A few weeks ago I posted a piece called “Single white male” from which much controversy arose. I was accused of all manner of racially biased crimes and being a typical black South African who feels entitlement to everything and never wants to work for anything or add any value. I was called all manner of nasty words, among which “palooka” was my favourite. But, of course, I didn’t take any offence to these accusations as I believe that in a democratic society, which this one is, one is fully entitled to one’s opinion.
But a positive spin-off from that piece, I hope, is that the township tourism industry will garner some strength over the holiday season as more of our non-black brethren, who still hold the financial power, will visit the humble streets to take in all the culture the township has to offer. However, some non-black members of the public very clearly pointed out to me what a dangerous place they perceive the township to be and cited this as the reason for their avoiding visiting the hood and contributing positively to the local economy and nation building.
Late last year I unwittingly invited a couple of friends of mine to a function of a traditional nature at my family home in Kwa-Mashu north of Durban where a bovine beast and three other smaller sacrificial mammals were to meet their end in sacrifice to my ancestors. My one friend is a lyricist who is very strong-willed and rather particular about his liquor and guards it jealously; the other friend, well, is coloured and naturally loves his alcohol.
I say I invited them unwittingly because I should have foreseen the impending altercation that would arise because of a misunderstanding about the traditional sharing of alcohol at these traditional functions. Inevitably there was a clash of personalities and major differences of opinion regarding the said beverages between my two friends and a local thug, which resulted in high-speed car chases with cocked semi-automatic weapons in hand coupled with general mayhem, which was all decidedly undesirable and shifted my focus from partaking of the afore-mentioned sacrificial beasts.
I had to diffuse the situation without getting my very pragmatic brothers involved because I know only too well of their nature: blood would have surely spewed forth from the idiot thug’s person. I had to diffuse the situation using my incredible powers of influence and, well, begging and tears. Yes, I cried in front of the thug to keep my visibly shaken and tearful friends and him alive.
Now, being the responsible individual that I am and pre-empting that there will be those adventurous patriotic spirits among my non-black brethren committed to our rainbow nation who will take up the challenge and the pleasure and who will go, unaccompanied, to the hood, I have prepared a survival guide to keep them out of trouble in the hood. Maybe “survival” is a bit of a strong word because no one, we hope, will be going out of their way to terminate your stay on Earth for their financial gain, bar a misunderstanding regarding alcohol traditions. Maybe I should call it the Don’t-Provoke-the-Backward-Idiot-Bad-Guys-Giving-Them-an-Excuse-to-Hurt-You guide.
Idiots are everywhere, ladies and gentlemen, in every nook of our country; it is undeniable and they have proven that they do not mind showing themselves by their idiotic actions.
With this, one of my many contributions that form part of my service to humanity, I hope to ensure that my non-black brethren have enough confidence to take it upon themselves to learn holistically how the other, well, three-fifths live. But in doing so, I also want to make sure that there aren’t any nasty incidents reported, ensuring many happy returns, forming of new friendship and spreading of the word that it is, after all, all good in da hood.
The best way to experience the culture in the Durban hoods during the holidays is to attend the many functions that are bound to be held every weekend in all the townships. We don’t have restaurants, but Christmas bonuses have a strange way of reminding township folk that it is time to get married or divorced, or slaughter seven bovine beasts for the ancestors who desperately need to be thanked, another bovine beast for recently passed relatives and so on. Money equals partying in the hood and these functions is where you need to be, my friend. Also don’t forget the numerous car-wash parties, CD-launch parties, braais, B&Bs and, to a lesser extent, restaurants and the like, which all offer a little bit of culture for you to soak up.
Point number one: Don’t go to Kwa-Mashu.
Never, under any circumstances whatsoever, guided or not, morning, noon or night, winter or summer never, ever! There’s nothing to see there anyway.
