Sky At Dawn

Photographs: Paul Zisiwe

Is Skills Development in the Cultural Sector a Joke?

An Opinion

The issue of skills development in the cultural and creative sector is quite close to my heart. More so, when having had my tenure in a variety of learnerships and internships geared at up-skilling me for the job market which transforms with every new technological innovation that hits the shelves. As a filmmaker and writer who is also concerned about politics and science, I often remember how I once my dream was to become an astrophysicist. That dream was derailed by adolescent ambition spawned out of exposure to media that gratified glamour as opposed to hard labour, and sadly, the scientific fraternity might have been deprived of a young African Spherical Astronomy Physicist.

To return to the matter at hand, the skills set I selected during my higher education stages is now impacting direly on my objectives of becoming  an active member of the country’s economy, for it appears that this sector does not make money.

We commonly hear phrases like "creative economy," "creative class," and "cultural economy" when policy makers allude to this sector of the economy.

Economic developers, business and municipal leaders are using these terms of reference when gauging types of jobs and industries, including the sectors of visual, performing, and literary arts, as well as applied fields like architecture, graphic design, and marketing and the skills pool related to these sectors and their economic impact. But integration of the visions of the creative community and business leaders seems to be an aspect that is lacking, considering the disproportionate benefits gained through activities of the arts and culture sector in relation to the economic vitality of the practitioners of arts. The incessant debates about the value of art has ushered in what Tiffany Jenkins calls ‘the rise of a non-judgemental age in the arts world’, and the sentiments ploughed by this age means a great deal for the ‘valuation’ of arts in general. And by valuation, I am not implying a commodification of art or any cultural knowledge productions methods, but simply ask that art be economically valued and placed within the discourses of the knowledge economy.

In a country famous for its creative minds dying as paupers, I am now faced with questions of the measurability of my present art as a format of knowledge production which should be compensated within parameters of legislated standards. But are there such standards? And when the DAC proclaims my sector of practice as ‘The golden Economy’, does this mean monetary rewards are in sight for the inexhaustible works of authors, filmmakers, artists and craft practitioners who are the backbone of the cultural and creative industries?

There is now a noticeable boom of arts and culture businesses, ranging from Art galleries, dealers, auctioneers and independent cinemas, it would follow that a clear synergy arises between the corporate sector, theatre practitioners and other performers. Yet there hasn’t been a formal study to articulate the economic value of the arts business and their complementary roles and functions within the country’s gross domestic product. Drawing upon international literature, the sector is sometimes referred to as the “creative economy” which often has a greater emphasis on creative digital content. There can also be some debate as to the extent sports and recreation should be considered as part of the sector.  

But ultimately, the sector should be defined by using three broad dimensions of product, occupation and industries.

Undeniably, concentration of arts and culture employment seems to be around four cities and the proportion is skewed when compared to rural regions which could well constitute a small percentage of arts and culture employment.

When legislation ordained the creation of community art centres for instance, it never put forward impact analysis systems essential for monitoring the economic viability of the skills developed at such centres.

The sustainable functioning of such community arts centres depended on a clear vision of the state’s role in cultural and creative skills development, with coherent cultural policies at sub-national level, effective intergovernmental cooperation, an increased partnership between the state and corporate sector (art sales market), and the diversification of community arts services

At this point in our democracy we see graduates inundating community arts centres due to lack of formal employment in sector categories.

Art organizations and graduate practitioners are seeing opportunities for participation in artistic and cultural activities from a merely vocational and educational point of view, as opposed to income generation strategic approaches.

Why don’t therefore the arts pay?

Is cultural skills development a mere brain-drain where unemployed graduates (who have “the scares” scientific, medical and technical skills) find a second choice and refuge as opposed to facing destitution of unemployment?

Arts and Culture employment in South Africa seems distributed across the specific categories (digital media, film, art and theatre), and how this compares to the national distribution of arts and culture employment in these group requires a detailed industry specific break-down.

Robust growth has been witnessed for the past decade occurring in the Advertising Services, Design industry, Film and Video, and Performing Arts segments, but why are we not seeing formal employment which yields visible revenue for art practitioners?

