Mpeng Morobe, Camilo Saloojee and Christopher Steenkamp shoot the political,cultural and comedic breeze on Main Street Johannesburg.
My newspaper tells me the ANC has accused the DA of not caring about the poor. Dragging the leader of the free world into the squabble. Heinous vibes.
I grew up in one of those retirement villages cleverly disguised as towns. Think death row with a nice view. It’s not fair that people raise children in such places, burgeoning life needs hope, something the aged have little use for. Another facet to coming of age as an extra in a zombie film is the absence of dire poverty. Street people simply can’t survive around old people. They’re exceptionally easy to rob, but don’t have anything, pushing daily quotas through the roof, and as we all know, the charm of petty crime is in the hours.
This impoverished street culture, one without poverty, impoverished me too. Cue an obvious lack of perspective. A cold cappuccino, though unforgivable, is relieved of it’s cutting implications when you watch a man eat out of a bin. Then there’s the clarity of purpose. Meta stuff, ‘what I’m here for’ sort of question. We’re a simple species, the basics aren’t complicated; food, warmth, love, etc.
After that we’re on our own sure, but that we live in a country so disorganised in its fight for true liberation, especially with the legacy of thought and action we have, is beyond madness. Half of us afflicted with weapons grade materialism, throwing hours into a meaningless prescribed pit and the other destitute to depressingly painful lows. Unacceptable, considering all the innate limitations already embedded in the human condition, to burden the situation with things so impervious to charm is nothing short of sadistic.
That’s where purpose comes in, liberation, freedom, first for myself and then my fellow homies. Poverty highlights this dire need, it’s a daily reminder that we’re not all groovy people, that we still have fascists and pigs and murderers. A confrontable affair, we can square off with the soulless generators of oppression, I’m learning it’s not impossible. A simple task now over takes me, to put an end to the influence of bastards. Again, first for myself and those around me.
This is why corruption needs to be squared off with, it needs to be mocked, satirised and made public. That’s why every selfish, piggish leader pissing our money away needs to hear from us. That money is meant for liberating the poor. The mocking of Nelson Mandela’s ideals will come to an end. The laundering and cronyism and theft will taste wall.
That’s why comedy is important, humour adds an incredible gift to any subject it busies itself with, it makes listening to it pleasurable.
Every word, every gag attempted, every time I swear at this monster, the knowledge that liberation’s agenda is as transposable as it needs to be refreshe me. A fluid agenda, a noble backbone, a substantial plaything.
Watching the grigamba presidential debate two or three a.m’s ago left me with a tangible aversion to Mitt Romney. To be fair, I had it before I flipped the switch, here’s why…
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