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Kgebetli Moele

@ Sunday Times Books LIVE

Blames and Thoughts; 009/14

There I was; with my girlfriend and my long-time friend. My girlfriend caught in the middle of the National Arts Festival, the first National Arts Festival that she is enjoying her pocket bearing the costs. My friend caught up in the middle of the soccer World Cup as if it is the end of the game, there will never be another World Cup while I was planning on delving deeper into a poetry book.

Each is equally excited about what it is that is that they had their mind to do. In my hand is Mafika Gwala’s Jol’iinkomo. The book is out of print but this one in my hands is still fresh, new. It is not a reprint, the book is out of print and for that reason this copy that I have doesn’t have a barcode. It is an orgasmic moment for a lover of words and I cannot wait to delve deeper.

My girlfriend has her own programme of the National Arts Festival events that she has to see, she already has the tickets, bought way in advance.

For my friend Brazil and Germany are going head to head and he seeing that he cannot wait for the start-up whistle between the three, I am caught.

“This is the game that decides the World Cup 2014, you cannot afford to miss it, this is the final, the cup stays in South America or to Europe, today.”

“Baby, the national arts comes once a year, you see and enjoy art and the artists. And who cares about soccer, just a bunch of men running after a ball like toddlers in a nursery.”

“You are talking about people who are lazy to work, then they call themselves artists. It is soccer?” He looks at me with his big eyes, “let what time and fate brought together, let no woman take apart?”

“A man will leave his mother and even his friends and go with his woman because they are one rib. And what is soccer anyway.”

He points at her, “you are a girlfriend, you are not married, yet.”

“Why don’t you find your own girlfriend?”

“I don’t want to be entered into the Book of the Dead.”

“Why don’t you go alone?”

“We have been friends long before you came along.” He looks at me in the eyes, “let what time and fate brought together, let no woman take apart?”

In the end of our day Mafika Gwala whispers in my ears the voice seen by the eyes:

    There’ll always be those
who’ll want me to act
after their accepted fashion;
those who’ll expect me to pull a smile
just to please their vanities
those who’ll wish I should agree
with their clawed existence
those who’ll say I’m not polite
jes because their grabby ways
ain’t gonna be my stays,
and their swags don’t fool me.

I stayed home with Mafika Gwala, and the show turned out to be boring that she walked out, and Brazil lost that he forced himself to sleep even before half time was over. Don’t blame me this time, please. I did nothing wrong.


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