In the days of Kwaito

Amapantsula and the art of isipantsula have always been a moral blur ekasi and an emotional engima to the eyes that hover from the outside looking into our coexisting cultures, conflicts and ambitions.

From unruly kids to degenerate adults who refused the sophistication of grown-up life, we watched them dance. We tried to emulate (failing at every step) their moves and adopt their truths as our own. We bought their style and attended the volatile street corner and shabby shebeen lectures just to learn the language, isicamtho, if nothing else.

Deciphering the dialect ensured us access to the ballrooms, the dusty street corners and unkempt community halls where we’d offer up our safety as collateral for being entertained.

Amapantsula. The kasi contortionists. Abokleva abangena report because amaphepha ayabambisa. Izinja zegame. Oobra Jack namajimbos of all the necessary trades, ezinye ezey’bhari. AboBallerina beAll-Star neDickies.

We salute you.

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