Ja. Edition 16

#ed16

13 December 2018

The Fourth Wall

Saaiq’a Ebrahim

Re-reading Sophie

Retrospective

Mamaputle Boikanyo

A look back at past works

Welcome to Hello, Dear Readers, And welcome to Edition 16 of Ja. mag.

How has your 2018 been? Did you get that promotion?

Pass those exams? Finally find out the cause of that strange pain in your chest? No? Don’t stress, pals. Edition 16 is here and it’s a miracle solution of new written and visual work with zero additives, sponsored ads, or South African- creative-industrybrand pretense.

For best results, read your copy of Ja. mag in a Very Cool spot. Don’t know any Very Cool spots? Here are a few suggestions from us, to you: - In a bathroom stall at your nearest airport (Ja. mag’s work has been known to inspire travel) - In a McDonald’s drive-thru (don’t order anything, just read some poetry into the speakers) - At the home of that person you went to high school with, but never really spoke to until the two of you

bumped into each other just the other week and, like, really hit it off.

- In the WhatsApp group your friends just added you to in order to discuss New Years plans - At the part in the new Lion King where Mufasa bites it and you need to pause and reflect - In the brief, but terrifying moment when you’re drifting off to sleep and you begin to FALL, but then you wake up and, actually, everything is okay.

Much love and palm tree emojis, Ja. team

www.issuu.com/jamagsa medium.com/ja-magazine @Ja.Magazine @Jamagsa

CONTENTS

4. The Fourth Wall 9. Icarus 10. AstralBody 11. Passing through -

A convenient place

13. No Lazy Lover

14. Gagged 18. ANGRY AUNTIES, KLAPPERTJIES AND BLERRIE LAAITIES 22. Re-reading Sophie Amongst the Greenery

26. Graffiti is Art not Vandalism 28. SPEAKING SOUND 32. Four letters by Hugh Upsher

36. RETROSPECTIVE

PHOTOGRAPHY

THE FOURTH WALL

Photographs and words by Saaiq’a Ebrahim

“The day of birth for every human being is the start of a lifelong battle to adapt himself to an everchanging environment. He is usually victorious and adjusts himself without pain. However, in one case out of 20 he does not adjust himself. In U.S. hospitals, behind walls like [those] shown here, are currently 500,000 men, women and children whose minds have broken in the conflict of life.”

- Excerpt from LIFE Magazine’s 1939 article and photo essay, “Strangers to Reason: LIFE Inside a

Psychiatric Hospital. “

PHOTOGRAPHY

T

he Fourth Wall series is an exploration of the psychological realm of today’s man. As conscious, sentient beings we negotiate pain our entire lives, it is a lifelong battle. We find ourselves adapting to an ever-changing environment of experience, which evokes both joy and pain. Through this project I wish to explore this negotiation with life, by bearing witness to the human condition and man’s existential state. I will also be exploring intensely the unwavering power of the mind and psychosis. In addition, throughout my project I will be employing the image of the theatre as a poetic device – by juxtaposing the theatre and the mind. I will be looking at the mind as a space where a performance of sorts occurs. ”The Fourth Wall” is the imaginary “wall” at the front of the stage in a traditional three walled box set in a proscenium arch theatre, through which the audience sees the action in the world of the play. The concept is usually attributed to the philosopher, critic and dramatist Denis Diderot. The term itself was used by Moliere.

The fourth wall illusion is often associated with naturalist theatre of the mid-19th century. The restrictions of the fourth wall were challenged in 20th century theatre. Speaking directly to, otherwise acknowledging or doing something to the audience through this imaginary wall – or, in film and television, through a camera – is known as “breaking the fourth wall”, as it is a penetration of a boundary normally set up or assumed by works of fiction, this is considered a meta-fictional technique. In literature and video games, it occurs when a character acknowledges the reader or player.

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PHOTOGRAPHY

6

7

Collage by Eden King

8

POETRY

I wonder if Icarus Ever realised That he’d really, well, and truly, fucked up.

Icarus

Did he panic when the sun’s relentless rays whipped liquid lashes of molten wax Across his cracked and naked back?

Or was that drowned in the cascade of adrenalin-pumped sweat screaming higher faster further As cyclones of raw air spun down every corridor of his breathless, weightless being, propelling him forward, Waltzing with Fate, And wishing to be nowhere else?

Did he start to scream in horror As his woven feathers betrayed him, And his heart leapt into his mouth, Plummeting in a nose-dive Towards the tiny chalk-dust town He’d spent a lifetime plotting to escape?

I like to think he spiralled down Wingless and wide-eyed, Cracked lips blaring a boundless smile, Having carved his name onto the unflinching face Of Mount Olympus.

Grateful to have grazed the sun, Ready to return Home A comet from the heavens, Departing his final orbit, Shining even in the daylight For the dreamers below Who dared look above.

- Yasthiel-Mikhail Devraj 9

POETRY

Astralbody Black and then no black I flicker awake – an eye on the ceiling veined into godsource (it was you who named it godsource, the cells, the womb, the explosions of everything).

This bird’s angle helps me adore you.

I thought you’d look less vulnerable up here, more like a wolf than a man (but hands show what eyes show, and your hands, when they skin me, are as gentle as a rabbit).

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-

-

-

Michelle Naudé

Collage by Eden King 10

POETRY

Passing through - A convenient place My chest is not as light as you think it is You pushed past open ribcage and gripped, so tightly Then let go And it exhaled and forgave You caused bleeding insides That collected heavy pools in my stomach How could you think it was okay To wash your hands in me

- Sthuthi Vargese

11

Photograph by Shayla Tricam

12

POETRY

No lazy lover

I wanted him not only to fill the cold, empty spaces in my heart, I wanted him also to fill the warm, soft space between my thighs I wanted him to keep the sadness and loneliness at bay

- Khanyisa Makahane

13

GAGGED

By Zahaa Safodien

Her golden streaks slithered pass my jugular and began twisting, tightening its grip the more I tried to resist. Giant brown eyes, sprinkled with flecks of emerald, hardened my heart with every glance. Deeper and deeper the gaze went . This was it, my demise.

