NEW VALLEY by Nkcubeko Balani

In my/your/our solitude: On the economy of friendship

“[When people show you who they are, believe them.] Believe them. They know themselves better than you do. ” - Maya Angelou

by Nkcubeko Balani [@ freetownnoir]

“Keep your solitude … When you are given true affection there will be no opposition between interior solitude and friendship, quite the reverse.” - Simone Weil This year I found myself knee-deep in soil bent on consuming me. Maybe the way I speak of it robs it of the beauty which attaches to it. This is a note about friendship, to friendship, involving friendship. I do not write this note knowing what exactly it should result in. And perhaps that is fine, knowing how the discussion at hand is itself a cobweb of the unknowable, capable of breaking our hearts. And so, let me begin by stating what I do know about what this note is about: first, it is about the economy of friendship from a(n) (un)knowing twenty-something year old; second, it is a conversation to, as opposed to a creator of, conversation on this matter. It is half-way through the current year. My best friend and I are well onto more than a year of being friends. Her birthday approaches and I spend a while thinking about the possible things I could get her as a gift. Thinking about this sends a canon of thoughts loose in my head: I begin to think of our relationship, the comfort we have in each other, how well we have grown to know each other, and whether I should be afraid that we have been able to reach this point in a relationship. These thoughts send me back to something I had read by French philosopher Simone Weil, writing and meditating on friendship in the first half of the 20th century. Addressing this issue head-on, with clarity one has when speaking of an animal across the road, she writes:

“Sometimes, you recognize truth because it destroys you for a bit. ” - Freshwater, Akwaeke Emezi

“To desire friendship is a great fault. Friendship should be a gratuitous joy like those afforded by art or life. We must refuse it so that we may be worthy to receive it; it is of the order of grace. It is one of those things which are added unto us. Every dream of friendship deserves to be shattered … Friendship is not to be sought, not to be dreamed, not to be desired; it is to be exercised (it is a virtue). ... Friendship cannot be separated from reality any more than the beautiful. It is a miracle, like the beautiful. And the miracle consists simply in the fact that it exists.” (emphasis in original text.) Weil’s conception of friendship escapes Aristotle’s taxonomy of friendship (which, I would argue, attempts to contain friendship into a classifiable human experience something uncomplicated to do when familial and romantic bonds are treated with more complexity). She considers it “an order of grace,” as something given rather than searched for. In avoiding attaching classification, Weil’s theorisation of friendship makes it possible for us to gift friendship oddly, and to strangers - it is added to us “like … art or life.” And we exercise it. Thinking about friendship in an age when my peers and I are realising that we are quickly becoming adults (to a mixed response of both fear and gladness) presents a challenge. How we conceive of, and mediate, friendship is necessarily under attack: by bonds which are understood to be more evolved (marriage, children, lovers, upward mobility), as well as by the inescapable difficulty of exercising this virtue. The miracle that Weil alludes to is simply difficult to carry because it is unrewarding, and remains so until we are present in the miracle and realise how much we have been in need of it.

“Outlaw women are fascinating - not always for their behaviour, but because historically women are seen as naturally disruptive and their status is an illegal one from birth if it is not under the rule of men.” - Toni Morrison

How then do we befriend the miracle? Weil’s words propose at least one way of doing so: “Do not allow yourself to be imprisoned by any affection. Keep your solitude. The day, if it ever comes, when you are given true affection there will be no opposition between the interior solitude and friendship, quite the reverse. It is even by this infallible sign that you will recognize it. Other affections have to be severely disciplined.” Weil places friendship in its own danger zone and encircles it with an expectation of a high nature: it will be true affection when it doesn’t stand pale next to interior solitude instead, it should be in communion with it. Reflecting again on my best friend and I’s friendship, I yearn to be comfortable with my interior solitude leaving the private for the public. I find that it is exceedingly difficult to let go of interior solitude and have it stand before you and commune in a relationship with another. However, each of us have a line steadily tracing us together, weaving us into a beautiful, ginormous tapestry. This tapestry carries lines which are unknown, lines which are known, lines of lineages of trauma and experiences, lines of sadness and joy, lines of fears and hopes for the future, lines of the realities of the present. These lines are all interior solitude: that little voice we spend time with and hope to not have around when we are with others. And if it does come around in the presence of others, this little voice is forced to transform - to take an unshakeable form. It becomes what moulds us together as friends, what we take care of in becoming friends. It changes itself into a meeting of interior solitude and friendship. And, how beautiful must friendship be if it is this experience becoming life?

