacle.

I attended the opening night in the usual full regalia, my small purse however did not allow for a pen and pad – the usual tools of my trade. But I thought what the hell, it’s the same every year and all the major points will be sent to me in an e-mail. Friends, I have never been so wrong! The evening started out as it usually does with speeches before an opening movie. This year instead of the opening film, we saw a notice. The film and Publication board had chosen that morning to ban the movie ‘Of Good Report’ for its depiction of child pornography. I tell you, it took me a good few minutes to realise what just happened. What had happened was that I was ill prepared for this kind of twist in the plot and I spent the next hour typing a page one lead on my blackberry. So it is safe to say I learned many things that night and the most important was: “NEVER BE UNPREPARED”!

The opening party.

We could go back and forth on our thoughts on banning and artistic rights but this is not the forum (although you are welcome to read any of my articles on the subject). The opening night for me was an opportunity to do some real journalism and I learned so much. I was lucky enough to meet the Jahmil Qubeka, the director, and speak to him about his film at the after party. The after party, by the way, which I decided to attend after having to write a sudden page one lead ON MY BLACKBERRY! I tried to get drunk. I must say though that the after party lived up to its usual splendor. There was the nomadic tent on the lawn of Suncoast Casino, a Latino band, yummy food and plenty of free drinks – but alas I went home sober - probably because my nerves had been shot.

The festival was a bit of a disappointment for me. My favorite part of DIFF is spending my days watching wonderful films. There were endless problems with formats and film classifications. On one particular day I went to watch four movies, but could only see one because of the aforementioned problems. I had to watch ‘World War Z’ instead of one ‘Spring Breakers’ and straight afterwards I went in to watch ‘Zombie Land’ only for that to be replaced by ‘World War Z’. I was in no mood for that! “Ain’t nobody got time for that”, as Divine Brown would say.

At the Closing party.

Fresh pizza at the Closing party.

The closing of DIFF was a wonderful day. I had been given some VIP tickets to Taste of Durban thanks to Vida e Caffee, which was held on the grounds of Suncoast. So I got to fill up on the most amazingly yummy foods and Champaign and wines and chocolates and snacks before heading into the movie theatre. I met my friend and colleague there, which turned out to be lucky for me because DIFF announced the unbanning of ‘Of Good Report’, so I would need to stay over to cover the film the following day. Once again I was unprepared, this time because of my lack of a change of clothes and a toothbrush.

The award speeches were rather long and unprepared but the evening ended wonderfully with a party at The Blue Waters Hotel. We spent the night eating handmade pizzas, listening to music and enjoying good conversation.

The Good Food and Wine show.

I was up early the following morning to watch an amazing film by Qubeka. I got to put DIFF to bed with an amazing sense of accomplishment having learned so many life lessons (I now keep a spare toothbrush in my car).

With director Jahmil Qubeka before the opening of his film 'Of Good Report'. Can you tell I haven't slept?

There are just a few points I want to make – mostly because I am a bitch. If DIFF had put their selected movies through to the Film and Publications Board to be reviewed earlier, then the banning and unbanning debacle could all have happened before the festival took place. Although we would have record of it going through this process, we would not have had the drama of the opening night. The fiasco did encourage a lot of conversation about banning laws in South Africa, and I know that the performance by the director was preplanned (the taping of the mouth and ripping up of the ID book –which was actually his wife’s temp passport). I wonder perhaps if DIFF has changed from its original purpose of showcasing art, to becoming a public mouthpiece. Not that I object to that at all. I would perhaps like a little warning because I went to DIFF to celebrate art, not to discuss my right to celebrate art. But what the banning did do was make the festival world – renowned and give a young director a wonderful platform for his next big creation – and well deserved I’d say.

My review as it appeared in The Witness Newspaper.

Feeling the love

After weeks (OK months) of writers block, I had an inspired thought: Writing is a medium for which I can share myself with the world, perhaps the reason I cannot write is that I feel disconnected.

I know that this is a self indulgent thought, but it gives the only reason for my absent words.

I have always felt like an outsider - But I have also thrived on the outskirts. The kind words of others seldom soothe the hurt of isolation, but isolation comes from me.  It is such a funny thing to be loved but to not feel the love.

The kindness has not gone unnoticed and I will repay it with words – soon. 

Top Gear Festival 2013

A thousand apologies for I have been dealing with incredible writers block and haven't written in so long. Also a word of caution, it seems that my new writing voice is incredibly self indulgent - you have been warned! Also all images and videos are courtesy of Yashen Moodley. 