“Zahaa, morning … hellooo?” said Aaliyah.

“Huh, oh, morning.”

“Daydreaming again?”

“Ya” “Well we need to go, bell just rang, we don’t wanna be late for Crazy Al’s class. You know how he gets when we’re late.”

“I really don’t have liss for Maths today!”

We got up and headed for the entrance. After being cleared by security we were allowed in. Into the prison. Not all are as lucky to pass by, from the corner of my eye I spotted yet another inmate-get caught. This time, a stash of rollies hidden under a kufiya. Steel gates at every hallway, surveillance at every corner -- smile on kids because Big brother Hendricks is always watching.

Like a herd of cattle, we hustle and bustle in the crowded hallway to get to class, the corridor singing with the sound of feet stomping across the cemented floors, each step an echo of fatigue and frustration.

We arrive in class and as I begin to take my seat next to Kaamilah, Aaliyah stops me.

“Let me sit next to Koki,” said Aaliyah.

I shrugged. How could I resist a smile like that? Crazy Al struts across the classroom and greets us with a broad but stern smile. After an hour long sesh, I had quadratic equations and triggies singing out of my ears.

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SHORT STORY

At break, we gather round in a cult-like circle, passing around our lunch in a ritualistic manner. The circle was tight and strong, ours felt like a blood bond. With four years of friendship under our belt, we had withstood break-ups, make-ups, more break-ups and make-ups, loss and family drama. In our final year, we could proudly say we were true friends. Aaliyah, me, Saarah and Emily - the Awesome Foursome. Start-of-term Bio was always stressful. Anxiety diffused throughout the class as we awaited our fate. Mrs Fareed would divide us up and seat us according to last term’s Bio mark. But today, our anxiety subsided, because the monthly Free4All magazine had arrived. A stampede broke out for the magazine and I was the last woman standing, no copies were left. With sunken shoulders and a droopy expression, I strolled back to my seat.

“Here Zaa, kept you one,” said Saarah.

“Shux Sar,” I beamed with gratitude.

I flew through the pages to my favourite part - the quizzes, and flashbacked to the summer of 2010.

The taste of your lips I’m on a ride You’re toxic I’m slippin’ under With a taste of a poison paradise I’m addicted to you Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

Me and Aaliyah were in English class, being left to our own devices, (because Miss Moody trusted us that much).

As I flipped through the celeb pages, fashion and quizzes I stumbled upon an article titled, ‘Toxic Friends’, which was all about how to spot an unhealthy friendship and how they affect you.

“You’re a toxic friend,” I said jokingly to Aaliyah.

“That’s rude!” sneered Aaliyah. *** 15

Half way into Afrikaans class we were instructed to start discussing our short story. As usual, my friends and I used this time to discuss more interesting stuff. My birthday was that weekend and we planned to go to Cavs to watch a movie. After a quick trip from the bathroom, I returned to my friends cracking themselves up.

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Illustration by Shayla Tricam “I can’t deal. Lol, she just kept on going.” said Aaliyah.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“I don’t chew my cabbage twice.” snipped Aaliyah “It’s about that TV show, Pranksters.” said Saarah 17

“Did you guys watch that new movie Abduction, with Jacob? Bad movie but he’s super cute,” I said.

“You mean Taylor Lautner,” said Aaliyah. “Since when did you like him?”

I just rolled my eyes. ‘Pff, I liked him since Shark Boy and Lava Girl.’ I thought.

“Ohk. So guys, what we watching Saturday?” Emily said.

Later on Emily pulls me aside. Dynamite came in small packages; this was definitely true of Em. “Zahaa, you shouldn’t let Ally treat you like that.”

I sighed.

“She probably doesn’t mean it. She does a lot for me Em. She helped me and my mom’s relationship.” *** Fast forward to August 23rd 2013, a date forever etched in my mind. Aaliyah stood before me, broken. Her eyes, blotched with tears, pink and puffy. Crying didn’t look good on her. Her hands, shaky, barely holding on to the wrinkled tissue in her hand. Yet, I felt myself smirk inside. I couldn’t feel for her, not even pity. She deserved it, I thought. How cruel had I become? This is what she had done to me. Isn’t it ironic how this time she needed me but in that moment I felt like I could be judge, jury and executioner. I felt a sense of strength wash over me. Was it because I had Kaamilah as my side-kick, or was it because I was finally finding myself without her hold on me?

“Just tell me one thing. Why did you always pick on me, criticise me? I felt as if I was the only one you did it to, you were always harsher with me. Didn’t you like me?” I asked Aaliyah.

“Zahaa, I was only like that to make you stronger.”

Was that really the truth? Why did this friendship have to be this tough? Was it really for my own good? *** Almost a year out of high school and things already felt different. Me and Saarah spoke occasionally, even me and Emily and as for Aaliyah, not a word or thought of her had crossed my mind since, until the incident at campus happened.

Lost on my first day, what a way to start Uni. Everything was multiplied here, I felt like a small town kid entering

18

the Big City. And it didn’t help that I had come here alone, even though me and my friends made a pact that we would all go to the same University, guess I’ll have to be a UWC alumni alone. The sun’s radiance highlighted my excitement, and suddenly, in the corner of my eye, I saw it. Streaks of blonde hair intertwined with the brown, neatly wrapped up in a bolla, her signature style. I grasped for air but nothing came. A wave of sweat rode across my body, gathering at my skin’s surface, and then everything went silent.