“You’ve got to cease the needs that disease with ease / And lets get busy yoh with my gift / What you think about this Lebo?” - Thembi Seete of Boom Shaka

Taxi Chronicles by woody

“Heh Buli! Ndithetha nawe! Jonga! Lomntana uyahamba ndithetha naye!” - Brenda Ngxoli as 'Vuyo', Home Affairs

Looking for LoLve Ed i t i o n

â&#x20AC;&#x153;What he failed to tell you was, when you're on my time, I can reclaim it.â&#x20AC;? - Maxine Waters

Friendships stuck in the past by woody Chwayita sent me a message the other day about whether it was me who said our dorm (back in 2012) were friends by circumstance, and in the process hurt quite a few feelings. My go to was to obviously deny it. Why would I say something so mean? (those were my peak mean years but I'm choosing to move past that). We ended up agreeing that it was indeed me. While I may be still grappling with, it makes sense. I don't like dwelling on the idea much but friendships that make me feel stuck in time horrify me. I like to think that we have friendship stages in our lives. My first stage started in my transition to grade 5 in Grahamstown having schooled in Stutterheim and lived in Dimbaza. The move was unexpected for me because it was something that my mom hadn't discussed with me but I made do with what I had. I tried to keep in touch with the few friends I had left (it was one friend - 2006 was a strange year). I wrote her a letter and tried to get it delivered to her. I don't think she responded. Next was the period from 2007 till 2014. I pretty much had the same friends (save for that one who dumped me during second break in grade 5. We were both new. I just remember standing near a hopscotch trying to process the information. Thanks N, you really were something). As the years went by, I made new friends and I cherished each of what they taught me. Then came the 2012 fiasco. Because we lived in hostel, we were all close. Everyone was friends with everyone. Not particularly close or whatnot but there was a sense of camaraderie (oh god, when did I become a freedom fighter?). But I also knew that it was by circumstance. Most friendships are. Although they were by circumstance, that doesn't delegitimize the importance of those friendships. I cared for all those people. I don't know whether we'd be friends now but it doesn't matter because they were my friends then.

“If you're black and you're standing in it, stand in it in all shades.” - Tiffany 'New York' Pollard The next stage was university. I retained a few friends from high school and by a few, i mean probably five. But because I am in a small university from the same town I went to high school to, much of the people I went to school with are still around. However, because we take different courses, live in different reses, the circumstantial nature those friendships can take withered away. I made new friends in university and you know what, I'll probably remain friends with at least 5 of the friends I made in university. Not because I don't want to be friends with the other people but because I'll still want to be friends with the five. The point I’m making at the moment sounds mean but I’ve been thinking (that’s my virgo brain) about the kind of people my friends and I are right now and the kinds of people we want to be in the future. And that line from now to the future is what will not make us friends. In essence we have different values and those values will dramatically grow in the future and I don’t want to be around them. I was talking to my other friend whom I love tremendously but I told her that after school, london I don’t think we’ll be friends in the future imran suleiman because she’ll move in towards her faith (because that’s what usually happens with people who believe in gods) and I don’t want to be around that because I’m a heathen (just kidding but I’ll never believe in god again). Again, it sounded horrible, which wasn’t my intention. What I’m saying sounds muddy but it’s basically about my hatred of being stuck in time which is ironic because this zine is about our shared love for nostalgia and nostalgia works with time. But I hate being stuck in time because I don't want to force or be in a situation where I'm friends with someone because we were in school together and are always reminiscing about those days (trust me, it can happen). But I’m also assuming that friends cannot grow with you which is a lie. A big big lie.

“Radical simply means "grasping things at the root.” - Angela Davis I think this all stems from people’s restrictions of who I am. For the longest time in high school I was known as that bookworm (I still am, I have a whole YouTube dedicated to books) and while I found comfort in it, I also realized that people had one view of me and it was that and I couldn’t move past it or they didn’t want to move past how I wasn’t that one dimensional. And that restrictive one dimensional view has... changed but I fear that the person someone knew me to be in university is the same person they’ll expect years from now. And I loathe that idea because I would have changed. I probably won’t care that much about university because I already don’t care about it and I don’t think I’ll want to reminisce about it. I also don’t think I’ll want to open up my life to someone I knew a while back because we would have grown up — we won’t be those kids anymore (I had to. I love Frank a lot). A lot would have changed. I’m not sure if this makes sense but sometimes it’s okay to admit that we’re friends for that specific stage. It doesn’t mean that the friendship wasn’t worthwhile. It just means it was for that time.

