Old Takkies Indaba

Looking back at the absurdities of pre-1994 South Africa one can almost admire the amazing thoroughness of Apartheid social engineering. Virtually walled suburbs or towns… multiple entrances and exits to public places… even separate bridges!!! Not to mention the issue of alcohol! Never…. NEVER were white and other permutations to share a drink. What? And rot our pure culture by having black alcohol fumes mingled with white? Fuck me! And we were so thick, that the bulk of us couldn’t see the greater evil lurking behind the iJuba serving beerhall.

So does anyone remember iJuba? Our white masters decreed that it was unacceptable to provide alcohol to black people. Presumably the idea was that drink affected black people negatively, while a drunk whitey could still shoot straight. I don’t know. But anyway, so one was not allowed to offer one’s darker mates alcohol. But in their wisdom, the masters also had the welfare of the dark community at heart, Yes they did. Believe it! So the state sponsored the development of this vile stuff called iJuba – aka “kafferbeer” (this was the term, so please don’t crap on me for the k-word), which supposedly had a lower alcohol content than whitey beer like Black Label – and we won’t go into the ramifications of the t-shirt fiasco here – and also sported various essential nutrients, as it was at least recognised that circumstances forced virtual starvation on millions. The way to solve this was to lace alcohol with proteins. Very intelligent, but that was the way. And of course, one was not allowed to drink the stuff sommer anywhere. No No. Had to be in municipal or state beerhalls. Weird weird weird. But we whiteys actually bought it. For a long time.

But for me, the pettiness of it all (way beyond the tragedy of the sick situation) was brought home every time our band went to perform. Not having a car at the time, we used trains. And Basil, the drummer, and Pete the bassplayer were “coloured”. So we would walk together from my house in Wynberg to the station. Then we would separate, and I would go to one end of the train while they went to the other. Then in town we would get out and meet again and go to the clubs together. That is, if we had been able to find a club that would allow bands with people of mixed races in the first place.

And every day now, I thank whatever powers might be up there that my children will not need a sense of absurdity as a basic requirement for sanity in our exquisite country, AND that they will never be forced to bear arms.