I took another glimpse and then a sigh of relief. I was mistaken. *** After nearly two years, the moment I had only dreamt of had arrived, I would hopefully get the apology I deserved.

We were in Saarah’s bedroom, which had become our second home in the five years of friendship, but today I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, out of place. A quick hug, an awkward smile and we sit down.

After some mundane chit chat, we got down to the real stuff, for once I was the one to speak first.

“I really want to say that you guys, at times, made me feel like I was not able to be myself, like you did not accept me completely. But you also helped me and cared for me.”

My heart probably done a hundred somersaults in that moment because finally, I was able to speak my truth. I was shaken, but felt liberated.

“I know I put you especially through a lot, Zahaa, maaf for everything.” said Aaliyah.

But I realised I didn’t need her apology. I had forgiven her long ago and this was just for the record. Most importantly, I had forgiven myself. I gave her a brief hug and a “thank you,” not because of what she had said, but because of what I had learned from friendships and how to stand up for myself, and ironically, I realised what she said two years ago was right.

Today I can safely say, with at least two weddings behind us, the Awesome Foursome remain.

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ANGRY AUNTIES, KLAPPERTJIES

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Collage by Dave Mann

SHORT STORY

AND BLERRIE LAAITIES

by Kenya Davids

I

t was the day that the kids longed for all year. The day the dogs hid away, blankets covering their ears. Marcus and I had been

looking forward to this evening since the last Guy Fawkes and we used the majority of our savings for a huge box of klappers from Game.

The box consisted of air bombs, sparklers, dragon eggs and more.

Marcus had been my best friend since the age of 7. We met at the park in Klein Parys where we bonded over our neon coloured skateboard wheels and we’ve been comparing body hair and porn sites ever since.

He was flamboyant, hairy and terribly queer. All of Klein Parys knew it, so when he came out it wasn’t a surprise. However, there were a group of kids around the block who tried to bully the pink glitter out of him. From red buttcheek wedgies to black eyes, they gifted him with an everlasting collection of traumatic experiences.

I’ve lived in Klein Parys since I was running around the house butt naked. KP for short, it was a cosy suburb in the coloured area of Paarl.

In Klein Parys, everyone knew everyone. Linda from Hofmeyer street knew the ins and outs of Janine’s marriage, who lived on Meebos street. Sundays were dedicated to church and biryani. We grew up with the pastor’s daughter and the principal’s son, and that’s just how it was. First kiss, first blowjob, first crèche, everything right here in Klein Parys.

Stuffed in a denim duffel bag was my box of fireworks, a hoodie for extra warmth, a vetkoek rolled in cling wrap and four packets of Fritos. We were prepared for a night full of adventure.

I tied the laces of my Converse and smeared Vaseline all over my face. “Let the evening begin,” I said to myself in the mirror. Pizza in my belly, I dashed out the door to meet up with Marcus. “Bye Mommy, I’ll be home by 11!” I screamed out.

We strolled past a house surrounded by white hedges, and there were the Abraham sisters.

Mothers of Rushdah, Yumna, Rashied and Abdullah. “Did you see her child in Mosque last Friday? Yoh, that child has no manners, she’s so ougat!” they skinnered.

Darkness made its arrival sooner than we expected, so we made our way to Condom Square. A paarkie named after the infamous collector of sperm. There was a strange and exciting vibe in the air as we passed little children in the street. Barefoot and bursting with energy, two kids were setting up their firework stations.

“Mine is bigger than yours, shame!” bragged one scrawny boy.

“Well too bad, because mine will be louder!” the other one responded.

The absence of light gave us an opportunity to make the Aunties skrik without them knowing who we were. I grabbed four bang snaps out of the blue box and threw them in their surroundings. The snaps were the tiniest of fireworks. Small yet brimming with noise.

They landed with a squeaky smack on the tar ground and the ladies screeched so loud that even their bosoms got a fright.

“Jy! Wie ookal dit nou gedoen it, ek gan jou bliksem!” yelled an angry aunty.

Ten minutes and three Fritos later, we were finally at Condom Square. It was the birthplace of our friendship and home to several of our stoner sessions. There was obscene 22

graffiti all over the blue slide and the swings had reached their last days.

Condom Square always smelt like weed but the police did fokol about it. Maybe they were loyal or maybe they were stoners themselves -- no one ever bothered enough to ask.

We unpacked our box of fireworks and organised them in the order of the weakest to the most hectic. Marcus and I played rock paper scissors to decide who would get the honour of having the first go. As always, he won.

Imagine a dark pool of blackness suddenly being splashed with brightly coloured frogs.

That’s what the sky looked like.

Heard in the far distance was the laughter of children playing tok tokkie in the street.

“That used to be us, Marcus,” I said to my friend. “Some days I wish we were still naïve and barefoot laaities.”

Shades of red, blue and yellow lit up the sky, followed by sounds of crackles. It was like a painting came to life -- popcorn shaped flickers of magic. It seemed as if the explosions lit up the whole Earth, each one followed by a thunderous boom.

“Yoh bru, where do the fireworks go after they explode?” asked Marcus. The curiosity was highlighted all over his face, squint and all.

“One day when I meet ET, I’ll ask him neh?” I said. “Koppel a lighter man, I forgot mine at home.”

Marcus stopped smoking a few weeks after his Dad caught him with a R30 baggie, but he still carried a lighter around. You know, just for those ‘in case’ moments. The Bic he pulled out matched his red painted nails.