“‘Our crown,’ you said, ‘has already been bought and paid for. All we have to do,’ you said, ‘is wear it.’ And we do, Jimmy. You crowned us .” - Toni Morrison, eulogy to Baldwin

What's on my bed?

“When a black woman stands up for herself, suddenly she has an attitude problem.” - Solange

mewatchingyou watchingme by Nkcubeko Balani [@freetownnoir]

left: mewatchingyou watchingme.jpg, Nkcubeko Balani

This image was produced in response to the question ‘How do I record myself without myself?’, as part of a creative dialogue hosted by Photo: and the Photography Education Trust. In considering this question, I wanted to bring in voyeurism (or the ‘gaze’) as something which prohibits a coherent answer to this question. Or maybe voyeurism serves as a way of answering this question? In this photo, I use material from Lady Skollie’s OH NO I JUST LIKE WATCHING, THANKS which serves as a conversation she is having with Gerard Sekoto. Skollie’s response to a Gerard Sekoto painting is accompanied by a text where she writes: “I keep thinking of all the vulnerable drawings Sekoto made of women, the way he represented them. I try to be just as vulnerable but my voyeurism has taken a different edge. My vision is blurry from all the filth; I can't see straight. I can't see at all. I've seen too much probably. I've been watching you watching me watching you watching me watching you.” In continuing this conversation, I consider how technology serves as a haven for voyeurism, albeit often a ‘respectable’ voyeurism. My response to this submits to the question of recording myself without myself: one does so by submission to the narrative, being aware that there are multiple interpretations to one’s recording of themselves. And in the multitude, I think, there is safety. I have grown tired of seeing myself purely in ways that I would intend the voyeurer to interpret me. And so I’ve given in to their voyeourism, knowing that my voyeurism too, in a hyper-technological age, is ecstatic.

“[T]he archives of queerness are makeshift and randomly organised, due to the restraints historically shackled upon minoritarian cultural workers.” - José Esteban Muñoz

In choosing the title mewatchingyouwatchingme.jpg, I wanted to illustrate how recordings and imagery in an age of social media have become easily transferable things - the screenshot is one example, easy sharing (by links, across social media platforms) is another. I propose that in viewing this photo with the eye, one has saved it in their memory folder or gallery - it has become a jpg. file among the others you see everyday, every minute, every moment.

“Tshepo [the protagonist] and I went to Rhodes. Everything else is fiction. [Smiles] Could anybody be as hectic as Tshepo? Well, I suppose I could vouch for the drug experiences.” - K Sello Duiker

Freetown and woody: A conversation Adventure Time's Princess Bubblegum and Marceline in song

Following the first issue of NEW VALLEY, Woody and Freetown were spending time together going through a recent issue of the Mail & Guardian's 'Friday'. This led to a conversation which arose from us reading Zaza Hlalethwa's article "Little America is a good first step but ..." on Yoza Mnyanda of Darkie Fiction's new documentary 'Little America'. The documentary grapples with themes such as "South African-ness" and other unknowables. We decided to use that conversation as a premise to reflect on and contest similar themes with regard to NEW VALLEY, speaking on the zine's prospective future, and a whirlwind of other things. That conversation appears below as trancribed by one of us. woody: The first thing I always think about is: do we have a target audience for our thing? I mean our thing is not commercial, yes? Do we want to it to be commercial, are those questions. And, do we have a target audience? What does it mean to have a target audience, because we’re very different and I think we interact with art differently. So that’s the first question. The second question has to do with time, because I know you read things from the 20th century, for example, whereas I read mainly things from this century. I’m not saying that you only read things from the 20th century, but that you’re not afraid of exploring different centuries. And the third, for me my attachment to Western media isn’t a problem because that's kind of the media where it seems like people think about the art properly? I haven't really seen South African art really think a lot about what my art means. But then

“Once the people understood the boundaries and nature of [Shadrack's] madness, they could fit him, so to speak, into the scheme of things.” - Sula, Toni Morrison

at the same time, I know that there are people who are creating really thoughtful art in South Africa, but I don't see them because obviously ‘popularity’ and everything like that. But at the same time, I don't feel guilty about that. I used to feel guilty, and I had this incessant need to create something that's so authentically South African: 'it has to look like this’; … and what does that mean? For example, a grocery store making me feel like this [refers to photo/word-art grocery stores make me feel liminal’ from issue no.1] … is a South African grocery store because I can’t be in another – Freetown: Ja. It can't be ... woody:

Yes, … any other grocery store. Also, South African artists really … I haven’t listened to someone who has a really good genre of music in South Africa that I like. Anyway, I spoke a lot. What did you want to talk about?