After a decade it seems that few of the CAC’s objectives have been achieved. What was planned as a leading cultural redress and democratization exercise has largely fallen apart, while at the same time state control over funding undermined the sustainability of the corporate intervention in the arts and cultural centres which would monetise activities.

There is however, a growing gastronomical entrepreneurial energy brewing among entrepreneurs in their 20s and 30s (who often have a strong sense of community and creativity) to ideas of opening restaurants, bars, pubs, specialty shops, butcheries, coffee shops.

These businesses require and thrive on artistic aesthetic which in turn creates economic revenue. But can we say the artists are benefiting adequately? These venture are well and sundry only if they will exhibit tangible impact on the economic conditions of art practitioners, and this bring us back to the issue of ‘the value of art’ which is a fundamental topic for discourse on the dynamics of the ‘golden economy’.

Perhaps the issue speaks to a simple analogy where Brett Murray’s The Spear could well be worth R120 000 (whether before or after the defacing and considering that P-Diddy bought another artwork from the series at R150 000), or where crafts made by Venda women in a cultural village aren’t price-tagged at the range of beaded necklaces on David Tlale’s models.

And what are the standards and ways used by society to assess these various artworks? Does the work of an under-resourced, self-taught township artist lack the required ‘high art’ elements pertaining to decorative value which more often attach commercial worth to the piece?

I mean art preferences cannot simply reflect one’s social position. Or do they? Do they determine how society values art?

The valuation of art in present economics though undoubtedly based on class preferences cannot be discussed from this superficial vantage point by the art community, business and government – I think.

M. Christine Dwyer (senior vice president, RMC Research Corporation) produced research findings that surmised the urgency as fundament to “the recognition of a community's arts and culture assets (and the marketing of them) as an important element of economic development”.

She further alluded that “economic development is enhanced by concentrating creativity through both physical density and human capital. By locating firms, artists, and cultural facilities together, a multiplier effect can result”.

Planners can make deliberate connections between the arts and culture sector and other sectors, such as tourism and manufacturing, to improve economic outcomes by capitalizing on local assets.

She further concludes that ‘The economic development field has changed in the last decade from one that primarily emphasized location and firm-based approaches to one that more overtly acknowledges the development of human capital. Human capital refers to the sets of skills, knowledge, and value contributed by a population and has become a recognized asset as firms choose where to locate (and cities choose what to advertise and develop and whom to recruit) and entrepreneurs develop economic activity.’

SWEET SUMMER JUICE - Warona J S Seane

It was Summer

Hot and Filled with Sweet

The Orchards had Sweet/Red/ Peaches/Watermelons

Bursting with their Sweet Juice/

Ginger Ale was always available

With Sweet Pineapple chunks

Bursting with Sweet Pineapple-Ginger Juice

Everywhere the eye roved an abundance of Sweet Life covered/

The Sun insisted on displaying His glory/each/day

The excitement He experienced at the colours he saw

Causing him to burn hotter/brighter/filling

The expanse of Mountains looming from the Earth

After much play/seeing what shadows his light cast/

What faces he can make appear in the rocks on the edges of the Mountains

Even the Sun needed some rest/

His Sister/Moon would come/and together/

They would look down at the Sweet/Summer/below

Musing at the Monkey Mountain or the Lover’s Fountain/

Admiring the sculptures created by their friends/Wind/Water/and Time

Until the Sun was forced to admit his fatigue and the Moon was left alone

To shine on in wonder at the fires burning below/

As she saw bodies move around the fire/She/too/

Played at seeing where the shadows She cast chose to fall/

She would listen to the laughter/bits of a story/the cry of a baby/

Whose pleas for an extra peach/ or another glass of Ale had been thwarted/

She particularly loved one fire/

This one was/alive/even after the others had burnt out/

Here/the sounds you heard were hushed as though in fear/

Of speaking out of tune with the silent music of the night/

This is where the Secret Club/met

Only children allowed at this Club

Only children knew about this Club

Only they knew its stories/

By the crackling Fire/

With only his shadow/ the Moon/as witness

Koma started singing/

“Come one come all

come if you believe,

come if you don’t believe,

come and share the wealth of the joys of the day that has passed,

come, wake up for the slumber you are in does not serve you,

come and listen to the words I have been sent to share”