It was 10:45pm when the neighbours wandered back to their homes and the dogs came out from their protective blanket forts. I collected the empty firework packets that lay all over the lawn and lit up a joint. Marcus unwrapped the vetkoek and just like that, the magic was over and the countdown to the next Guy Fawkes began.

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Photograph by Mattias Givell

ESSAY

M

ary Sibande’s artistic character, Sophie, has mesmerized many of us over the years. But how does her transition into the Nirox Sculpture Park shift our understanding of her?

Re-reading

Sophie Amongst

the

Greenery

by Mamaputle Boikanyo

At the Nirox Foundation Sculpture Park you’ll find Sophie, the well documented sculpture of a domestic worker made by Johannesburg-based artist Mary Sibande. Those who are familiar with Sibande’s early work know of Sophie as the aesthetically breathtaking and complex figure who transcends the societal strictures of colonialism and its legacy by expressing an identity that defies the historically sexist and racist discourse linked to domestic workers.

If you don’t know Sophie and you decide to Google her, you’ll likely find yourself struck by the startling image of a black monochromatic figure, dressed in a bright blue dress set against the backdrop of a bright, blinding whiteness. You’ll find that Sophie always has her eyes closed, signifying a state of impassioned, blissful and fantastical imagination. It is the only way in which her ordinary maid’s uniform can become an extraordinary Victorian dress in which she can abandon menial household tasks in order to adopt more dominant roles. The whiteness of the background upon which she occupies many of these dominant positions evokes a bittersweetness – while it might give the feeling that Sophie’s imagination is free to reign and that no societal structures could restrict it, it also impresses us with the idea that Sophie occupies a space of obscurity where there is nothing familiar 25

ESSAY

for her to hold onto. The spaces that Sophie occupies during her debut as a prominent sculptural figure are therefore significant to her identity – these spaces signify the potency of her identity as well as the powerlessness rendered to her by her repressive society.

The question that should be asked then is, what happens to the figure of Sophie as she is transferred from the indoor space constructed by Sibande to the natural environment of Nirox’s sculpture park, a space that the artist is largely limited from modifying or altering to suit their sculpture?

Certainly, the Nirox Foundation Sculpture Park, a place nothing short of magical, is a space already modified. Its scenic views resemble a combination of the imagery found in tales such as The Secret Garden or Wuthering Heights, with the special flair of the harsh Maropeng climate. The resulting picturesque beauty is not at all accidental. The website tells you that the park maintains its beauty through its “sensitive design and fastidious upkeep” and so, the feeling of magic and fantasy that the place evokes does not simply derive from its own essence, but is also largely attributed to the gardeners and domestic workers who are employed there.

Sophie, who was originally made from fiberglass and silicone, currently stands boldly in the form of a statue you will find as you leave the more rustic verdure of the entrance and enter into the refined garden maintained by the gardeners. Now, as a figure coloured in dark silver stone, from her dress to her skin colour, Sophie is positioned as an unmoving, solid and monumentalised figure.

In our current political climate, there is a great awareness of how our public spaces are never innocent when it comes to reflecting the legacy of colonialism and patriarchy through monuments and statues. As Sophie stands still and unwavering in Nirox’s gardens, she is not only able to commemorate the mother and grandmother of Sibande herself, but the workers who are responsible for preserving the scenic beauty of the park as well.

In addition to that, when the ‘younger’ Sophie had her eyes closed, the imaginative states she was in repositioned her in traditionally authoritative situations commonly associat26

ESSAY

ed with royalty or whiteness as is the case in Her Majesty the Queen Sophie (2010) or The Reign (2010). Once she opened her eyes, she would be faced with the bleak reality of her existence and her loneliness. However, within these circumstances and even if her dress disappeared, Sophie would open her eyes only to find herself among a community of workers, performing the activity she was so blissfully performing in her imagination to begin with, which is, sowing the seeds that would flower below and around her feet – a beautiful image, if we could imagine such a thing.

This image of Sophie is similarly if not more striking than the earliest images, especially if we consider the position she chooses to occupy here, where she does not have to wield power or assume a position of royalty to justify her existence or remain significant. She revels, rather, as a figure that exists as part of a community that she can also commemorate while she sows the seeds over the land as a symbol of growth and regeneration.

Of course, when it comes to Sophie, we are seldom completely comfortable with the messages that her performances convey (a good thing, really, if our uncomfortable feelings about her reflect something about ourselves that we can either understand, learn, or grow from). At first Sophie’s early self was troubling because it seemed as though she was haunted by the humiliation and disgrace, not only of the bleak reality of servitude that awaited her once she opened her eyes, but also of the shame of not aligning with anything other than white and English standards through her Victorian dress.

Now, we look down at Sophie’s feet and see that she actually stands on top of a circular floor made of stone, within the midst of freshly cut grass and towering trees. As she tosses the seeds to the ground, will all of those seeds reach the soil or will some of them land, fruitlessly, on top of the circular stone floor she stands upon? Might they threaten any hope for renewal and growing out of the repressive structures that still bind working class South African citizens two decades after the end of apartheid?

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Graffiti is Art not Vandalism: A series of portraits by Nkosingiphile Mazibuko Why Graffiti?

T

he streets of Cape town are adorned with beautiful graffiti that I appreciate. In my work I have adopted the same color palette. The use of shapes and lines, found on the streets of Cape Town are the same ones woven into my work.

With this series, I celebrate graffiti artists.

Each portrait contains signature symbolism.

For example, my portraits have militarylike patterns, suggesting that graffiti artists are protecting art like the militia protects its people. Not everyone has the privilege to go to art galleries or even being surrounded by art. Grafitti makes that experience possible for everyone. This idea was inspired by Falko1.

Everywhere you go in South Africa you will see his work. He even went as far as bringing urban art to South Africa’s rural areas.