Yup

Does anyone else remember last year’s Top Gear Festival? I do. I remember lots of guidos fighting; I remember plastic cups of black label, the smell of petrol fumes and dust so thick it made a line on my teeth where they stick out from beneath my goofy smile. I said to myself: “Not this time girl – you have come too far to be picking miggies out of your mouth.”  So this year I went as a guest of Shell. Oh friends what a delight it is to experience the VIP hospitality that is Shell at Top Gear. Let me count the ways ...

Because walking is so Top Gear 2012.

My colleagues and I got escorted to the media centre at the Moses Mabhida stadium. This is critical information because what I am saying is that we did not have to queue – I hate a queue. We got our media passes and from there the world of Top Gear was ours. All access, free food ... the only problem is that once you get a taste of VIP – Oh friends you cannot enjoy Top Gear without it.

We made our first stop at the Shell stand where I got to sit in an F1 car simulator as well as change an F1 racing car tyre. I was told that it takes the pros 5seconds to change the tyres and refuel an F1 car. It took me around 14 seconds to just pick up the heavy drill. I was the model for the day so I got to do some fun things of the girl’s - day - out - at - Top Gear variety. I think it was pretty amusing for my colleagues because I can barely drive. I was shown some sort of special car that had travelled Siberia and was told by Shell to point to the oil thingy for a picture. So embarrassing, I don’t even know where one places their car oil. The man had to show me, eventually placing his hands on the oil thingy because I don’t understand where “next to the engine” is!

Is it there?

They had the sexiest Greek men working for them; I guess it is the equivalent of eye-candy for bitches. Unfortunately for me these men where all business –there was no time for silly girls who don’t know car things. I had to do a small video and pretend that I had raced a circuit and they acted like it was their worst day ever. The video below is an example for you taken just before we made the official video. Look how angry this man looks, and look at me trying so hard – bless. Back in my youth the men used to check out my rack, now he looks like he is having the worst day of his life (I learned later that he was in fact dating the other sexy Greek man)

After that humiliation, Yashen, my wonderful colleague, and I went and hung out in some VIP car place. I don’t know cars, but I do love a shiny new beast of a machine and I have a weakness for Audi’s. So whilst Yashen gushed over something called a Bumblebee and something else with numbers and Z’s in it, I sat sipping my champagne staring at my Audi.  There is something wonderful about lounging on a chaise sipping Champaign and eating strawberries whilst the general public looks on from behind the velvet ropes and bouncers – and there was a pianist!

Sorry dahling ...

Ok, so I am milking this VIP thing and you are probably puking by now, so let me move on. We got escorted to the Shell hospitality suite in the stadium where we were greeted with a table full of beers. Yashen and I caught up with our Motoring Editor at the bar. He was on his fourth cider. We were called a bunch of pussies for not being drunk. “When I was a cub reporter we would be laying in a pool of our own vomit before this thing even started. Free drinks – you are a disgrace”. Well forgive me but I thought this was a work outing ... However, so as not to disappoint anyone I ordered a nice glass of merlot and headed into the VIP suite. Ladies and gentlemen – how will I ever enjoy the stadium again? Those suites have the best view, there was a private bar, and there was Lasagne for Christ sakes! It was as if Top Gear had just said “Crumbles - let’s make this girl happy”, and so they did.

The show was cool, there were cars, and babes and jokes about Oscar Pistorious (perhaps too soon). I was happy because I had done some really fun things and all it cost me was 200 words.

Can I have this one?

MTV Africa All Stars with Snoop Lion

One of the members of Camp Mulla chatting after their performance.

Saturday was one of the craziest nights of my life. I had to get legal advice in order to sort-of tell you what happened, but there are a lot of things I wish I could, but just can’t say. What I can say is that I had been waiting for this night ever since I first heard that Snoop Lion (aka Snoop Dog) was going to be in town. I received an invite to the African All Stars concert and I actually broke a nail in my haste to type a reply: “YES I WILL BE THERE – THANK YOU!”

Snoop Lion on stage at The Peoples Park.

I was already a little tired from the Dune Rats gig at Live - The Venue the previous night, but as soon as I drove into the stadium the atmosphere was electric! There were hundreds of people there - ok the number was closer to 13 000 people, but it was a truly South African representation. The crowd was completely mixed - I love this kind of vibe. It is the feeling you get when you go to a soccer match as opposed to a rugby game. We were all brothers and sisters and man, was I feeling the love.