Freetown: What was your first question? You had three. woody:

Target Audience.

Freetown: Okay, I might answer by blending all three of them. I don't know if I do have a target audience in mind? I guess whoever we can appeal to? But, it’s really hard to say one has a target audience today because I also don’t want to be classed and situated in a particular thing. And that also connects with commercialism as well, because you have to be, but in a specific way; it’s dictated how you get to be, in order for you to become something. But what I want to do is to be able to reflect my time right now. And in that way to be able to appeal to everyone and I think we can do that because we exist in this context, right now.

“Feminist rage is as legitimate as feminist love.” - Dr Pumla Dineo Gqola So we're both South African, we both have to wake up in this continent and in this country every single day. And if we make art in a certain way, in the end it does become a reflection of our context and our time right now because that's what is happening in our time right now. The difficulty becomes how everyone else perceives that. But what I want is to be able to say that I'm reflecting my time right now. Sometimes I find that that is very difficult because I have to attach a South African identity back to my identity, which at the same time I don't want it to most of the time. And it seems like you can’t get approval or recognition if you don't say you're ‘South African, black, LGBT etc … person’: like, with all of those trademarks being attached to you and you presenting this thing because you are that kind of person. woody:

What you’re saying now makes me think about us. Because I think I want to change that kind of thing. Because, it’s very dishonest of me to say that I don’t think about my identity … (I think we I’m no longer in that place where I’m should transcribe this thinking about my identity every day because I’ve realized how it’s sort of discussion for our wasting a lot of my time zine.) I was saying ... I’m no longer in that place where – and you can call it a privilege or whatever – but I’m no longer in that place where I’m thinking about my identity every day because I’ve realized how it’s sort of wasting a lot of my time because that means I can’t really explore, and instead I have to think about my identity and ways in which I’m limited in the world. And I know how I’m limited in the world. My identity-markers aren't

“I am building a stairway to the stars. I have the authority to take the whole of mankind up there with me.” - Bessie Head

really me; I’m beyond that. I am what I like. My personality is who I want to be. Those kind of things. You spoke about appealing. Do you want to appeal to people? Freetown: I have to be honest; I don't know. It's a very difficult question. I think in the end I do want to appeal to people because I want to be understood and I want to continue to exist and I think existing requires that you appeal to people a certain way. I think a lot of times people aren't being heard because they don't appeal to people in some ways but I also think that appealing to people is a very fragile thing, it's very … you can tip it a bit [hand-gestures] and suddenly … you do appeal to people. It’s a very unpredictable thing but it's a very fickle thing as well. woody:

And there’s only a certain people that you'll able to appeal to.

Freetown: Ja woody:

And then the South African question? It was your question. You were worried that our thing wasn’t very South African.

Freetown: That it was American. woody:

Hhm.

Freetown: I did feel like it was very American. But then what I fear is that binary – that, ‘this is a zine that’s meant to represent every queer person in South Africa’… That’s not true. I don’t represent every queer person in South Africa. I don’t like some queer people in South Africa. [giggles]

“White people don’t understand that the reason black people are so good is not always that we’re necessarily more artistically inclined, it’s more because we don’t have the space to suck.” - Kelela

woody:

I think then, it’s asking if you want to represent people. For example, I know that representation is important but I don’t care about it anymore. But what do you think?

Freetown: I'm more comfortable with an African identity because that's… that gives much more room to play with. I think a national identity puts me in a lot of discomfort. woody:

Ungu Petite Noir, with your African identity.

Freetown: [giggles] woody:

Hayi Freetown Noir . [both laugh] Did you get your name from him?

Freetown: No … It was a coincidence. I was thinking about Blood Orange’s Freetown Sound and how I love it so much. And then I was thinking about how I'm black, and then thought of ‘Freetown Noir’. And I think 3 months later, I started listening to Petite. It was beautiful.

I've been thinking a lot about how a South African identity – a nationalist identity in that sense - is used to suppress how much we can be as a people. There are very foundational things that are meant to inform how one becomes South African yet a lot of those things aren’t discussed. For instance, capitalism today informs how we become South African. So is the notion of upward mobility (in a capitalist society). Both of those things aren't spoken about as informing and impacting how we become South African. And so I’ve found myself moving slowly away from using a nationalist identity to appeal to South African people.