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ILLUSTRATION

Find more of Nkosingiphile Mazibuko’s work at www.maziart.co.za

SPEAKING SOUND

by Akissi Beukman

30

PERFORMANCE

S

peaking Sound is an exploration of sound, voice and memory as an engagement with her grandmother’s once troubled and intricate reality. By extracting strands of her father’s intimate past, Beukman reveals blurred and vivid truths and herstories. Through willful and deliberate silence, she exercises the right to her own story, and invites the audience to share this moment.

PERFORMANCE

32

PERFORMANCE

SATIRE

Dear Person who thought I was waving to them (I wasn’t)

I

consider myself a friendly and open person. I greet strangers as I pass them while hiking and enjoy making observations about the weather with shopkeepers. What happened that day at the petrol station was not that. Let me explain.

While sitting patiently in my car as my tank was being filled up I noticed an odd speck of dirt in the middle of my driver's door window. After carefully evaluating the colour and texture of the dirt I thought I might be able to scrape it off with a single finger.

After making significant progress on the transparent surface, I focused my gaze beyond the window and in that moment made eye contact with you. The hand position and finger motion may have suggested I was giving you a creepy little single-fingered wave. The type of wave you may give to a baby or a small caged animal.

This was not the case. I was just cleaning gunk off my window. I’m sure you’re a lovely person but this was by no means an intentional form of external communication. The index finger wave you returned my way still haunts me.

So Sorry, Hugh Upsher First published in Bikini Shark 5 34

SATIRE

To any restaurant staff that cleared my plate between the years 2001 and 2014

I

t is embarrassing to admit but I had been unknowingly, yet consistently sending a signal to your establishment that I did not enjoy their food. This was done by resting the blade of my knife within the central tine of my fork at a perpendicular angle after finishing every meal.

This, according to well-established post-meal silverware placement etiquette, is a way to indicate that the food was not enjoyed. This was a completely unintentional consequence of a habit that I can't explain the origin of. I also can’t explain the insistence of continuing this problematic habit for so long without anyone questioning my actions.

When I was younger I was a picky eater and made a habit of creating faces out of my leftovers, but outgrowing this phase, unfortunately, led to me replacing this habit with a far darker gesture, be it unwittingly.

I could assume that the vast majority of wait staff either were not aware of the meaning behind this arrangement or simply did not notice, but I shudder to reflect on the chances of even one well-versed waiter taking offence. Anyway, I’ve stopped doing it now.

So Sorry, Hugh Upsher 35

F

irstly, thank you for your effort. It took the type of bravery I had not yet come close to as my eighteen-year-old self. It goes without saying that I completely missed the intention of the interaction you were trying to initiate. Ironically, just moments before, I was joking about the worst possible pick up lines my friends could use to start a conversation with girls we liked.

You made a point to walk over to me and ask me for a light, and as a non-smoker, I was already on the backfoot. My reaction to this request not only baffled you at the time but equally baffles my current self.

I awkwardly snickered, before casually pointing at a tiki torch not far behind me. I said something to the effect of “there’s a tiki torch right there” before diving right back into a pointless conversation between my friends.

Dear the only girl who approached me over the course of Plett Rage 2005

I guess the only thing I feel the need to explain is that my reaction was not a judgement on you or how you looked, or how you may have acted. My reaction was one of being bewildered and painfully oblivious to the idea of a girl wanting to talk to me.

So Sorry, Hugh Upsher

First published in36 Bikini Shark 5

SATIRE

T

his is going to be a bit of a bummer for you so I’m sorry about that. I regularly go jogging on the jeep track that runs from Bo Kaap up to Signal Hill on weekend mornings.

The same track you decided to bury your pet alongside in a shallow grave.

You must have loved this black cat to give it such a thoughtful send off in a white lace wrap within a cat-sized corrugated cardboard box, but I must emphasize the word ‘shallow’.

To the people who buried their deceased cat on the side of Signal Hill

It appears that not long after your funeral event, a medium-sized mammal, either a dog or porcupine, sniffed out the grave and proceeded to desecrate it.

This is not what anyone wanted, especially anyone who chooses to regularly walk along this particular jeep track who now have to navigate the intensifying stench of a decomposing cat.

I’m not writing to request any action on your part with regards to this unfortunate incident, but rather to discourage you from repeating this ill-fated approach with any pet deaths you may be faced with in future.

So Sorry, Hugh Upsher

RETROSPECTIVE

38

B

ack in late 2014, the idea for Ja. magazine was born from a chaotic and exciting blend of frustration, passion, creativity, and stone-cold boredom.

Much of the work in our earlier manifestations came from places of difficulty or pure love. Ja. was (and still is) a space that encourages the crafting of new words, images and ideas to help us make sense of ourselves and the world around us, and to form part of some bigger, more meaningful picture (on our good days, at least).

For Edition 16, we decided to take a look at some of the earlier works and contributors we’ve published, both as a means to see how those works and ideas have shifted or changed shape, and as a way of taking stock of our journey so far.

In this retrospective section of the zine, we speak to a few folk from our earliest editions. From Dope Saint Jude during their early days as an artist, to friends of Ja. like musician Buli and photographer Andy Mkosi.

ANDY MKOSI Photograph by Noncedo Charmaine

You may know Andy Mkosi as a musician, a radio-host, or perhaps as a visual artist.

We’ve come to know Mkosi well over the years, both as a contributor, a co-editor, and an exhibited artist as part of our 2017 exhibition at the KZNSA gallery.

We first featured Mkosi back in 2015 as part of a series focussed on the ins and outs of being a practising artist in South Africa. Since then, they’ve gone on to do a whole bunch of new work across a variety of mediums. Check out our catch-up QnA with Mkosi below.