Penny Lebyane on the red carpet.

Having said all of that, I must profess that there is one kind box I do enjoy being put into, and that is VIP. Friends, there is nothing like a bit of VIP access. You park close to the venue; get escorted to where you need to go and you get free food and drinks. I arrived with Penny Lebyane (of Motswako and Idols fame) so I was lucky enough to be escorted into the venue with her. The whole night was like that - there were ZAlebs everywhere. I just put away my press card and acted like I was a super star for the night.

I was welcomed at the door by a colleague who was working the event. When I asked her about not being able to take photos backstage (Getty had those privileges) she just said: “Trust me, once you are inside, you won’t want to leave.” She was right!

Dinner is served.

My favourite bar staff.

The VIP tent was a distinguishable from the highway; a huge see-through tent lit up with multicoloured lights. It was high off the ground with a vast wrapping balcony which took up half of the field alongside the stage. As I walked towards it I could see various lit tables with waitrons carrying silver trays of hors d'oeuvre scuttling beneath tall outdoor heaters. My invite said come at six; it was now half past and I was afraid of missing out on the snacks. Silly me. I have been told wondrous tales about events backed by the provincial government, there were three bars laden with alcohol, five different dining stations and fifteen Ola ice-cream carts filled with everything from Sole’s to Magnums. The best part was that if you were too busy talking about your wonderful, wealthy life, the waitrons were all too keen to fetch you whatever you needed. This is how the ZAlebs roll.

Cocktails and beautiful people.

I got myself a drink and headed out onto the balcony. I like doing events alone because I love meeting new people, but before that first drink I am always a frightened squirrel. I bumped into an obnoxious writer I know. This person prides himself on offending people. I usually find him rather funny, but he has recently graduated to mocking people just to see them get hurt. I don’t like this. But I went and said hello because I am nice. He started to mock my voice (it is rather nasal and whiny). As he stood above me, waiting for me to react I couldn’t help but notice some rather large nose hairs peeking out from his nostrils. Instead of giving him what he wants, I reached up and plucked the hairs straight from that large nose and showed them to him like a hunting trophy. I then wiped them on his shirt before heading back to the bar. I know it was childish, but seeing the tears in his eyes felt like wonderful revenge for all the ugly things he said to people in the past.   

Half of Camp Mulla, a Kenyan Alternative Hip Hop group.

Professor on the red carpet.

Professor was onstage and I couldn’t help twerking to Jezebel with the rest of the girls. The royal family (the younger members of course) were all sitting at the end of the room, distinguished by their royal leopard skins and headdresses. I asked the prince if I could take a photo with him and the family and I got chatting to one of the members of the family who I cannot reveal because he asked for weed in exchange for a private meeting with Snoop Lion (Snoop was staying backstage with his ‘people’).

Members of the Zulu Royal family.

When Snoop did eventually come on stage I lost myself. We all headed onto the balcony and danced for the rest of the night. He sang a lot of his old songs, so the throes of dancing managed to somehow damage the balcony which started to collapse under our booty-shaking asses. But all was well in the end - I managed to get my backstage pass.

After the show I made my way through the offstage smoke and haze ... and standing in front of me there he was: “Sup, you like my show”?

Snoop Lion on stage at the MTV Africa All Stars Concert. Note the Zulu headdress usually reserved for royalty.

Freedom Festival

Chanelle and I are trying to do the trance dance ... 

I woke up super early on Saturday morning to go to the Freedom Festival in Umhlali. I am not usually one for psy trance – or any kind of trance for that matter. But I am definitely not one to turn down a party. So after stocking the car with a veritable smörgåsbord of food (chips, cheese and cashew nuts), Chanelle, Courtney and I were on our way. Obviously none of us knew where Umhlali was, but that is what a GPS is for, and so we faithfully followed the Garmen all the way to fuck-knows-where amongst some sugarcane.

A delicious corn snack for the road.

After about a thousand kilometres we reached a tiny farming town and realised that we were probably not going to see another ATM soon. If you have ever driven through the Eastern Cape, you will recognise the kind of town I am talking about. There was one road, ten chicken outlets and a lowly Checkers which housed the only cash delivery system for about twenty kilometres. This was the only place to draw money. We parked amongst various vendors selling walky-talkies (SA name for chicken neck and feet) and braaied mielies. Coco stayed in the car whilst Chanelle and I made our way through the various goats and Sangomas to draw money. We arrived back to find Coco in hysterics because a man had tried obtain her for some good old fashioned raping, so needless to say we sped the hell out of there.

