The ‘Bling’ Of South Africa

This was a blog I wrote at the time of Khanyi Mbau’s interview with Debora Patta, but never posted. With this debate, again, coming to the fore after the publication of this picture on the front page of The Times yesterday, I figured now is as good a time as ever to post it.

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I can’t think of a single interview of Khanyi Mbau’s that doesn’t immediately spark off a slew of controversy and her recent turn with Debora Patta on 3rd Degree was no different. There more quotes there to achieve exactly what it was the indefatigable Ms Mbau wanted; to get her those headlines - for those who missed it, “blue cheese on a croissant,” is the 21st South African answer to Marie Antoinette’s cake.

Whilst of course, the interview was interesting in and of itself just because Khanyi Mbau, as much as it pains me to admit it, is fascinating as a character, if not so much as a person, there was a far deeper undertone to the interview. As 3rd Degree framed it, the programme was a look at the ‘bling lifestyle,’ of some of the South African elite. Though this is nothing new to the gossip pages, it burst into the wider public psyche after the Kenny Kunene’s equally famous and infamous 40th birthday party, particularly after Zwelinzima Vavi’s scathing attack on it and Kenny’s just as scathing open letter to Vavi.

From this a vociferous, yet important debate on where we, as a culture are going, and who we are erupted. To many, as shown by Vavi and his many supporters, Kenny, Khanyi and their ilk are a living, breathing, blinging representations of the pervesion of the South African democracy. Even I’m so tempted to say, that any sensible person would agree, amongst which I would number myself. However, I can’t.

Who Are We
The government oft repeats, these are foreign and alien notions to South Africa and yes; a South Africa where a small minority live a life of wealth and overt opulence, whilst the far larger majority lived a life of squalid poverty is not the status quo our constitution sought to engender.

However, the very system we chose to live by, the very system our constitution enshrines is a system in which the Khanyi’s and the Kenny’s flourish. However it may manifest, be it the football players and their WAGs of Europe or the starlets and rappers of Hollywood, where there is liberal democracy, our constitutional system, the ugliness of conspicuous consumption rears its head.

For me the irony of the whole issue was best illustrated on Twitter whilst the show was airing and the majority of South African Twitter users were watching and tweeting about the show, an American asked me what the big fuss in South Africa was about.

After I explained to him, his answer said it all, “Welcome to the United States.”

Is It Because They’re Black?
Thankfully, as the first salvo in this debate was shot off by a black man we can somewhat dodge the South African version of Alice’s rabbit hole, the race debate and though I hate to mention it, I would be remiss not to.

Why now, why when Kenny Kunene, a black man, is the one who is splurging his wealth about does the outcry arise? For years, both pre and post Apartheid, through the columns of Gwen Gill we were privy to the conspicuous consumption, often thinly veiled as charity functions, of white South Africans. One may do it ‘for charity,’ and the other may just do it, but be it Edith Venter or Khanyi Mbau, it’s all inconspicuously or not, conspicuous consumption.

Where Are The Parents?
Often these days where the Oprah’s and Dr Phil’s of this world explain our issues of why we are the way we are, we forget one simple thing, personal responsibility. Therefore, when Kenny, Khanyi and their supporters say, “Where are the parents, it’s not for us to be role models,” they are correct, but only to a degree.

The power is of the media and popular culture is pervasive, this we all know. Thus regardless how well a parent may raise their child, unless they raise their child locked in away from anyone and everything, not all aspects of who that child becomes is up to them. It takes a village to raise a child; sadly with the power the media holds in 21st century living, try as we may, we can’t choose who the villagers are.

When I was in university, I got heavily involved in a mentoring programme giving extra Maths and English classes to underprivileged kids. One day, talking to one of my kids, he pointed to my Puma backpack, my iPod and the clothes I was wearing. To me, these items didn’t mean anything, to Kenny Kunene even less, but to him, at 9yrs old, they represented an ideal of what he wanted to achieve, where to be one day in life.

In South Africa, where poverty is something that we face daily; be it saying goodbye to your maid at the end of the day knowing that she has a long trek to make back home, whilst you sip on your chilled chardonnay, or passing spare change to the beggar out in the hot sun whilst fiddling with the air-conditioning of your car, we all ‘spit in the face of the poor,’ as Vavi said of Kenny’s birthday. Granted, it’s at varying degrees, but just by living your average middle class lifestyle, it’s what we do. Perhaps the plain reason why Kenny Kunene, Khanyi Mbau and the others of the ‘bling culture,’ offend and anger us so is because what they do is a reflection of who we are, a grossly magnified reflection of course, but a reflection nonetheless.

I'm Not A Bitch, I Just Don't Like You

A while back, a friend’s birthday party turned into an impromptu reunion as many old friends from varsity found ourselves congregated. As these things go, we got to reminiscing about the good old days, before that quasi-adulthood, being a student, came to an end.

As we spoke, I’d be playing it down to say, I was taken aback when I realised the image that some - meaning all - of my friends had of me was vastly different to how I perceived myself.

Personally, I’ve seen myself as a mildly funny but generally nice guy, however to my friends that’s not who I am. As one magnanimously put it, I’m “mean,” or as another stated bluntly, “a bitch.” I would’ve pouted and flounced about as only a real man can had they not started reminding me of moments where perhaps some credence was lent to their point.

Of the many so-called facts my so-called friends listed about me to support their lie, the most damnable was that I hate fat people.