The girls and boys would awaken and head straight for the fire/ Weary eyed/ and bone weary/they would move themselves/ slowly/ or excitedly to the fire/ Some/ with their eyes still closed would walk following only the sound of Koma’s singing/ Slowly the glare of the fire would be dimmed by the bodies around it/It seemed as though/ even/ the crickets/ paused/ a while/ as everyone/ waited/ for Koma/ to begin/ There was a pregnant silence filled only with expectation and the sound of the crackling fire/

“My brothers and sisters”/ he began/

“There is a time to come/

A time when these gatherings of ours will end”/

This produced hushed sounds of anxiety/ excitement/ in the others/

 “My sisters/ brothers/ our fathers will have to leave

We too some day/ will have to leave/

The Earth is not as giving as She used to be/

Maybe/ we have taken too much/ without/ gratitude/

Whatever it is/ the time to go Under is fast/ aproaching”/

The Fire continued its Dance with the Wind

As Koma’s audience/ waited/ for more

“ Men will be as sheep/

Their movements determined

By a drawing on a piece of paper and a flat round bead the size of a small stone/

They will follow this drawing and its bead wherever they go/

It will make them go/ Under/

Here they will meet with the Force of the Earth/

They will cause the Earth to rumble/

The deeper they go the taller their homes will be/

Taller than the trees/

They will sit with the birds in the clouds/

The Earth will rumble”/

‘What will happen then Koma’/

The Moon thought to herself as She listened intently to the story

Trying not to burn any brighter as Her excitement/ anticipation grew

She had to remind Herself that She had just been reborn/ it will be some time before she is full again/

And so/ she waited

Koma put another log onto the fire

Repositioned himself on his log and continued

Some will see Flaming Woman

Haloed by Fire and Triumph

Hers will be the face they shall revere and wish for

With every pick they drive into the Earth

Upon the walls of the City her face will be reflected

Upon the reflection on the windows

Forming a prism of light

Shall lie their prayers at their safe-keeping

Some will see those who came before them

Clad with similar visions

Of the Deeper the Gold

And in the depths of the Earth

They will learn to listen/ to fear/ to live without those they love

They will learn that lungs can ache/ and the Earth can collapse into Herself

When she is tired of being used and Her riches stolen from her/

That will be the time they return/

But in their return/ They will learn of death

Of the sorrows of their loved ones

Left behind while they dug for Gold

The Gold they never bring as a gift back home/

It will be elusive and nobody would see it

Except at markets where the more valuable the drawing on the piece of paper is the more you can afford

When they return it shall be our duty/

Brothers/ Sisters/ to leave so their lungs stop aching so much/

We will leave for we also need to buy the soap that washes our backs/

The wind began to howl and blow as though possessed by itself/ The children sat around the fire in silence listening to the wind/ wondering at how brave it is to disturb the silent music of the night/ fearing that the wind might wake their parents/ they began dousing the fire to return to their beds/ The Moon sat up in the sky and retold the story to herself/ In order to dream of it when she was finally tired enough to go to sleep/ She knew that her brother/ Sun would love to hear this story and together they would watch to see whether the time of Under would approach/ In the still silence of the night/ Koma tucked himself into bed/ awaiting the next dream which he will turn into a full story the following night/ The morning came as it always did/ with the crowing of cocks and the chirping of birds/ The Sun was already out/ Sensing his sister’s  anticipation to share the events of the night/ or not wanting to miss more of this Sweet Summer He appeared in the skies sooner than the Moon was ready to depart/ They sat up there together for a long time before Moon decided to go to bed/ Down below/ fires were being kindled to boil water and to make breakfast before everyone started the day/ yards were being swept/ beds being made/ children bathed/ and at Koma’s home his father was getting ready for a long trip/

He deemed himself the Chosen One

He acknowledged his response-ability in all he did

When his family needed food he responded by finding some,

When his friend knocked on the door he was always able to open it

So when food became scarce and the ground stopped yielding

He responded by knocking on a friend’s door

The door opened with an offer of a long journey

And so on this day/ He was setting off to places he had never been

He was very excited to see the lights/ cars and all the strange things of the City