Chanelle in tears as she realises that
we are completely lost.

After another hour of driving, the Garmen lady told us to turn left down a gravel road. We knew we were close because the polo fields on which the festival was to take place were down a dirt road. Only once we had reached our destination (the famous Garmen words) we were literally at the end of a footpath which looked on to sewage and cane fields. Literally at the shit-end of the world, we were lost. Apparently this particular GPS likes to take its followers the long way around. Personally I think it was someone’s idea of a cruel joke. But luckily we are resourceful girls. We used our phones to look up the directions on the Freedom Festival website and soon enough we were on our way. The instructions were to take Glendale Road and follow it till the end; “You can’t miss it” according to the website.  Ladies and gentlemen, this is a deceptive remark. We found Glendale Road. What we didn't know at the time is that we were at the other side of Glandale Road. About thirty kilometers from the end of Glendale Road, where we really wanted to be.

Umhlali - beautiful but we weren't there for the scenery! 

We drove at around fourty kilometers fer hour down the rockiest dirt road ever. We were out of cell phone range and our petrol tank had been flashing red for the last half hour. At the top of the next bolder we decided to head back, certain that we had made a wrong turn. We were literally the only people on the road, the festival started at twelve, it was now four and we were getting scared. On our way down we saw a police sign and turned up another dirt road to ask the police for directions. They were helpful and told us we were on the right path but it would be about another twenty kilometers to our destination. We happily drove on. On the way we saw a bunch of small children who had caught a swallow and tied it to a string. I convinced them to let it go in exchange for a packet of Fritos.

Coco and I trying to make our humble abode.

We arrived at the festival at half four and set up our tent for the night. There are two kinds of people who go to a trance party. There are those (like me) who are there for the experience. These people tend to get into the spirit by dressing the part and perhaps even indulging in a bit of contraband. And then there are those who live for trance. They are at every festival; they are the true hippies who are involved in every aspect of a trance party. I met two of these characters. One was a forty-year-old woman who came up to us and asked us: “Do you girls want to spin?” “Sure, why not” we replied. We all held hands and spun around the field. I must say it was rather pleasant in an innocent childlike manner. This was all destroyed however when two men who were clearly not trance regulars joined in. Things got kind of out of hand and our new friend let out a cry: “You are going too fast.” And then it was all over. The second noteworthy character we met was a man we now refer to as ‘the toy maker’. He was a mixture between hippy and Goth, dressed in black, with black hair that would not have passed the ‘pencil test’ during apartheid ( it was shaved at the sides I guess to prevent the afro-effect which his hair is no doubt prone to). I digress. This man made us all imaginary balls in a kind of weird wizard dance. Once each of our balls was made he just stood with the ‘ball’ in his palm until we pretended to take them. I put mine in my pocket and he moved off doing a strange dance with his ball as if it was real and bouncing around. I just wonder what these kinds of people do other than hang out at trance parties? I cannot imagine him functioning in society. As judgemental as that sounds, how does he relate to people in everyday situations like work when he is constantly creating his own world in his head? I suppose on a weird level that is what everybody else is doing – Perhaps just in a less obvious way.

Pretty.

The main dance area. As you can see inhibitions are lost here ... Mr Two-steps.

Anyways, I realised psy trance is not for me. Boom-perdy-boom for twenty four hours can make a person seriously crazy. Literally every DJ set is the same boom-perdy-boom.  I can imagine all the woodland creatures eventually saying: “All right boom-perdy-boom, we get it, but can you change it up a bit for God’s sake?” Bambi’s mom is literally on the verge of suicide every time she gets word that there is going to be another trance party in her neighbourhood!

I love wine ...

At around two in the morning Chanelle and I fell asleep in the back of the car and at eight we woke to the sound of – you guessed it – boom-perdy-boom! We got out of there, and this time (following the right directions) it only took an hour to get home.

Chanelle loves cheese!

The festival by the way was beautiful. It was decorated so beautifully and it was in the most beautiful place. I felt really at peace and I met some of the most wonderful people. I really do recommend that everyone goes to a trance party at least once in their lifetime - if only to experience it.

One love! HERPDI DERP!