Mondy my nigga!
I am listening here to Zim’s “Usizi Emnqamlezweni”, making plans for the Easter Weekend, and I am hit by this beauty of a man!
Y’know; the one thing that got me about the movie Kalushi is the banality of it all – especially the time they spent in the refugee camp. Life just went on; people shat, fought and fell in love (Mahlangu and his crew fell for an orphan they christened Coca Cola).
The people too – banal repugnant human beings. Mondy especially is classically stupid. Him referring to people of Mozambique as makwerekwere while in Mozambique took the cake – at no point did it dawn on him that he was lekwerekwere. But he loved Solly – he died for him; notwithstanding that he put them in that hairy situation to begin with.
In fact that little detail doesn’t matter; when he walked into that room and started shooting – demanding Solly’s whereabouts – twas self defense. It was not random stupid violence; the three centuries of murder and plunder that forced these young boys into a military camp in far away lands is what secured the comfort of those men to have a tea break. Apartheid had no civilians.
So I cannot stand in judgement of Mondy, he was very much justified to pop a cap in their tea-sipping asses. But eish his fervor, his passion, his lack of tact! These are the pitfalls we miserable useless nobodies should take note of.
Because if there is one thing that Kalushi teaches us is that revolutions are not made by Rambo-like heroes (I got the sense that the philistines who found Kalushi “boring” (as if it was meant to be Wololo) were looking for some sterring nonsense). The revolution (even our half-baked one) is made by weak ass useless nobodies; you needn’t be a hero nor a god.
Which brings me back to Zim’s hymn, and Easter, and my other good friend Jesus: I have always been obsessed with the idea of humanizing Jesus (Mandla Dube has achieved with Kalushi), of stripping him bare of his divinity. I want to take away all the miracles, and rise from death.
I like the Jesus praying at Gethsemane. I find hope in the suffering Jesus on the cross; especially when he’s throwing shade that other kids will get what’s coming to them and when pulling uTatakho on God.
This Jesus is a human Jesus, human like me. No special extra-terrestrial powers. I am at no disadvantage to follow him, emulate him – as opposed to worshiping him (I hold that worship is the highest form of disrespect). I too can then be a good person – ke be motho lokileng – love my people as much as I love myself. Like Solomon loved us. Like Mondy loved him.
The two people I know who have the answers to all life’s questions, when I brought up the subject of Mondy (I promise you we were not gossiping!), they of course had iets to say.
Fanon warned us of him thusly:
“I do not trust fervor. Every time it has burst out somewhere, it has brought fire, famine, misery. . . . And contempt for man. Fervor is the weapon of choice of the impotent.”
Kundera, echoing Solly’s own assessment of his dear friend, has this to say when faced with his infectious smile and Pitori swag:
“Too much faith is the worst ally. When you believe in something literally, through your faith you’ll turn it into something absurd. One who is a genuine adherent, if you like, of some political outlook, never takes its sophistries seriously, but only its practical aims, which are concealed beneath these sophistries. Political rhetoric and sophistries do not exist, after all, in order that they be believed; rather, they have to serve as a common and agreed upon alibi. Foolish people who take them in earnest sooner or later discover inconsistencies in them, begin to protest, and finish finally and infamously as heretics and apostates. No, too much faith never brings anything good…”