But he dared not show his excitement to his wife/

This would be like a dagger to her already grieving heart/

He put on his clothes and waited for everyone to sit in the courtyard/

Koma got himself out of bed/ rolled his mat away and put it against the far wall/ He walked outside and the glare of the Sun shocked him into full wakefulness/ This had never happened before/ He struggled to remember why he wanted to be awake so early until he saw his father sitting on the stoep/ with his bowl of porridge in his hand looking like he did when he was going to church/ He mumbled a greeting and sat down/ his mother brought over a bowl of warm water and sleepily he washed his hands/ What’s going on?/ He asked himself/

“Koma/ I am going to Gauteng today”/

Where’s that?/

“It is far away/ on the other side of the River/ apparently once you have crossed the River you have to travel six hours by bus before you get there”/

Do you know anybody there?/

I am going to look for work/ Koma/ Ralebitso and myself will go together/ so I will know someone when I get there”/

How long will you be gone for?/

“Until my next leave”/

When is that?/

“I don’t know/ Koma/ I don’t know”

We can come with you

“Families are not allowed on the compounds/ Koma”

Aren’t you going to miss us?/

His father did not respond this time/ he had lost his ability/

Koma/ stood up and went to help prepare his father’s pad-kos while his parents retired to their bedroom/ He could hear his mother sobbing and his father vowing to write and to come home with every leave/ Yes/ He will send money and they will no longer have to worry about their son’s school fees/ uniform/ books/ because he will be working in Gauteng/ His father urging his mother not to cry/ They walked out of the room/ Koma’s father with a bag on his shoulder and his wife behind him/

Koma/ who had always taken his dreams to be stories to recount/ began to realise that story he had told last night/ The dream he had had two nights ago/ had been about his father/ The Sun’s heat burned in the most unpleasant way as the realisation dawned on him/ He suddenly thought he could possibly warn his father about the Heat Under/ about how Earth will rumble and cave in on itself/ He started to speak but the look on his mother’s eyes stopped him/ He would have to tell his father in private/

Ntate/ I will carry your food for you/

They walked along/ Father with his bag hanging off his shoulder/ Son with plastic filled with ledombolo and chicken/ and the wife looking on in resignation/ accepting the enforced distance that will break her heart incessantly/ Not knowing  the dangers that are about to enter her world/ The months of solitude/the silence that will accompany her husband’s departure/ The women he will meet in the City/ The step-children she will never know/ The intimate itching she will feel every time he’s home/ She watched them disappear into the valley and carried on with her work/

Ntate/ write to ‘Me/ I will read the letters to her/

“That’s good to hear my son/ Take your school work very seriously so that one day you will not have to leave your family to find work”/

What do you know about Gauteng/ Ntate

Realising that his excitement will be good for his son he continued

“It is a big City with a lot of people from very far away places working there/ They have bright lights and cars everywhere and where I will be staying/ only the men who work there are allowed to stay there/ We get food there too/ So I will not be cooking for myself/ I will share a room with several men and so making friends will be easy/ They also have a night spot there where we can entertain ourselves on weekends/ So you see/ Koma/ I will be okay

They reached Ralebitso’s house and Ntate told Koma that he needs to go back home and get ready for school/ Koma made as though he was leaving and hid behind a tree while he watched his father/ Ralebitso/ and many other men from the village hop onto the back of a truck/ He waited for the truck to leave and was running behind the dust made by the truck until his legs could carry him no longer/ When he finally stopped and could not see the truck anymore/ he realised that he had been crying/ The dust from the truck had formed trails of dirt where his tears had ran/ He went home with very little enthusiasm for the day/ He did not even see the bright red locust chewing his way through a blade of grass/ The Sun looked down at the boy walking home alone and desolate and shone brighter in an effort to make him realise he was alone/ When got home his bath water was ready and he prepared himself for school/

On the way to school he met up with his friends/

Koma/ my father left morning

Mine too/

The story you told last night/ did you know that this was about to happen/

Koma/ how did you know/

The question flew around him like arrows missing his heart/ He looked up to the sky and for the first time that day realised that the sky was filling with clouds/ that as soon as they arrived at school broke into an angry rain that did not stop until late afternoon/

