An ASBO for Bob?

I felt almost at home last week Wednesday; the sky was blue, I’d heard my daily dose of Afrikaans from a fellow commuter and Robert Mugabe was making headline news. In fact, it was rather surreal, and strangely satisfying, to have Bob’s mug on the front page of two consecutive editions of The Guardian just a few days earlier.

I guess it was comforting because after years of turning one of Africa’s most beautiful countries into a veritable graveyard of parched land and soul-destroyed people, it looks like there may be a tiny glimmer of light at the end of the Zim tunnel. Certainly it would appear that the silent observers around the world, and in Africa, have finally found some form of voice. True, the fat lady has not yet belted a tune and it will take more than just nudging for Mugabe and his cronies to take serious notice just yet, but if I were him, I think perhaps I would have started sweating just enough to risk ruining one of many Armani suits.

The other story - or theme, rather – that has dominated news of late is that of the various stabbings that have been taking place over London. Part of me feels sad but a bigger part of me is absolutely disgusted that these crimes, the senseless and preventable crimes that they are, are being committed by and on, young kids and teenagers. Crime in South Africa may be bad, but never in my life have I felt so angry and amazed as I do about youth crime in Britain. And the question that I continue to ask myself is; where are the parents when all this is happening? I should, I suppose, point out the obvious and acknowledge that no, I am not a parent and so cannot talk from any position of authority on the subject, but blimey, even I have enough common sense to know that young kids should not be allowed to roam the streets at 1am. Not, you understand, that late night wandering is the cause of crime, but it is indicative of the lack of parental – and social – authority, discipline and care, that goes hand in hand with this and other youth-related problems.I believe in human rights as much as the next person but I also know that there is such a thing as having too much freedom.

In response to some of the recent crimes, I heard a youth worker – himself a relatively young man – echo my views to BBC 1 on what is needed to tackle youth crime. It is not greater access to social support services, it is not rehabilitation programmes and counselling and it is not the application of the infamous ASBO; it is about a return to tough parenting. Children need guidance, discipline and boundaries and by taking the decision to become a parent – and yes, this is, by virtue of decisions around sex, an active decision - parents are accepting the responsibility of taking care of their child’s needs. Children like to push boundaries, and as growing, inquisitive beings this is acceptable. What is not acceptable, however, is allowing boundaries to be pushed over so that neither these, nor reasonable consequences, exist. Kids in the UK are allowed by society, their parents and the government to get away, quite literally, with murder because the powers that be have forgotten how to care appropriately.

The problem is not just that more and more kids are getting involved in gangs and crime, but that they take for granted the privileges that life in a first world country entails. So often I have wanted to take a few of these kids to Africa, show them just to what lengths children there will go to, to get access to education, to just one pair of shiny new shoes – that fit – and to a home with a tap.

Mugabe likes to blame everything on Britain and it is safe to say that he would quite happily lead Tony Blair to the gallows. Perhaps we can find a solution to help both parties. Maybe Tony should offer Zimbabwe a little prezzie; let’s send a gift pack of offending teen criminals to Zim - to open their eyes to real hardship – and perhaps in return one of them may be able to get close enough to Bob to do some damage with their choice of not-so-kiddie weapon. If all goes well and to my ideals, the reformed kids will return to the UK to spread the word of appreciation, respect and good fortune and Zim will find itself under good new leadership after its terrorised leader is forced to go into hiding in some dark corner. Ah, one can always dream…

Email Jen on vanity@southafrican.co.uk

SAMA sensation!

Not for the first time do I find I am grinning rather insanely to myself and feeling much like I imagine a proud parent would do watching a child collect a certificate at school. But this is so much bigger than school. This is the SAMAS (South African Music Awards) and though I am no parent, I am just so so so so so unbelievably proud of my brilliant friend Jon and his merry band of musicians, Cassette, who this evening were nominated for not 1, not 2 but 3 SAMA awards!!! This, he told me in a slightly tipsy phonecall from the glittering announcement ceremony in Fourways, is second only to the legendary Vusi Mahlasela who received 5 nominations! AND, the thing that has got all the journalists in a right old tizz is that this is the first time in 8 years that a white rock band has been nominated for Best Group/Duo!! Their other nominations are for Best Rock Album and also Best Pop Album. What makes all of this even more fabulous is that all the other nominees have been in the business for a number of years and are well established artists. But wait for it, this is just the start of Cassette rocking the veritable boat - and house!

Now, I insist you go directly to www.playcassette.com and then go out and buy their album Welcome Back to Earth!

I'm still here!

Oops. I have been neglecting this blog, haven't I. Oops, again. The good news though is that I'm a tad more diligent about my fortnightly columns for the South African, if you missed the last one, here it is below. For more, visit The South African

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T’was a wise person indeed who said that the only certainty in life is change. Possibly even the same sage soul who noted that the more things change, the more they stay the same!!

A little over a week ago, on a ticket destined for the non-existent ‘Jan Smuts’ airport, I touched down at Johannesburg International. In a few days time, however, I will fly out of the re-baptised O.R Tambo Airport. From that hub of travel, we drove towards Pretoria, stopping only to show a passport at the boerewors curtain border, which is when I noted that there is now a designated car-pool lane on the Ben Schoeman Highway – ja well no fine. What’s more, soon, thanks to a government re-capitalisation programme, ‘skoro-skoro’ taxis will (supposedly) be on their way out. Change of a grimmer kind came in the form of headline news a few days later telling of the death of the enigmatic Lebo Mathosa in a car accident, followed swiftly by ex Mr Lotto, Humphrey Khosa – also in a car accident. And today, in a slightly surprising gesture, President Mbeki was flying flags at half mast to mark the passing of Die Groot Krokodil, PW Botha. These are just the most notable changes to have happened during the course of the short week or so that I’ve been here – jeez, hope it wasn’t anything I said!

