‘Wa Pha-Pha’

To loosely translate to ‘Pha-Pha’, in any South African vernac is to envy things, be too forward, a possible narcissist, novice and could easily be taken as an insult. One can use any Bantu infinitive and it will be the same outcome. I am like that on my own and on stage, but not around my family. Ask any artist. I had recently acquired this portable Bluetooth speaker as a gift from a close friend of mine and if you have met me, you might have heard about it, or it specifically.

I have been walking long distances to fill my urge to experience new things I could write about. So I just fill my 1,5litre Tupperware bottle with water and am set for the streets. For that hour or two I can be completely free from the measurements, odd silence, fridge, bed, couch, and the television in this technical-house arrest called Lockdown.

I gained along a few fans on my various long walks, especially kids who try to sing along to the music I play. The music is not mainstream and so when they hear the sound of a trombone, bass guitar or mad raving drums they stop and think for a moment. Which is the primary objective in most of all my works. The speaker has become an essential partner in the solitary long walks that I’ve adopted to call cloud hopping.

Naledi, Moletsane, Zola and Zondi are the weekly hopping spots as my partners are spread about the township. Plus I can’t neither afford nor understand most of the local taxi routes other than town. I like the walks because I do most of my creative thinking while walking or travelling and seeing everyday people.

People waking up another day to take another shot at life sparks me up. It is inspiring to me, in a sense, to be a part of a different story for that moment in time. Ever since the alcohol ban lifted, the rush has increased and Soweto is as loud as we have known it to be on a weekend. The swimming pools were also flooding with kids and youth.

Before the lift, I could go inside the streets with my speaker and I can hear from my backpack Nina Simone or Mighty Sam McClain on 7/10 volume.

I am not sure what the adjustments regarding Level 3 Lockdown meant for churches, because I am still trying to figure out which stage of Load Shedding we’re currently in with Eskom. The churches that I passed earlier during the week were trimming the gardens and playing Gospel tunes loud from their car stereos. What confused me was the manner in which some of the services were held on the weekend that followed.

I passed one in Moletsane on Saturday where the congregants had parked their cars outside the church, but the service was in a nearby member’s home in the garden. The house was exactly opposite the church and I noticed the emblem on a bumper sticker on it’s door.

By coincidence while I was passing, a police van approached slowly towards the church. As soon as the pastor standing in front of the congregation saw it, he increased the pitch volume of the song wildly. The police van made a U turn and some guys sitting by a hawker stall looked in awe, before praising the congregants by calling them ‘Izinja Ze Game’

On the same day after meeting a friend in Moletsane, I headed on to Zondi via a shortcut through Zola. I passed the church known as Shembe which holds their services out in the open under the shades of trees.

Believe me in you, they were in full attendance and they were cool about it AF. I’ve been to a Shembe service before and nothing gets me like their traditional musical instruments. The slow bass line pitched songs that they percussion with a Kudu horn. This time it was accompanied by a PA system set up whereby the lead singer dropped the first lines, and the buzz of voices under the trees responded. My speaker, on a 04/10 volume, whispered along by and I had to restrain my urge to walk in and ask for a playlist.

I did my things in Zondi and when I was returning home to Naledi, I changed abruptly on the way to take another route. I hate being predictable and so I found myself standing at the edges of two grass trimmed soccer pitches.

At the entrance, I passed a group of youths by the entrance of the park who looked too busy with their hookah pipe. There was a Bluetooth speaker blaring somewhere within their cramped companies of bottles and conversations that I tuned mine down a few notches.

I hate conflicting sounds like I am at a market in Small Street CBD. More guys were sprawled along the fence with pink saturated cold drinks I can only guess to be the cough mixture-punch called ‘Lean’

At the centre of it all, 15 or so guys stood abreast of each other doing some sort of a dance routine. The lead singer was clapping and singing as they moved in sync with it all. They had small Zulu traditional shields and assegais performing a slow routine with a Ladysmith Black Mambazo tip.

They had on random smart casual clothes, and not the leopard skins regalia one might associate with traditional Zulu attire. I noticed an interval in their routine and approached the lead singer at the centre.

I greeted the guys but then I was blue-ticked. So then the lead singer looked at his group dumbfounded and awkwardly greeted me back. What a way to begin a conversation I thought to myself.

The guy looked even more worse when I then asked to take a short video clip of their dance. That’s when one of the guys said ‘iThate Mfethu’ and squatted down dropping the shield and assegais on the floor.

The rest then laughed but another kindly said they were rehearsing. I was still fazed by the first comment to react because they were in formation and I wasn't sure whether it was one to perform, or to kick my ass. Thinking about the drinks I had at Zondi, looking at their numbers, weapons and myself hardly knowing where I was, things can change fast.

The first guy said again ‘Bafo thathi Video phela’ then the rest of the gang burst out with laughter again, and they all slowly squatted. 

I took the safest choice and squatted aside a few meters out of their way to watch. They chanted a few slogans that felt threatening at first but slowly they restarted the routine I had experienced earlier when passing by.

I am a dancer at heart and I was already reading the movements, tone, expression and tension they articulated in their music. Just before the climax of that 10-15 min dance routine, I experienced something that I last did since this one girl sang for me Letta Mbuli – Music in The Air.

I shed a couple of tears that I had a problem even with the bottle of water in front of me. The sunset actually saved my face because the youth crowd was beginning to gather behind me to watch the guys and they flared up their performance. In the end of it all, I was simply too embarrassed to approach them for my eyes were red, and I couldn’t explain it to them, to get their contact details. That I was simply mad for not fighting to archive the experience.

But what I know deep inside my heart is that those guys really did break my heart. Matter of fact, it took all the ‘Pha-Phing’ zest I had for the remainder of the night. The only good thing that came out of that experience was that it was embedded in my memory long enough to end up on a sheet of paper. And that just because you're feeling over zealous, stop to ponder the room.

Sipho X Madgun 21.02.2021- 04.04.2022