Whilst it’s true, many people do hate fat people and I have at times had my less than diplomatic moments on the topic, I don’t get why anybody would hate somebody for being fat. That’s ridiculous, stupid and frankly; prejudicial. Furthermore, if I’m to be accused of this, let’s be specific. It’s the morbidly obese rather than the fat I take umbrage to. And more so, what really irks me how (some) try to fob off their personal responsibility in the matter, arguing that obesity is a disease or some such claptrap.

For despite what Empress Oprah the Magnificent may say; that’s rubbish. A disease, obesity is not. People who suffer from real diseases have for the most part not done anything to deserve them. Obesity, however, is a problem that can be easily handled; eat less or exercise more, or even better yet, do both, and before you say, “but I have a thyroid problem,” know that I hear, “unluckily you have to eat even less or exercise even more.”

I once saw a woman who despite the pleas of the flight attendant refused to sit in her seat because as she shouted, “you make them too small!” In my opinion, that flight attendant should’ve taken JetBlue flight attendant, Steven Slater’s, master-class on how to deal with passengers, thus I have no pity when the grossly obese are forced to pay for an extra seat. Despite what the NAAFA (the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance, yes it’s real and obviously it’s American) says, it’s not discrimination when airlines do this, it’s to ensure the comfort and yes, the safety even, of all passengers.

I will admit, in my fervour for this topic, I may have sometimes crossed the line with some slightly off colour jokes and comments, But for what reason do we have and cherish the freedom of speech if not to insult and make cheap jokes at the expense of others?

But before we get on our respective high horses, let’s for a moment consider what it is that’s so horrible here? Is it perhaps that some people are offended?

Fact is, just about anything and particularly any joke is certain to offend somebody, however, I’d rather live in a society where I have that freedom rather than the politically correct, but lobotomised horror the PC Brigade is leading us to. The comedian Steve Hughes sums it up best when he says; “When did sticks and stones stop being relevant? Isn’t that what you teach children for God’s sakes? You’re offended? You’re an adult! Grow up! Deal with it!”

On yet another moment, where I essentially was being taken to task, I came to realise that perhaps the issue is the irreverence shown?

As I was told, “within every joke is a bit of truth.” This isn’t a charge I deny. Regardless how flippant whatever I say is, there is an element of what I believe to it. In the case of fat jokes; I’m not comfortable with obesity, I don’t like it, but ultimately I’m joking and nothing more. To that, he replied, “words have power.” Seeing that we were playing a game of parrying clichés, I replied in kind, “life’s too short to always be serious.”

But back to my friend – and I do regard him as one - When he called me a bitch, though he didn’t say it maliciously, it remained stuck in my mind, keeping me tossing and turning through the night as I wondered about his comment. After much thought though, I know I’m not.

Yes, some things are too serious to be funny… But only until that line is said that makes them funny. I may not like something or even you… But I most certainly am not a bitch.

Put Your Back Into It...

I do not know why or when this happened, but to me, it seems that in the last decade or so, the etiquette of hugging has changed a lot. Perhaps it is my discomfort with hugging that has changed my memories but I near on certain things were not this way. Far as I remember, coming to a point where you hugged someone was a marker that your friendship had graduated to a new level and at such a point, where you have developed something of a relationship with someone, I have absolutely no issue with hugs. However, to me, it seems that nowadays, hugging is part of the normal social discourse and is expected from the outset. At times, it almost seems if you do not hug, you are to be looked at with an element of distrust, for you must be some sort of misanthrope destined to be the next Oklahoma bomber.

Being someone who hangs out with a fair number of ‘liberal types,’ an old friend of mine used to sneer, I run into more than my fair share of huggers. When engulfed in a warm embrace from someone whom you would have been more than happy to have given a mere handshake a lot of thoughts can run through your mind, sometimes, particularly when hugged by the creative, artistic type, the thought comes straight from my nose to my brain. But more often than not, the thought is one of, how did I end up in this situation, how is it that this person I don’t know, is holding me, clutching me, overpowering me with themselves?

As such, whilst there is not much I’m certain on when it comes to that great question, ‘who am I,’ this much I am certain of; despite all indications to the otherwise, I am a reserved person. BFF1 and BFF2 would attest to this, having had to poke, prod and prick until I revealed the most basic of details about myself. Thanks to them, and a few years of life experience, despite it being who I am, I have somewhat learnt how to navigate life without entirely coming off as an utter social dilettante. Living in an Oprah-fied world, where talking about feelings, expressing yourself, and finding “Eat, Pray, Love,” to be the greatest film of all time, and a book you swear to one day read, it is not easy being someone such as myself, someone who enjoys other people, but not too much of them.

Fighting off the last remnants of a hangover, lying on a bed, BFF3 next to me, when this guy walked in, I was certain I was to be spared a hug. Yes, I may have been fully dressed, yes, he may have known BFF3, but the facts remained; He was a stranger, I was in a bed, and failing that, BFF3 next to me would certainly act as a buffer in ensuring no hug was deployed my way. As he said his goodbyes, all of 20mins after I had met him, he threw hugs his hugs around the room, then came to BFF3 and hugged her, I breathed a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that there was no way that he would even try with me.

As he practically climbed over BFF3, lay atop of me and enveloped me with his arms saying, ‘put your back into it,’ much of what’s written here ran through my mind, was this what life was to be like forever? Even with the barrier of another human being, the awkward position of being on a bed, was a handshake, a goodbye wave not okay, was the hug still to be forced upon me, was it too much ask just to be left alone?