3
EXIT
ISSUE 279, February 2014
SERIOUSLY!?
TOWNSHIP TALES time and living By Mark Scheepers
Thank you for taking the time to wade through the shards of your shattered new years resolutions to read my scribbling once more. Me? I’m actually doing pretty damn good. I’ve avoided those damn evil (divine) Wakaberry stores which are my addiction and I am almost sure I’ve lost weight…although I have not been weighed since every time I climb onto a scale an alarm goes off, but there is a little extra boogie room in my clothing and I’m not huffing as many times when climbing stairs. Progress. Will perhaps join the weight loss clinic 4 doors down from aforementioned evil frozen yoghurt bar and have someone scream at me every time I put something in my mouth. I have also, very early in this year, survived turning 31 (no heart attack yet, sorry to anyone who had money on 30), and I have seen my best friend and god children onto a plane for their new life in Ireland and did not fall apart…much. All very positive developments. I’m also down to 5 cigarettes a day (which are now enjoyed outside the house), although I don’t know where this one comes from, because it’s certainly not been a conscious decision to cut down, but it counts and I will take your congratulations thank you very much. I’ve even taken a step in the direction of romance…no sniggering please. Yes, with Valen-vomit-day on its way I decided to “put myself out there” in classic Bridget Jones style and joined a singles service…yes, a singles service! Stop laughing please, that’s rude. Ok so a good friend of mine has a dating service called “Hello Love” that sets up singles evenings at a trendy Joburg hotel where about 30 people are fed liquor and forced to mingle, thus dragging us away from the laptop keyboard and forcing us to speak with actual human beings, and not a list of stats accompanied by a photo taken in 1997. I must say, I’m a fairly social guy and can get along fairly well with most people. Half the people I despise seem to think I like them too and that’s ok with me if it makes their journey feel easier. But when I am forced to present myself for examination with the implied result being a romantic interlude, several things start to occur. Firstly I begin to sweat, profusely, especially down the butt crack for some reason and I swear that should I ever make it to the pearly gates I shall make them explain the point of butt crack sweat to me. My mouth also goes dry and I become some shy little Taylor Swift Wallflower in the corner and I, for some
inexplicable reason, start comfort-eating gascausing foods because who doesn’t love a taco with extra red onion and beans when you are nervous. So it was with a lot of trepidation that I got myself ready that night, assisted by the Gods of speed stick and Enos. I arrived at the hotel and was handed a cocktail…good start, and I thought this was Darren just knowing me really well but it turned out to be standard – ten points to Hello Love there. The room was nice and the music was easy listening, but I could feel the bead of sweat heading downward and I downed my drink (because we never waste) and headed for the bathroom for a game of “What the fuck are you doing here?” in the mirror. Long story short with the help of a few more drinks I got over myself and mingled, and ticked several names on the “match book” I had been provided, kinda like speed dating without the rush. I surprised myself by having a good time actually. Singer Ryan Izzy was easy on the eyes and kept us entertained as we “circulated” and “mingled”. I did not, sadly, secure any matches that night, but I had a blast and have not regretted going out that night. So thank you, Darren, for talking me into it. I owe you one, and here’s advertorial... It’s sad that in today’s times I had to be talked into leaving my home to meet new people. Are we truly that addicted to cyberspace? I realised I do my shopping online, have online dating profiles, I bank online and only ever really leave my home to go to work. Time for all that to change. I have three theatre dates booked, including The Rocky Horror Show (book now before it’s sold out) and I can’t actually wait. When I sit down and do my maths, it’s been years since I was that scared little boy in the adventure we now only refer to as “the Cape Town debacle” (I still don’t have my love for that city back yet), and I’ve not allowed anything to change. Onward and upward. In the words of Miss Heather Small…”What have you done today to make you feeeeel proud?” Go check out www.sayhellolove.com or find some means to expand your horizons, but the age of the couch potato is over. Join me? Feel free to email me your thoughts and opinions to craig.stadler83@gmail.com or follow me on twitter: @craig_stadler
GAYS ON LINE
083-919 2727 NO SUBSCRIPTION FEE. Adults only. No free minutes. Calls charged at STD VAS rates T&C www.3gxxx.co.za
It’s summer time here but in the rest of the world its awards season and all manner of talent is being rewarded for portraying flawed and broken people. Yet when you live in the township, crazy isn’t flawed or broken, it’s the standard. It’s just accepted that everyone is imperfect and constantly striving to survive from one day to the next. What continues to surprise me though is how readily people forget this when they move out of the township. Take for example this past weekend when once again the water supply was cut off from Friday to Sunday. My friend Cathy told me that when her 17-year-old son, who attends Parktown Boys High School, told a school friend on bb about it, his friend ‘freaked’ out. Granted it can be written off as normal teenage hysterics but more likely it is an experience she has never had. For people living in the township, rightly or wrongly, its par for the course. Like skilled pilots, we do a cursory check and quick course-correct and move along swiftly. Got up early in the morning for the few hours that there was water supplied, did laundry, bathed, cleaned up and filled containers with fresh water for the day. The rest of the time, life continues as normal. Friends and neighbours play catch up in the street and watch the obligatory dramas and lovers tiffs unfold. It got me to thinking about the nature of life and what it is that ensures survival. Most of the people who have lived in one of the hundreds of townships in South Africa and moved out seem to be afflicted by the same kind of disease as people who were once single and are now married, ‘freenisia.’ They behave like prisoners of war who were rescued and remain surprised that anyone chooses to stay behind. If they find you shopping in malls they seem surprised that you’ve been let out. ‘Do you also shop here?’ ‘Are you still in …?’, are common refrains. Yet if you care to pay attention you’ll notice their mad scramble to township stores, taverns and yes, beds, come month-end along with convenient visits around supper time to ‘catch up with old friends.’ When I dealt with some of my issues and was allowed to level up, to use gaming parlance, the same mentality started to become apparent in the dating world. The fact that I still lived in the same community that I’d been born into seemed to cause no end of consternation amongst the new breed of men I started dating. Many of whom came from townships themselves. For the life of me I can’t come to grips with this insistence on packing your past and where you come from away. I did realise quickly though, that it was a choice. Staying is mine. I love that I can make it and also that I can change it should I wish. For right now the perks of living in the township far outnumber the benefits of leaving. Here you learn to roll with the punches, get up quickly or risk being run over. When you live in a community where you truly feel a connection with neighbours and a sense of belonging plus the option of having sex and take aways delivered to your door: who could ask for anything more?