During the day-long storm /Sun/realising that he cannot win the battle for the skies waged by his friends Cloud and Wind/decided to follow the truck carrying Koma’s father/ Ralebitso and all the other men of the village/ to Gauteng. He consoled himself with the notion that that this defeat would reveal the validity of the little boy’s story and/at least/ this time he would be the one to entertain Moon/ with a great story of the day’s events/Sun tried to burn brighter to bring cheer to the men on the truck but all his efforts were met with curses of the heat he was emitting and the unbearable harshness of the strength of his rays and so/ defeated once more/ he relaxed his ardour/

As soon as the Sun cooled the men seemed to relax in the back of the truck and began to share stories of their expectations of the journey ahead/fantasies of a brighter existence/ brought about by earning money/ in the land of Gold/Little did they know that upon arrival they would be trained in unnatural heat/stronger and filled with more hatred/ than Sun’s earlier misinterpreted Love/that the memories of their homes will fade under the noise of the underground/sacrificed leaves/new found temporary appeasement of sexually overt city girls/who/ in fact/ are village girls/also enticed to the city by the promise of the deeper the gold/they would not want to return to their homes until the dust that cakes their bodies daily/is magically transformed to gold

At the back of that truck/the men saw themselves coming home glowing golden from the labour and sacrifice/children turning golden just from their touch and all the village emitting a golden light that would be felt by proud ancestors/watching over them/ and so this trip was not to be feared/ with it will come a golden age of plenty/blessed by the sweat of their brows/and a little sacrifice/

By this time the Sun/ jealous of all the time taken from him by the antics of his friends slowly made his way back to the village to show the children the golden age ahead/ There he found his friends slowly tiring of their battle and could shine a little light past them to see Koma’s house/ Koma’s mother was sitting out in the rain so that the overflowing tears could not be seen/ she was soaked to the bone/shivering/attempting to finish Koma’s new sleeping mat in the pouring rain/ occasionally she would gaze up to the skies like a wounded jackal that has lost all its cunning/

All this pain dimmed the Sun’s power until his warring friends realized what was happening/they implored Sun not to forget that this was his season/ he was responsible for colour/ extended brightness and abundance of Sweet/ They called a truce/and welcomed Sun back to the skies/As they left they met Moon on her way up and shared with her their concern for her brother/ Moon tried the shadow games/ Sun was not interested/ she tried to retell a story she once heard Nkhono tell/ but Sun was not moved.

Instead all he said was “I’m tired/The time of Under has arrived” and made his way to bed.

Afro Galactic Dream Factory

Afro Galactic Dream factory - Kaganof

An impression of the Afro Galactic Dream Factory Experience at Joule City - Cape Town, South Africa Shot and edited by Aryan Kaganof.

Student Debt in South Africa - Opinion

The Minister for Higher Education and Training, Dr Blade Nzimande was recently hosted for a discussion on the Morning Live - New Age Newspaper Breakfast. He generally postulated about positive strategic policy developments and propositions aimed at providing the economy with skilled professionals geared towards the growth expectations of our developing economy. Reforms in higher education, the pivotal role played by PSET and FET Colleges and other accredited institutions were lauded for their work.

While the speech presented empirical evidence of successes in the higher education sector, one glaring exception was clear – student loan debt. Policy interventions to curb the alarmingly growing student-loan debt which is crippling the younger generation of the local labour force seemed to not be a concern for the present policy makers of higher education development and reform.

The Department of Higher Education and Training receives a huge chunk of the country’s annual budget, together with the health sector among few notable ones.

And with the government having implemented a contingent student loan program (NSFAS), together with the private sector interventions like EDU Loan, much had been expected with regards to developing a new pool of skilled labour for the country growing need for expertise in various fields of business.

But the stranglehold of debt on newly employed graduates is being felt at all levels of development.

Experts say the official numbers don’t even capture the enormity of the problem and its future impact on the growth patterns of our GDP.

But research done by EDU Loan on the collective debt load upon shoulders former applicants has shown negative effects on credit illegibility of most young South Africans entering the job market.

An overall drop in consumer confidence by the banking system has left many in entangled in a web of red-tape, and underutilization of flexible repayment options such as income-based repayment by many young people has left them black-listed for durations they cannot comprehend nor contend.

Lenders of debt, auto loans and mortgages are adopting tighter credit-underwriting criteria in the aftermath of the global financial crisis. This has further denied credit to financially distressed borrowers because of their credit history, most of whom are new job seekers burdened by student-loan programs.