Other townships are cool, man, but Kwa-Mashu is different. I grew up there and some of my family members still live there, but it’s hard for even me to go there. I guess I witnessed and lived through too much bloodshed and too much suffering there; I guess it is just scary for me, and Spikiri still lives there so I can’t really go there — he’ll hurt me.
Point number two: Leave the girls alone.
My friend, trust me, there will be no jungle fever allowed in the hood. Do not even look at the young women there — if you wish to stay alive, that is.
The equation goes something like this: the aesthetic appeal of a certain woman is in direct proportional to the [(thoroughness of the beating) squared] you will receive.
So for your own safety, greet, smile and move on to the bar and get your desired beverages without taking a second glance at any of the ladies. You are white in the hood, guy, you’ll be the centre of attention. Women will hit on you — if you accept, expect a beating in direct proportion to the woman’s aesthetic appeal. If you absolutely have to accept courtship from a certain young lady, make sure she is really ugly and maybe you might get away with a couple of right hooks and a straight left to the solar plexus, at worst.
Point number three: Steer clear of well-dressed guys.
Armani, Hugo Boss and YSL mean thug in the hood. Do not under any circumstances think these guys are semi-metrosexuals and try to mess with them; you will always come out second best, my friend. Under those Dolce & Gabbana shirts are tucked all manner of high-calibre semi-automatic weapons, which will be used, without flinching and without much remorse — be careful guy.
Designer labels are the calling card for a man who is to be respected in the hood, where respect is a huge issue; therefore these individuals will act with much vengeance and ruthlessly to maintain this respect. If you stand in the way of a man and his respect, you will be sacrificed to maintain order.
Point number four: Don’t dance.
Do not draw attention to yourself, my friend. Please refrain from gyrating your body in all manner of directions in total opposition to the rhythm of the music. This might infuriate the aforementioned Armani-clad, D&G Light Blue-smelling thugs. If you can’t do iManyisa all you can do is stand in one spot and tap your foot lightly in the general direction of the music; no sudden movements or spinning moves are allowed.
Point number five: Don’t get lost.
It is critically important that you know where it is that you are going. Know your destination. Ask for directions from a trusted source beforehand; study them well before you head off to the hood; and do not be seen looking at maps or anything like that. (Side thought: Why do GPS systems not have maps of townships with street names? What, kasie folk don’t get lost? Oh, wait, most kasie folk still can’t afford GPS systems; it makes sense.)
Point number six: Befriend a thug.
Being friends with the biggest thugs in the hood is a sure way to survive. Have no fear, they’ll be really pleased to have a white friend, and you will be an accessory to them like the thick gold chains and their BMW 3 Series and light-skinned chicks from the suburbs. These people need to stand out, and what stands out more than a white boy in a sea of black? Their chicks will eat that shit up and they’ll get much respect from your presence. They’ll be calling their friends on some: “Mjita, siphuza no-Ngamla, si-blind thina! Siyizinja sani, us’bheke kahle!”
Point number seven: Do not look any man in the eye.
Looking at a man directly in the eyes is a sign that you want to exert your authority over him. It is a sign that you believe that you are superior to him. You can see how this may send the wrong message. Therefore, to avoid any unpleasantness, look in a man’s eye briefly while greeting and then look away — not down, because that will make you a soft target, and being white in the hood will already be making you stand out.
On a serious note, though, I do encourage everyone to visit the well-established tourist attractions in our townships. Learn what black people have achieved against of the greatest odds under the previous government. We have made places where happiness still prevails from a foundation of some of the worst human rights violations that a man has placed upon another.
With all of that being said, the hood is a beautiful place with beautiful people. However, there are bad people in all parts of our society and good and bad things happen to white and black people alike. When a crime is perpetuated against an innocent person in this country these days, it is mostly no longer about the colour of their skin; it is mostly about a criminal perpetuating a crime and it should be unequivocally discouraged at all costs. There are idiots among us, as in any other society, who will want to spoil even the most forward strides that we try to make as a people. Be careful, guy.
I rest,
The Sumo
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