Bassiq ft DJ BigRome

This is something that I am proud to be a part of. I finally had a chance to grind something out with my fellas. Mass doing something totally unexpected, sketching a 2-D cartoon for Rome’s upcoming EP.

The future looks bright! For the soldiers up in Cap City!


IT has those #HIPHOP #Vibes


Musings on a Tuesday

What if when women have children with an absentee father, the kids are not considered as illegitimate. What if our grannies were not subjected to having to raise two generations of children.

I bet then that the dating dynamic of older South African women would be different. The shame that palls over an older women’s decision to be in a relationship after a certain age would surely not exist. The stigma may not have had a chance to rear its ugly head.

This is what started another discussion of culture vs. progress with my significant other.

If one is to scan the media landscape you are confronted by the constant theme of black people needing to preserve their culture. Every time somebody says this to me I begin to wonder about the state of our culture. Are we a fragile fruit jam that needs to be bottled up… lest we succumb to external forces? Are we meant to be displayed and sold as a tourist attraction?

There is a lack of direction from our leaders… With every council meeting they bleat out the need for our culture to be recognised in our modern society. How our languages are dying and homelands and rural areas are in desperate need of development.

This comes from the very same leaders who drive huge Merc’s that need maintenance in major city hubs, where a dealership is on almost every corner.

These are the very same leaders who don’t see the value of every little boy or girl taking the car apart and putting it back together again… After all he is not really paying for it anyway.

They are the leaders who have been fortunate enough to see the world, and had the privilege to observe countries that have saved their language and progressed at the same time.

There is always concern that we will suffer in the name of traditions we wish to preserve, while at the same time foregoing the influence of progress and time over the planet.

Our current leaders seem to almost be thinking to small, you can certainly attribute this to a revolutionary hangover. Rousing and invigorating the masses to a new change; a change that requires sacrifice from them, in the age of freedom, is a daunting task for any leader to try and sell. Especially after not having anything for so long.

In the modern century when knowing how to sell something almost always guarantees you getting what you want. A sales pitch for the future of this country that foregoes the incorporation of progress and technology falls flat.

Perhaps there is a palpable fear of rocking the boat… But in truth we are already in choppy waters. We as a society cannot hide from the onslaught of information that is becoming more easily available.

So maybe it is time for our culture to take a leap and evolve in order to secure its continued existence.

In the exercise of preserving our traditions we are filled with stories of how our cultures changed and adapted to new circumstances. From Shaka and the introduction of the short spear; King Moeshoeshoe and his military strategy and Dutch travelers who would later become Suid-Afrikaners.

The ability of a collective group of people to rally together under the guise of survival is commonplace throughout human history. Cultures change through the actions of people, no matter how significant.

It also means having the capacity to agree with an idea even if it goes against everything you have been taught or brought up to believe. Purely  because it makes sense. It means sharing the knowledge that you have, even when ears will not listen. We need to lead the type of lives that are filled with conscious actions that will make a difference.

Our culture is not a revolution… it is the sum of our lives, and we alone have ultimate control of our lives.

The price of progress is tackling ignorance.

life is short

This is a game that I will definitely be buying tickets for!

Africa is a Country (Old Site)

Post by Marc Fletcher

On March 9th, the latest edition of the biggest club game in South Africa gets underway. The Soweto Derby between Orlando Pirates and Kaizer Chiefs always stokes a great rivalry between fans of the Buccaneers (Pirates) and the Amakhosi (Zulu for Chiefs). While Pirates were formed in 1937, Chiefs are in their relative infancy, emerging from a split with Pirates in 1970. Despite their short existence, Chiefs are the largest supported soccer club in the country. Unfortunately, the history of this fixture has been marred by two stadium disasters. In 1991, 42 people were killed at Orkney Stadium, while in 2001 the Ellis Park Stadium disaster saw 43 fans die.

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Chapter X

“All this was inspired by the principle—which is quite true in itself–that in the big lie there is always a certain force of credibility; because the broad masses of a nation are always more easily corrupted in the deeper strata of their emotional nature than consciously or voluntarily; and thus in the primitive simplicity of their minds they more readily fall victims to the big lie than the small lie, since they themselves often tell small lies in little matters but would be ashamed to resort to large-scale falsehoods. It would never come into their heads to fabricate colossal untruths, and they would not believe that others could have the impudence to distort the truth so infamously. Even though the facts which prove this to be so may be brought clearly to their minds, they will still doubt and waver and will continue to think that there may be some other explanation. For the grossly impudent lie always leaves traces behind it, even after it has been nailed down, a fact which is known to all expert liars in this world and to all who conspire together in the art of lying.”


A Series on Discrimination from Wikipedia

To begin with there are general forms of DISCRIMINATION:


They may take specific social and legislative manifestations, namely:


AIDS Stigma – Ableism – Adultism – Anti-albinism – Anti-homelessness – Anti-intellectualism – Anti-lefthandedness – Anti-Masonry – Antigentilism – Antisemitism – Audism – Biphobia – Cronyism – Elitism (academic) – Ephebiphobia – Fatism – Gerontophobbia – Handicapism – Heteronormativity – Homphobia – Leprosy stigma – Lesbophobia – Misandry [which is what started this crazy examination] – Misogyny – Nepotism – Pedophobia – Reverse Discrimination – Sectarianism – Shadeism – Surdophobia – Transphobia – Xenophobia


Blood libel – Compulsory sterilization – Disbaility hate crime – Economic – Eliminationism – Employment – Ethnic cleansing – Ethnic joke – Ethnocide – Forced conversion – Freak show – Gay bashing – Gendercide – Genocide – Group libel – Hate crime – hate speech – Homeless dumping – Housing – Indian rolling – LGBT hate crime – Lynchiing – Mortgage – Murder music – Occupatinal segregation – Pogrom – Racist music – Race war – Religious persecution – Scapegoating – Slavery – Trans-bashing – Victimization – Wife-selling- Witch-hunt