Question becomes, what are the effects of student loans which aren’t dischargeable in bankruptcy and are very hard to have waived on a hardship basis?

This must have a major impact on other parts of the economy.

Debt-laden graduates are barely able to cover their monthly student-loan payments, and this has meant delaying life-cycle events such as buying a car or house, getting married and having kids.

High unemployment rates have exacerbated the problem by keeping young workers’ debts unattended and thus left to accrue interest.

“Excessive student debt can slow the recovery of the housing market,” Consumer Protection Financial Bureau student-loan ombudsman Rohit Chopra wrote in a blog Young Invincibles post. “Student-loan borrowers are sending big payments every month to their loan servicers rather than becoming first-time homebuyers.”

Different global voices are expressing the outcry for debt alleviation, and a quick internet search produces headlines such as “Debunking the student loan crisis,” “Is the so-called student loan crisis one big exaggeration?”

With various reports stemming from groups such as Default: The Student Debt showing that families across the globe are simmering in debt, one is left to ask “Can Student debt be Cause of global Economic Crisis?”

And here at home, the issue is still to hit home. Or perhaps it has, because nearly 3 in 5 households are paying off student-loan debt.  A more disconcerting reality is that all groups and types of students do not carry the spiralling debt burden equally: Lower-income households, women, and students from previously underprivileged race groups are most affected by the mounting debt.

Even though is can argued that in South Africa, student debt is connected to the historical injustices of the education system, the question that needs immediate answers is: “How Bad Is It, in South Africa?”

Could this crisis be the precipice of another local economic crisis wrought with violent protestations against institutions of higher learning and debt-lenders?

It is speculated that historically disadvantaged institutions – the former black universities that often cater to the poorest – feel the burden harshly.

In their research paper titled Student loans: Liquidity constraint and higher education in South Africa, Adrien Lorenceau (Paris School of Economics) and Thomas Melonio surmised that “credit constraint seems a natural interpretation of such a situation. Higher education is costly; both in terms of direct and opportunity cost, and modest people may be unable to borrow against future income if credit markets are imperfect.”

And this is alarming when higher education has become a severe issue in this emerging country where University Enrolment is about 15%, a low figure at this level of its development. Limited access to credit, which seems a substantial reason for the situation, is strongly concentrated on the black and coloured population which is generally poor; therefore access to higher education is constrained by credit availability as loans are granted according to a credit score threshold.

Now, will the new strikers be comprised of disgruntled students of postsecondary education who were once disillusioned and concerned about economic and social stratification and now realise the lesser worth of the education they pay dearly for?

Could this situation be a consequence of deliberate policy shifts away from grants and toward loans as a tool for students financing their postsecondary education, which characterises National Student Financial Aid Schemes and their continued subservience to the local banking industry?

The constant laments about free-education were long discarded before secondary schooling curriculum was changed. Was this because the new curricula characterised a downsizing of educational costs implied by qualification requirements at tertiary level? When you don’t have students geared for science for instance, then it follows that their education would be relegated to mandatory faculties which cost lesser, but with student-loans still payable at standard interest.

The notion that education debt is “good debt” is now being put to the test as many students are incurring heavy debts for an education (art, ethnomusicology, theatre arts) that just isn’t worth it from a strictly financial viewpoint.

And as Mark Kantrowitz (FinAid.org) estimates, “collective global student debt compounded by rising tertiary enrolments, is growing by nearly $3,000 a second”, but the majority of the debt is accumulating because of an education that does not benefits society by creating a workforce that creates wealth and pays taxes.

And this observation is not to discourage development and growth in the creative and cultural sectors; which are indeed “The Golden economy” of the nation, but to solicit answers about the feasibility of emphasis on tertiary education sponsorships which only serve to imprison the bourgeoning workforce in autotomous debt accumulated through fiscally unsustainable degrees.

Several organizations are dealing with student debt in the U.S. — Allinthered.org, Occupy Student Debt Campaign, and Occupy Colleges among others, and it’s high time that South Africa undertakes secular efforts towards finding lasting resolutions to the crisis. Implementing a student union structure could be a plausible option, the solution to a debt free future for those in college now and in the future can still be found. US groups have employed crowd-funding models of eliminating the debt accumulated, for an example.

