There are two words commonly used in South Africa which I really, really can’t stand. The one is the word “comrade”. The other one is the word “bokkie”.
“Bokkie” is often used in insipid Afrikaans love songs by commercial singers (presumably because it rhymes with “sokkie”). In that way, it fulfils the same function that the word “baby” (which rhymes with “maybe”), fulfils in English songs (though I’m not sure why anyone has ever considered it a matter of urgency to find rhyming words for “sokkie” or “maybe”).
Bear in mind, though, that words like “bokkie” and “baby” are never used by normal people in normal conversation. They are nonsensical pop music mannerisms. Show me an average Afrikaans bloke who actually calls his girlfriend “bokkie”, and I show you a potential serial killer! As for the word “baby”, the last time I heard about it being used in a remotely romantic context was when a drunken township dweller made a clumsy pass at Helen Zille the other day. The media should probably be blamed for that one, though.
The Afrikaans music scene, as everyone knows, is an enormously large, overblown, bloated industry with an immense number of performing artists of which only a minuscule small percentage is remotely talented. Yes! I myself personally know a handful of Afrikaans singers with real talent. I truly envy them. I also pity them. I find it heartbreakingly sad that the careers of this tiny minority should be stigmatised by the larger collective of performers who compulsively use words like “bokkie” to cover up their lack of song-writing skills.
The real problem with the Afrikaans music scene, however, is not just the fact that most of the music is crap. After all, you get crap music everywhere, even in America (well, especially in America). What bothers me about the Afrikaans music scene is that the entire thing sort of exists in a bubble somewhere in outer space, removed from the lives of ordinary South Africans (who have the good sense to prefer Dollar Brand and Nomfusi).
In those heady days of yore when we started the tradition of popular Afrikaans music, we had a dream that, one day, young Afrikaans musicians would join hands with young musicians of other races and find a common voice. What has happened instead is this: the entire Afrikaans music scene has turned in upon itself, creating clone after clone, growing like a cancer on our cultural landscape, isolating itself from real people and real events. Most Afrikaans singers nowadays either sing about clichés like true love and pretty seagulls or they swear and vloek and gaan aan like the terrible vieslike rotten scoundrels they’d like to imagine they are. Afrikaans musicians are either shamelessly commercial or unbearably decadent. In the end, unfortunately, most of that glibness and most of that decadence is only skin-deep. It’s all just a bunch of gimmicks. There is a conspicuous lack of heartfelt passion and true desperation.
As for the word “comrade”; I have made some enquiries about the origin of this word. Like the word “vodka”, it was originally Russian. The precise meaning of the word, according to my dictionary, is “buddy, pal, brother”. Whilst, nowadays, the word “vodka” means exactly what it has always meant (praise God for that) the meaning of “comrade” has radically altered. Gone are the good old days when all white men were perceived as evil oppressive right-wingers and all black men were perceived as noble freedom fighters! During the last few weeks, we have seen erstwhile comrades turn upon one another in bare-fanged fury as the tripartite alliance started imploding in a terrifying explosion of recriminations, anger and even anarchy. So much so that, to most people, the very mention of the word “comrade” nowadays evokes embarrassment and scorn.
I find it impossible to choose sides in such a dirty battle where normal rules of conduct are no longer respected, where innocent members of the public are either used as cannon fodder or ignored like waste matter. People have died and are dying — some of them children — and for these atrocities the entire ANC is ultimately accountable. Of course the teachers and nurses have a right to decent pay, but no trade union has the right to try and force its non-striking members to take part in their agenda of brutal destabilisation. In the end, the behaviour of Cosatu and the government is reprehensible, and — dare I use the word? — astonishingly uncivilised.
Coming so soon after the success of the soccer World Cup, this comedy of errors has taken absolutely everyone outside the tripartite alliance by total surprise. Frankly, we did not see it coming.
What the top-heavy and bloated ANC, on the one hand, and the ruthless, barbaric Cosatu, on the other hand, have in common is an unpardonable disregard for the rights of innocent bystanders. This is a matter of comrades targeting comrades. No-one else counts in this highly exclusive brawl. Normal South Africans — those who are simply called “Mr So-and-So” or “Mrs So-and-So” instead of “Comrade So-and-So” have absolutely no say in this matter. They are, presumably, not part of the so-called “masses”. As in so many prior political revolutions that have gone haywire throughout history, the rights of the individual are trampled underfoot in the name of some theoretical collective freedom.
This has caused me sleepless nights, I tell you. This state of affairs has brought me close to tears so often I cannot even begin to describe the angst, the pain, the disillusionment I have been feeling.
Until last night.
Yes! Last night I woke up, promptly at three in the morning, with the solution etched plainly in my head like a sign from God.
There is a way out of the quagmire South Africa has dragged itself down to. And the solution is so simple it’s almost laughable. Not only will this idea, if implemented, set the ANC back on track in no time, it will sommer save the Afrikaans music industry from its dreadful isolation as well.
Parliament must, without further ado, make a law that will force everyone to switch around the words “bokkie” and “comrade”.
From henceforth, according to this new law, whenever an Afrikaans singer feels the need to use the word “bokkie”, he must substitute the word “comrade” in its place.
This will teach Afrikaans singers to put their country before their personal careers, to pay a bit more attention to the collective, and to start working together for the good of everyone.
The new law will also mean that, whenever comrades address each other, whether that may be at an ANCYL meeting, or in the foyer of a five-star Sandton hotel, or in Harrods, London, they will be forced to call one another “bokkie” instead of “comrade”.
In that way, they might just start realising how silly their bickering really is. They will also be reminded of the value of true affection. They will simply be unable to take themselves seriously.
Once this switchover has been made, not only will we have wonderful new hit songs such as “Comrade ek wil jou hê”, “Rooi-Rok-Comrade” and “Comrade ons moet huis toe gaan”, but we will have cadres urging one another on with slogans such as “bokkie, let’s march!”, “all bokkies should stand together!”, and “no individual bokkie shall have power over the collective bokkie-dom!”.
Very, very soon, both the revolutionary movement and the Afrikaans music industry will simply fizzle out and die, and, once that happens, of course, we will have our country back to normal.
Come on, bokkie Zuma, bokkie Vavi and bokkie Malema, let’s settle this nonsense once and for all and pass this law right away!
Author
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