You were in one of our favourite editions back in 2015. What have you been up to since then? Can you catch us up?

That is one of my favourite pieces written about my work actually. Since then I have been travelling, growing, releasing music and curating a lot of spaces that best fit the work I do. I think more importantly I have become so aware of the things which make me who I am.

Remember hiking up to that lovely lake spot to make a photo for the ‘Nature of Being an Artist’ series? Anything that stands out for you from that day?

The conversation we were having that day while trekking up. You also introduced me to a spot which I would later make some great images at and film one of my favourite video concepts.

In the Q&A we (Niamh) kind of sound so disgruntled with the creative industry, or at least, we were struggling with it. Do you see any growth or changes in the larger South African creative landscape, or is it perhaps more personal?

Personal, definitely. I think more than anything else, understanding myself has really brought me the most incredible peace and focus. So I guess, the things I am disgruntled with nowadays are more personal as opposed to arguing or debating about what the industry lacks or wacks.

People may not know this, but you were on the Ja. editiorial team for a hot minute! What was that like?

That was very cool and weird. Weird because I still don’t know why you guys opted to include me of all people hahahaha. But it made me realise that actually I can really write full-length articles.

Enough looking back! What lies ahead for Andy Mkosi?

Man, watch this space for real. A serious evolution is coming. Also thank you to the Ja. team, you guys are incredible. I love yalllllllllll.

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BULI Back in 2015, we reached out to the Pretoria-based beatmaker, Buli, whose music had been fuelling many late nights over at the Ja. Mag offices (a collection of Google docs and Dropbox folders floating around on the internet). Back then, we spoke about his sound, the ambient electronica scene, aliens, and making music in SA’s administrative capital.

Earlier this year, we hit him up again – this time for a laid-back photo-shoot, chats, and some ice cream to boot (wholesome!).

Photographs by Dave Mann 42

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Since we first featured you in 2015, what have you been up to?

For the most part, adulting. It’s hard being grown lol. Besides that, I’ve just been growing more as a person and as an artist and learning more about myself and music. I’ve been experimenting more with different sounds, becoming more of a recluse, and a lot of other things.

I prefer wings over pizza most times now. I still don’t fucks with pineapples on pizza though.

I’m more sure of myself as an artist

I have a 9 – 5 now so there’s that.

Besides some of these changes, I’m still me. A more matured version than 2016 me,

in all aspects of my life.

Have you changed direction, musically?

Yeah, definitely. I feel like I’ve given myself more room to experiment with my sound rather than being focused on making shit that fits within a specific sound. I definitely feel like I’m at a better place, musically. I’ve given myself more time to explore sounds and just to grow as an artist instead of feeling like I need to deliver a project, frequently. I will still put projects out, it’s just I feel less ‘pressured’ to put shit out every year. At the core my sound is still the same though; I’ve just grown more as an artist and I’m more confident of myself. I would say I’ve changed direction in terms of my approach to music, but I’m still me. The feeling you get when you listen to the old and new stuff is still the same.

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the time didn’t help either. I lowkey started hating music and realising how naïve I was about music and life in general.

Having a 9 – 5 helps me avoid bringing money into the equation in terms of my music. When you have to think about money when you think about your passion it kinda ruins it for you. It’s not as fun.

There are definitely cons to this though. I’m more exhausted now which means that I don’t really have the energy to work on music when I do get the time to. Also, if I do ever get the chance to tour, me going would depend on shit like how many leave days I have lol. There’re just more things you have to think about when you want to pursue your passions and work at the same time.

You’re working now, and when we interviewed you, you were still studying. Has a nine-to-five job impacted your music-making process? If so, how?

It definitely has. For one, I don’t have as much time to work on music now. Weirdly enough, it’s something I appreciate. It makes me cherish the time I do get to work on music and I put in more effort into those times. I’m less creatively drained, which result in me making more shit I’m happy with.

What’s on the cards for the future? Any musical projects dropping in the coming year?

I have two EPs I’m planning to drop next year.

They’re both like 95% done. Other than that, I’m trying to work on more collabs and work with more vocalists. I wanna do more stuff with visuals also. The main thing I really wanna work on is just experimenting with different artists from different backgrounds to make some dope shit.

The reason why I see this as a pro is, I was in a weird place mentally and emotionally last year and the music shit wasn’t really working out the way I thought it would. At the time I had just graduated and I was still looking for a job. I spent almost every day on music which was creatively exhausting, not getting gigs at 45

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Photographs by Niamh Walsh-Vorster

DOPE SAINT JUDE

Remember when we featured Dope Saint Jude on our cover? It was a big deal! If you don’t remember, here’s a refresher: Back in 2015, we pulled through to the apartment of our good friends (and previous contributors) Van and Yoyo and got the place set up for our interview and photo session with the Cape Townbased musician. There was a lot of paint and a lot of flapjacks. Once DSJ arrived, we spoke about sound, identity, music videos and more – it was a vibe!

With DSJ recently dropping the music video (and accompanying zine) for Grrrl Like, we decided to get in touch again (via email this time) for a quick catchup.

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We first featured you on our cover back in 2015. What have you been up to since then? Can you catch us up?

I have released an EP and have traveled with my music. I am about to release a 2nd EP in a few days, which I recorded in London. I have grown substantially as an artist.

We remember flapjacks, golden chairs, and the smell of paint from that quiet Sunday we first interviewed you. Anything that stands out for you from that day?

I remember it being one of my very first features. I was so pleased to be interviewed. I remember wearing clothes that my friend, Micah, had made.

Your music videos for ‘Brown Baas’ and ‘Keep in Touch’ were both out that year and you spoke to us about how you use your videos to express who you are and what you want to achieve with your work. Three years later, we’re seeing that again with ‘Grrrl Like’. Can you tell us a bit about what went into the making of that video?