But while Government schemes are helping to inflate tuition prices and saddling young people with monstrous amounts of debt — the ramifications of which nobody made them seriously consider when they decided to take it on, young people are graduating into the slim employment pickings of the South African economy, making it even more difficult for them to pay off their investment in the long run.

Absorption of graduates into the job market could also be an essential component of relieving student debt, if the so-called unpaid internships were in effect repaying the incumbents’ debt. But this requires consensus between government, the banking industry and the corporate sector, and as it appears such a feat of philanthropy is a farfetched dream.

As much as Government-backed student loans are now seemingly accessible, defaults on those loans by graduates have simultaneously mushroomed. There are strategies that can help student loan debtors avoid default, but will our financial systems make a compromise towards deferments and forbearances, offered to skip loan payments during unemployment? Besides, who is at fault for this scourge haunting the new generation of workers? I might be wrong in assuming that lenders, including the government, are at fault, for predatory practices that make loans too easy to get and just as easy to rationalize — even though they ensnare students in debt they can never get rid of. And the media is partly to blame as well, for it has made financially sterile careers attractive to the youth, because the bulk of student loans seem geared towards non-academic courses which are glamorous while laden with unscrupulous enticement of borrowers into loans that will never be reimbursed.

Paul Zisiwe

(Images sourced from the world's web.)

Kasie Advertising

Photos: Paul Zisiwe

THE VUVUZELA MURDERS

THE VUVUZELA MURDERS

By ARYAN KAGANOF

Tsunami Lou has flown to Durban in order to track down Skaface Cupido. The Private Investigation business has changed a lot since Tsunami Lou got into the game. Between Google and Facebook and closed circuit tv cameras everywhere it’s hardly necessary to pay informers for information anymore. The pornographic transparency of the information culture peeves Tsunami Lou but he must admit that he did get a shock of delight when he landed on Skaface Cupido’s Facebook page and found that the Bell Ringer of Pollsmoor was currently residing in Durban’s finest five star hotel.

            Tsunami Lou could have kicked himself for not bothering to phone and confirm before flying 1Time from Cape Town to Durban and checking in to this vulgar, overpriced monstrosity of a Hotel.

            “I’m sorry sir, the computer tells me that we don’t have anybody by the name of Skaface Cupido checked in at this moment, nor in fact, have we ever had such a person as a guest.”

            Tsunami Lou is disgruntled, “But his Facebook page says that he lives here.”

            Desk manager Eugene, a massive fellow with a huge bull head dressed in traditional Zulu regalia,  shrugs his shoulders and quips, “the computer never lies sir.”

            Tsunami Lou scowls and points to Eugene’s name tag, “So Eugene are you family of Terreblanche?”

            The Zulu desk manager is unphased by Tsunami Lou’s silly question and comes back without missing a beat, “No sir, De Kok.”

Forty five minutes later Tsunami Lou is sitting in the back seat of a minibus cab about to take the Kwa Mashu turnoff from the N1. Lou is furious with himself for having been so stupid as to use Facebook for information. Facebook is for disinformation. At least the trip to Durban is an opportunity to look up his old MK buddy Inhloli Uhlanya. Tsunami Lou and Inhloli Uhlanya were both double agents during the struggle; Tsunami Lou was in the Bureau of State Security (BOSS) but actually working for MK while Inhloli Uhlanya was in MK but actually working for BOSS. After ’94 it didn’t really matter anymore which side you were on before and the two of them became great friends. Double agents are not very talkative because anything you say gives too much away. So the both of them were perfect fishing buddies. They would sit on the banks of the Umgeni river saying nothing and catching nothing either because all the fish had died when the water was poisoned the day the tide came in too high.

            The driver announces that they’ve reached their destination. Tsunami Lou jumps out and is impressed by the large colourful building covered in bright murals and signposted Ubuntu Cultural Centre. The gate is not locked and Tsunami Lou walks in to the compound aware that he’s a stranger but surprized that none of the locals are taking any notice of him. Then he remembers of course that he’s got dreadlocks now and skin as black as any native’s. It’s a perfect diguise, Tsunami Lou chuckles to himself, a camouflage of sheer guerilla genius.

            “Tsunami Lou!”

