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!