Firstly, I produced and directed that video, so it is very dear to me. I wanted the video to subvert the typical “squad” video and have femmes dominating the squad scene. I also wanted to turn the trope of the “hero riding into the sunset with his girl” and make it relevant to my reality.

Enough looking back! What lies ahead for Dope Saint Jude?

I will spend the next year touring and releasing small projects, and ultimately gear up for an album release.

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LEAH SOLOMON

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Over the past few years, a number of works by Durban-based writer Leah Solomon have appeared in Ja. mag. One such work was a long-form written piece on body dysmorphia which we published on our Medium.

More recently, Solomon and co-editor Niamh Walsh-Vorster worked on a series of portraits which further explore the ideas of dysmorphic relationships with the body, and learning to be kinder to one’s own body. We caught up with Solomon to discuss the piece and find out what she’s up to now.

You wrote a poignant piece on body dysmorphia which we featured in one of our earlier editions.

What are your feelings re-reading that piece?

Honestly, it fills me with pride. When I wrote it, I was a shell of myself. I was in a really destructive, horrible relationship with my body and I knew I had to do something to bring myself out of it, before it got worse. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, but it was so necessary. I re-read the piece often, especially when my dysmorphic relationship with myself rears its head. It reminds me that instead of shutting out the feelings, I should give them a voice. It’s far more therapeutic and cathartic.

How do you feel the general public’s, and your own opinions on topics such as body positivity have changed since your article?

I’ve definitely seen a spike in body positivity discussions. There are countless accounts on Instagram that not only celebrate different

bodies, but also share the dark, raw side of it. I think it’s really important to give both sides of the conversation equal limelight.

You recently did a photo series with our visual editor (Niamh), what is the series for?

Basically for the same reasons as my first body piece. 2018 has been quite the shitshow, and my body bares the brunt.

No matter what I go through, I always take it out on myself and my body. Apart from comfort eating, I’m just really, really mean to myself when no one is around. So when it started getting really bad, when I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror, I knew I needed to do something.

If you could write a note to yourself a few years back, what would it say?

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to your body. She loves you – you should love her in the same way.

What is Leah currently doing and what does the future look like?

I’m currently a Social Media Manager in Durban, I’ve been with my agency for about three years. I have so many things I want to do! I want to do some social media and copywriter courses so I can be a Social Media Manager for NPOs and NGOs, as well as conferences with a focus on social justice.

I also want to start studying again, namely psychology. It’s been a love and interest of mine since I was in junior school, I just ended up on a different path at university. I’d love to combine my degree in Journalism with a degree in Psychology and become a trauma counsellor for journalists. I don’t know when this is going to happen, but I’m in no rush.

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Photographs by Niamh Walsh-Vorster

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ZANTA NKUMANE

Illustration by Linda Radebe

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In Edition 3 of Ja. mag, we published an opinion piece by writer Zanta Nkumane that looked at the complexities of bisexuality and masculinity in South Africa. It’s been three years since then, and we caught up with Nkumane, who’s currently busy with a Masters Degree, to discuss how much has changed since then.

We first published you back in mid-2015. What have you been up to since then?

Whoa. Feels like it’s been forever since then but it’s only three years. But I went on to do my Honours in Journalism and media studies at Wits, and I’m currently tackling my MA in Diversity Studies (don’t ask). I’ve also been writing tons since then in an attempt to strengthen my portfolio.

Your piece In-Between touched on topics such as bisexuality and masculinity in the South African context. Looking back, how much would you say the conversations around these topics have changed?

Well, discussions around the queer identity have gained major mainstream presence since this article. It is important for these conversations to be a part of the mainstream because queer bodies are consumers and contributors of the mainstream too. BiErasure, unfortunately is still prevalent as their representation continues to be stereotypical or lacking completely. I believe there is still a long way to go in that regard.

Have your own ideas or understandings of these topics changed at all?

I don’t think they’ve changed much, I just think my understanding of it all has deepened and I will continue to learn more about the queer identity as that’s where my work lies now.

Were there any particular challenged you came across when writing that piece?

I’ve learnt over the years to not speak louder than, and for people’s marginal reality at times. I will stand with you, but I am not bisexual so I look back and think how much more nuanced and honest the article could have been if it was written by someone bisexual, as a black gay man, I may relate but I sure am not bisexual.

Enough looking back. What lies ahead for Zanta?

Firstly, to get this Masters out of the way so I can move on with my life. Then after that, I want to get into media advocacy for LGBTIQ+ plus get into teaching as well. But I will never stop writing. That’s all I know.

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Illustration by Carly Hosford-Israel

TARRYN DE KOCK A few years back, we published an opinion piece by writer Tarryn de Kock on the ideals of beauty, women’s bodies, consumerism, and body positivity trends. Since then, discussions on bodies have come and gone, changing and adding to the narrative. We caught up with de Kock, who’s currently working on her PhD at the University of Sussex, to reflect on her original piece.

You wrote an article for us a couple of years back titled ‘Body Positivity: Eyeing the Thighbrow’. Re-visiting the article, what are some of our reflections on it?

I think when I wrote that article, I was particularly angry at the way women’s bodies were still being co-opted into logics of beauty that at their core remained unchanged. You know, in the sense that we weren’t questioning the underlying assumptions about beauty and what makes it so important that our bodies become ‘trendy’. It’s the skin you live in. I still stand by a lot of what I said in the original article: I’m still angry that bodies come in and out of fashion with the result of making commodities of our appearances. I’m also concerned that even though we seem to have become more appreciative of diversity in body size, shape and dimension, the result is often to make fetishes out of real people and their appearances. There’s no easy answer to the issue but I think that with broader conversations on mental health starting to become more regular, we also need to start taking into account how physical appearance and physical health impacts on one’s mental state, and the role of consumer and popular culture in perpetuating really awful attitudes towards being one’s ‘ideal self’.