            “That’s me!” Lou shouts and then he’s being warmly greeted with a hug and a handshake that you’d need a PhD to decipher so complex it is.

            Inhloli Uhlanya takes Tsunami Lou on a tour of the “Cultural Centre” which is in fact a training camp for a new generation of dissident troublemakers who will be sent to infiltrate anything that’s working in order to make sure it backfires and therefore increase the need for more double agents. Security is a self-perpetuating mobile perpetuum.

            The Deportment Department is an amazing sight, scores of short fat Zulu kids are stretched into shape and emerge looking as skinny and dainty as Sothos. “These guys are going to go far,” Tsunami Lou thinks, but he is most astounded by the National Film and Video Department (NFVD) where the kids are taught to make documentaries exposing how happy everyone is and feature films which all tell the story of how happy everyone is. It’s a course called Nation Building in Africa South South (A.S.S.) and all who successfully graduate are known as A.S.S.holes.

            The film being studied today is The Vuvuzela Murders, written produced and directed by the country’s least well-known under-Underground film maker Citizen Kohen. Tsunami Lou and Inhloli Uhlanya watch for a few minutes while a couple of scenes are analyzed by the lecturer but Tsunami Lou is on urgent business and hasn’t got time to waste on transparent state propaganda disguised as freedom of speech.

            In Inhloli Uhlanya’s office his old MK comrade cuts to the chase.

            “Tsunami Lou what’s the real reason for your visit?”

            “I need your help Inhloli.  I’m stuck.”

            “Give me details my friend, give me details.”

            “I’ve been hired to find Skaface Cupido, the Bell Ringer of Pollsmoor, but he doesn’t hang out where his Facebook page says he does.”

            “So you’re stuck.”

            “Yes Uhlanya, that’s what I am. Stuck. I need a lead.”

            “Tsunami Lou we’re comrades from way back it’s true. But times have changed. Nothing is mahala anymore.”

            “Air is free. Time is free.”

            “Yes but airtime you must pay for.”

            “How much.”

            “Because you are who you are Tsunami Lou I’ll be reasonable and say give me all of your cash.”

            “Inhloli Uhlanya that’s preposterous, firstly we’re buddies, you should cut me some slack, secondly I’m carrying an awful lot of cash, way to much cash for one measly lead.”

            The nine mil appears as if from nowhere and the sound of its being cocked is a very clear and definitive sound, one that does not really allow for much discourse of the overly nuanced variety. The gun is pointed directly at Tsunami Lou’s face and the hand holding the gun belongs to Inhloli Uhlanya who is teaching Tsunami Lou by dint of this treachery that old friendships are not necessarily to be relied upon in the new Africa South South (A.S.S.).

            Tsunami Lou hands over all of his cash. Inhloli Uhlanya is delighted with the bundle of high denomination notes. He hands back a solitary, forlornly crumpled ten rand note to Tsunami Lou, “Because of who you are Tsunami Lou, here is your taxi fare back to the obscenely expensive hotel where you’re holed at.”

            “How do you know where I’m staying?”

            “It doesn’t matter where you’re staying Lou, all Durban hotels are obscenely expensive.”

            “And Skaface Cupido? Where will I find Skaface Cupido?”

            “The only person who knows that is Jihad Rashoon.”

            Tsunami Lou is perplexed. “But that’s preposterous. It was only a few days ago I was sitting having breakfast with him on Kloof Street. I could have saved myself this entire trip.”

            “No Lou, you’re wrong,” Inhloli Uhlanya continued, putting down his gun and handing Tsunami Lou a rolled up document, “if you hadn’t come to Durban you would never have received this...”

            Tsunami Lou held out his hands and gingerly took the proferred document from Comrade Inhloli Uhlanya, “What is it?”

            “It’s the script of Citizen Kohen’s singular masterpiece, The Vuvuzela Murders. We give it to all our students who want to go undercover, it’s something of a set work.”

            “You think it will help me?”

            “Dip into it sometimes Lou, it’s that kind of script. Whenever you’re not sure where you are, or if ever you lose the plot.”

            “One more thing...”

            “And what is that?”

            “Where will I find Jihad?”

            Inhloli Uhlanya’s eyes narrowed and he replied in a whisper, “Jihad is now. Jihad is everywhere. Jihad is in... Valkenberg.”