Angifi Proctor Dladla

Side by side

SON FROM DUKATHOLE

From Katlehong I come
by train not by taxi –
a taxi to Dukathole stops
anytime, anywhere, anyhow.
A train to Dukathole.

I’m an alien;
beings are made of dust,
smoke, noise here.

Planet Dukathole has an ear
of sound. Ghetto-blasters
compete with one another
blaring smoky hits,
blaring away poverty.
All is kwaito.
No kwasa-kwasa,
no mbaqanga,
no reggae and no
jazz.

I’m an alien,
children here have a group soul
and compound eyes.

They see all
at once – the alien,
dusty games,
smoky dances,
passers-by,
gangsters’ cars
zipping along.

Where is the house . . . ?
Even Phillip Tobias, cannot
dirt-read us.

I’m an alien here,
I can’t ask anyone.

“Eita Blazah!”
Their greetings
followed by whistles.

I don’t look back.

“For Reclamation, Blazah?”

Dusty footsteps; white noises.

Kwaito: Some people call it South Africa’s hip hop. But kwaito is more than that. It’s an urban soup of South African jazz and township pop mixed with Western house and rap. It’s the music that defines the generation who came of age after apartheid. Kwasa-kwasa: a dance that originated in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Mbaqanga: dance music that combines traditional elements of Zulu chants and drumming with elements of jazz. Eita Blazah: Conversational “Howzit, brother.” First published on PIW, forthcoming in We Are All Rivers, October 2010.