Segregation (age, racial, religious and sex) – Age of candidacy – Blood quantum – Cleanliness of blood – Apartheid – Ethnocracy – Gender roles – Gerontocracy – Ghetto benches – Internment – Jewish quota – Jim crow laws – MSM blood donor controversy – Numerus clausus (as religion or racial quoto) – Nuremburg laws – racial quota – redlining – same-sex marriage (laws and issues prohibiting) – Sodomy law – Ugly law

After typing all of that out, I now question why I even bothered…


Not The Tough Guy At All

It’s 5am and the only thing that is usually on my mind, at this time, are the fears of the sandman’s flecks running out. But for a change, my eyes are wide open, the only thing that makes sense is for me to graft and burn the rest of what remains of the midnight oil.

A soccer match ago… the perimeter alarm went off in the office. Tonight, I had my first real life Johannesburg crime experience. I am now fortunately one of those people who can sigh with a hesitant sense of relief, that they are still here to tell the tale. The effects of that kind of violation are now so much more palpable.

I have often made excuses for people who cross that coarse line that society has drawn.  It is natural to be empathetic; in my mind I always imagine the hardships a person may have to endure, in order for scaling a 2m wall to seem like a viable option.

I remember the last time that I felt this way. Adrenaline pumping furiously through my veins, heart stuck in my throat. That feeling stayed with me for a very brief period and was due to the daunting view of the ground below… 100m below, from the edge of the Orlando Tower bungee swing.

This time around, that feeling has overwhelmed me and lingers, still, hours after the event. It no longer feels like an espresso shot that gives you a jolt back to life. It offers no reassurance to the limitless potential that life’s many ebbs and flows may hold. Nor does it serve as reminder that terra firma is the regular terrain for us Homo sapiens.

If anything the only place that would make me feel safe is 100m in the sky. Where, from that vantage point I would hopefully see them coming next time. Or at least have them think 3… 4… or 5 times before they decide to venture towards me.

The next time is exactly what has left this cold grip over me. Even after the police had left and the property secure. There was no sense of safety anymore. I do not want to be alone for one second in this place. My senses are heightened and every scratch draws a subtle prick from my ear and swift swivel of my neck.

So here I sit, trying rather vainly trying to sift through my emotions, and get a grip. But the only grip that would make me feel more comfortable has metal trimmings. It also comes with a clip full of metal piercers filled with gunpowder.

Today is the last I time I ever question a person who owns a handgun of any kind and uses it to protect themselves. Nobody should ever have to feel this way. Nor should my home be a viable option for a person’s next meal.

This is not Ayoba!

Fabulous Women of the Screen… Who Made Me, Me!

The fabulous women of the screen who made me who I am

I grew up in front of the television and for the longest time that influenced the way I saw the world. An influence that can be traced back all the way to my early years at Christian Brothers College – Mount Edmund.  Not surprisingly when the boys gathered around the quad during break time in primary school to tell the tales of what happened on TV the night before. All my stories focused on TJ Hooker and the blonde beauties from Dynasty. This in hindsight didn’t help in fitting in well with the cool kids…so a word of caution.

So at this point in my life, having been exposed to higher education and more afro-centric television programming. I would like to take this opportunity to send a shout and a Holla back to all the ladies of the screen that saved me from a possible lifetime of jungle fever. Nothing against the disorder but striking out with a white girl almost all the time seemed to hurt a bit more, cos I figured they never got past the shade of my skin ( incidentally I would later find out that my acne prone complexion was a turn off across all colour lines).

Anyway back to the matter at hand. My first saving grace came after I saw Clueless for the first time, and no it wasn’t in 1999. At this stage of my adolescence California blondes were the only thing on my mind Pamela Anderson, Carmen Electra and Portia de Rossi. I kid you not, these names were not Googled, but they are forever etched into my psyche. Anyway, the only reason for watching the movie was to get a glimpse of Alicia Silverstone in all her glory. I had no clue at the time that watching this movie would irrecoverably change my life forever. The dawning of my love for sisters of a different hue… Stacey Dash!

It didn’t matter at the time that the mere mention of a chick flick would transform the faces of my peers into five-year old being exposed to broccoli. No chick flicks were ever to be mentioned in those surroundings lest you be permanently confined to the moniker of fruit basket…

Even my white friends steered clear of me as soon as mouth began sounding out the word clue…

It become apparent to me then that I would never be able to share the joy that this chocolate brownie had awakened within me.

And yet this did not deter me in any way whatsoever, due partly to my youthful exuberance and my pubescent curiosity being piqued. I decided to find out more having finally had my eyes opened to the deliciousness of chocolate. I inevitably began to notice a new world transmogrify along the one I had so hopelessly been wandering in.

Jada, Halle, Vivica suddenly I was entombed in the bosom of blackberries, and the juice was truly sweet. On the big screen or late night on the small screen I loved it, every fantastic moment.

Black beauties of celluloid you saved my life, or at least you opened me up to everything that I was missing. The women in my life don’t have platinum blonde hair that grows naturally out of their scalp, and don’t don figure hugging red swimsuits while sauntering in slow motion across scorching California beach sand, barefoot.

Today they come with weaves, dreadlocks, chiskops and s-curls. Pierced noses and tattoos scrawled all over their glistening backsides and an unnerving appetite for shoes that borders on the insane. But the beauty and strength I see in their eyes ignites the fire in my loins.

So in this month of Love I would like to wholeheartedly salute the beauty of all women. Without you… hell I don’t even want to consider the thought.