This being my first trip back to South Africa since I moving to Londonium some 13 months ago, I cannot help but notice that many other changes appear to have taken place. I have always prided myself on being fiercely patriotic and of an exceptionally positive outlook – and I choose to surround myself with people who share my views. It is for this reason that I must admit to being thrown a little off-balance at the moment as I see some of that positive spirit ebbing unwillingly and cautiously from people whom I know to be amongst our country’s staunchest supporters. Could it be that the honeymoon period that started 12 years ago is now really and truly over? Is this what real life feels like? And most importantly; what now? I feel perhaps that we are poised on the edge of a precipice of change – and, dare I even think it, it could go either way.

So, if we are teetering on this precipice, is it not within our rights now to ask when real positive changes will come to fruition? I WOULD like to know when crime will cease to be an issue. I WOULD like to know when poverty is set to disappear and when education, HIV Aids and corruption are due to come under control. I feel sure these are the changes that all of us, united in nationality would like to see.

An ex-colleague of mine, a foreigner, once noted that South Africans are South Africans above all else. I agree. I know it when I laugh as the radio DJ describes mannequins as “models that work for free”, when the car guard tells me my car is still safe on six wheels (four to drive on, one steering wheel and one spare!) and when the kids on the game-viewing vehicle in front of me bare their teethy joy when they see an elephant and wave at us, absolute strangers, with the exuberance of puppies as we drive past. This is my Africa, these are my people! I’ve been gulping in the familiar earthy smells and sounds of the bush these past few days, contemplating change in this most steadfast of environments, where time could stand still under a starry sky punctuated by the roar of lions and the call of birds. Out here, change seems inconsequential, but tomorrow, when I am once again in a city, I know that things will feel different.

Change must happen, this I realise, and though I am somewhat pensive at the moment, this is not to say that I or my peers have lost all that optimistic zeal, it’s just that reality is nudging in and in real life, as in business, things are expected to work. One of my best purchases this trip has been a piece of jewellery engraved with a quote from Madiba: “My country is rich in minerals and gems that lie beneath its soil, but I have always known that its greatest wealth is its people, finer and truer that the purest diamonds.” Like my countryfolk who wear their “I love Africa” T-shirts, I will wear this little trinket with particular pride. But I will wear it now also as a wish. As a hope that the people of the south will ensure that the future of our phenomenal country IS good, IS safe, IS sure.

Madonna and child

So is it a publicity stunt gone somewhat awry or a genuine attempt to do something good? I'm not sure, but Madonna and Guy Ritchie's pending adoption of little David Banda from Malawi certainly has given rise to distinct 'for' and 'against' camps. At present, I must admit I am leaning towards the 'against' group, for various reasons. Amongst them is the fact that so many children, perhaps not as cute, or as visible as David are continuously overlooked by foreign adoptors. Read this and let me know what you think. I, in the meantime, will attempt to put my stance into words.
Oh and PS, mark my words; the couple haven't heard the last from the child's biological father.

Naked acoustics

Last night I joined a pride of South Africans in Putney to watch Arno Carstens and Theo Crous sing us happy at the Half Moon. I stole the set list for my friend Andi and made small talk with Arno as we got it signed (Thanks, Jon and Toast, you're my permanent link to all musos in South Africa so I use your names in vain!) The event was, of course, sponsored by The South African so I had my column read back to me by my kick in the side, Nik. How odd. Of course, if you'd like to read this week's column, click here.

What would the world look like...

...if there were no words?

What would our minds feel like, if there were no
.advertising on the station walls
..graffiti on the postbox
...instructions on our take away coffee cups
....newsprint on our Metros
.....rules on our plane tickets
......calorie counts on our chocolate bars
.......missing people on our tree trunks
........promotions on our matches.

Who's shoulder would we read over on the tube?
Where would we look?
Who would we see?
What would we like?
How would we be?

Stages of life

Sometimes I feel like my life is one long music video. I sit inside myself and watch the world float by in musical waves. Sometimes the images are fuzzy, but always the flow is ongoing. And when there is real live music involved, well, the whole effect just somersaults! Like tonight. Sometimes, you see, it is good to go out on a school night because there is opportunity for learning. And if not learning, then at least remembering. Tonight, scuttled under a green and slouched on a couch I watched a stream of romantics strum their hearts on a little wooden platform. And I remembered that despite the various pretexts we put out there, all we really are is emotional beings trying desperately to read the map and plot the right path. And yes, sometimes the lyrics were trite while at other times one sat enthralled, drawn in by the presence of a gentle soul speaking truths - even if they were his truths only. But whether trite or truth, I have to admire these people for doing what I feel would be a very vulnerable exercise; sharing musings on life. And for a few minutes these people found their way into my life and sometimes, the power of a stage and a red light seemed strong enough to wrap us up in a momentary love-affair. And the pictures! The shadow of a mic moved as a bow across the heart of a gentle hat-wearing guitarist, turning the huckleberry finn himself into an instrument. And by his side, a glass of water on a once-velvet chair, seemed to me more art than article.

Yes, it was good to hear lyrics again. To have pace slowed down and lights turned low. Good to hear, to see and to be reminded.