Learning and unlearning is fluid – sometimes we regress, sometimes we move miles ahead. You’ve also spoken on this. What would you have to say to people feeling like they’re not getting something, or people who are mad at others for not getting it?

To people who feel like they aren’t getting it I would say keep trying, but I would also say that sometimes you won’t get it, and maybe that’s okay – maybe the point is less about getting it, and more about being decent, kind and empathetic at a basic human level, and being open to observing, learning and being wrong. By no means is that an excuse for narrow, violent or childish behaviour, or to stop trying to learn, but as someone who also doesn’t necessarily get everything all the time, I’m learning that openness and empathy brings you closer to learning than treating ‘learn57

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ing’ about these issues as a purely intellectual exercise. It’s about how we relate to people – how all people have a right to exist, to respect, to love and live as they choose as long as it doesn’t cause harm to others – but all that lovely stuff depends on recognising the ways those things are currently not happening for some people, and what we can do to change that. I have a younger brother who is unbelievably clued up on issues of social justice but from a very personal, emotional level and I’m always impressed at how he challenges the family, teachers and peers to be better, and if he can do it at 14, I feel like I have no excuse not to do it at 25. [disclaimer – I don’t mean always being at the centre of change because that’s not good allyship; I also don’t mean ‘causing harm’ to include ‘offending parochial and conservative attitudes’] Mentioning my brother also leads to the second group (people who are mad at others…). I’m reminded of a poem I once read called You wasn’t always woke. I think people, especially people directly affected, have a right to be mad, be angry, and demand better. I will never dispute that point. But I think there’s a privilege in debating other people’s experiences from an ‘objective’ and often morally superior standpoint, as a purely intellectual exercise, and with minimal emotional empathy for not only the people we claim to be defending (who are rarely a uniform group with uniform interests, values or beliefs) but also the learning processes of the people we get mad at (and again I don’t include trolls and wilfully ignorant people here). Other people were patient with me when I was unlearning my own ingrained prejudices and biases and I choose to do the same if I can see someone is trying – and the emphasis is on that, on the fact that someone is making an effort to learn and not just forcing someone to do emotional and mental labour for them.

Looking at body positivity specifically as a movement, what are some of your running thoughts on the conversations had online and offline. What does it mean to you?

I’m trying not to be cynical about the movement in its latest iteration, but I find that I’m wary of the way body positivity has become yet another consumer fetish (not everywhere, but in many ways). One example is the health food fetish which ignores the lived experiences of most of the world’s population and turns health into a prestige good. I’m happy people want to be healthy but when cauliflower suddenly triples in price because of Uncle Tim’s War on Potatoes I’m a bit sceptical, and annoyed that it puts simple, healthy food out of the reach of many others. This trend also suggests that less desirable bodies can be ‘fixed’ through lifestyle changes alone, and again that not fixing them is an individual problem and not a systemic conversation about global food wastage, hunger and inequality.

I also think we need to talk more about consumerism and the way that it co-opts things like body positivity and even feminism – makes it something you can buy, makes brands more popular, and so on. I’m not necessarily seeing body positivity overlap completely with fat positivity, for example – there are still particularly bodies (and faces) that are preferred to others, and there is less of a conversation about the tangible ways ‘undesirable’ bodies are targeted and

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mistreated on a daily basis, in healthcare spaces, for example. We also need to bring gender back into the body positivity conversation – looking at the way cishet women are essentialised, fetishised and co-opted into the consumerist narrative, how trans womxn and mxn are being erased (but also how cishet and trans womxn are subverting these narratives), and even how representations of ‘traditional’ masculinity remain unchallenged as a site of immense violence towards men and probably one of the major roots of the related attack on womxn’s bodies.

There are historic racial and class dimensions to this conversation that we ignore when we focus on ‘body beautiful’ conversations. And again, to state the point I made in the original article, we need to de-centre ‘the body’ from these conversations and think existence in a more holistic way. We will always encounter people in their physical forms first, but our overvaluation of the physical needs greater interrogation.

Anything you feel you need to add?

A conversation I’ve regularly had with myself recently has been to check in on basic things.

Does your body work? Are you sleeping enough? Are you strong enough to do the things you enjoy? Are you listening to what she needs from you? This type of inner dialogue has really helped me improve my relationship to my own struggles with weight and self-worth, making it about practical issues and reminding me that I am more than my body, but that to keep being and doing more I need to take care of it. I am naot separate to my body, nor am I reduced to it. I was measuring and weighing on a weekly basis a year ago, whereas I’ve gone back to my three golden rules for not obsessing about my appearance: no scales, no tapes, no size adherence (sizes are a totally arbitrary thing anyway). When you realise just how much of your relationship to your body is just about how comfortable you feel in it, it slowly becomes easier to simplify big moral judgements about your appearance to little, daily, achievable goals for personal wellbeing.

Checking in with you more generally, where are you, what are you up to and what does 2019 have in store for Tarryn?

At the moment I’m living in England (where I can’t find jeans for my body shape, which makes me enraged all the time because it’s cold). I’ve started my PhD at the University of Sussex focusing on decolonial political economy and education, and 2019 will be spent between South Africa and the UK while I conduct my research. I’m also trying to get back into music and working to complete writing a collection of poetry (perhaps telling you will make me work faster) of my reflections on mental wellbeing, gender and race, and being at the interstice of these two places. It makes for very interesting reflections, I can tell you that much.

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