“The very reason I write is so that I might not sleepwalk through my entire life.” - Zadie Smith

I’m more comfortable with an African identity because I know how that’s, firstly, able to appeal to other nationalities, secondly, the Global North or the West (even though that may be problematic), thirdly, it has a future in that it's not stuck in the present. A South African identity for me is more practical: it’s not dreamy; it’s very mundane, it’s very every day. But an African identity, on the other hand, can be very impractical; it can be futuristic if you want it to be; it can take on themes that aren’t present in the everyday – that are dreamy, that are fictional – and you can dive into history because there’s a lot you can talk about in being African. So I want to have that identity inform my identity and to package it in a way that is accessible to South African people. What do you think on this, considering our last issue and going into this one? woody:

I think … As I mentioned, we have different ideas. And I’m okay with that. Sometimes I’m obviously worried about whether it is sustainable in the future. I don’t know how African art should look like, and how it looks. And I think those are questions that I’ve asked myself. But then again it’s also that I don’t want –

Freetown: Anything attached to it. woody:

Any identity attached to it. I just want it to exist as art. Obviously it can have those markers that 'I created this in this place'. But identities are very restrictive to me. I don’t want to be in that place any more. [long pause]

“Love liberates. It doesn’t just hold—that’s ego. Love liberates. It doesn’t bind.” - Maya Angelou

Freetown: Do you feel like our last issue was like that for you? woody:

I don’t think our last issue was American in anyway. I think it was expressive of what we like or love and I didn’t think that it was anything to do with … It was a new issue, to begin with, so it existed in a very experimental form. So I don’t think it was too American … we were discussing things that were on our minds and there happened to be American people – whether you’re gonna be talking about bell hooks or Blood Orange or me with Frank Ocean. But I can see how it’s very easy to make that criticism. I was reading something ubana when someone likes something of yours … I think most of us as friends when we’re supporting each other, we just end it at ‘I like your thing, it was really cool’. But what did you like about it? What didn’t you like about it? And obviously it’s difficult to talk about dislike because you don’t want to hurt your friend.

Freetown: Let’s talk about appeal. Especially because … remember when I said we should send it out to people and you said ‘the first one?’ And obviously we didn’t send it out. But if we do, we have to market it. And maybe this will connect with the theme for issue 2. So how do we figure that out? woody:

I think we are on different spectrums in terms of that. I think you sound a bit more comfortable with sending it out but I want it to be more established before sending it out. I want it to be a work that I'm extremely proud of because right now, it's still very much a seed. And I’m not saying that I can’t appreciate the seed but I want it to be rooted and really established before any of that happens. And then also I am weary about commercialization.

“Perhaps he is a fool or a coward but almost everybody is one or the other and most people are both.” - Giovanni's Room, James Baldwin

Obviously, there's nothing wrong with wanting someone to talk about it or have someone to publish it, whether it’s [media sites redacted] or whatever. That’s beautiful and that’s really lovely. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be there but I’m fine with you wanting to go there. Freetown: I do feel like it’s a seed. At the same time … I remember I was reading Serpentwithfeet’s FADER cover story. And he was talking about how he had performed with 2 stage names before he had used Serpentwithfeet, and he was saying that he’s had to realize how with attention span, or general reception, how people perceive you as an artist is always very fickle. And that the moment you do get recognition, you have to hold it so hard. And so I think I'm so comfortable with putting it out because if … the way I think about things sometimes is that if I make it at a certain time … it becomes special to its time at that point and my biggest fear is how … You know when an artist would create so much art in their time and then they die and then the moment they've died, everything is unearthed and everything has so much value but when they were around there wasn’t any value attached to it? So that's also my biggest fear and somehow it infiltrates how I share everything I make. And I think that’s why I'm comfortable with saying I made this now, I want to put it out and I want everyone to hear about it and I'll put it in the street corner. woody:

And then how do you feel about me not being in that place with you then?

Freetown: I'm fine with that because that's how you feel. But I’m also okay with it because I also understand that our zine is something that still has to mature. And with you not being

“I truly believe that the privilege of a lifetime is being who you are . And I just recently embraced that at 51. I think my strongest power is that at 10 o'clock every Thursday night, I want you to come into my world. I am not gonna come into yours. You come into my world and you sit with me. ” - Viola Davis

there doesn’t mean that there won’t be someone interested in peeking into it, writing about it. woody:

Because I'm also worried about like long term because. But also, I don’t care in that if it’s found then it’s found. And I understand your argument. History is happening right now. But … I don’t know, it’s also a thing of me thinking … I don’t want to be remembered? [both giggle]

And it sounds … Well it sounds bad but I think I’ve been at that point ubana I’ll live, and I’ll live and I’m fine with not being remembered if I did something and it made me happy. And doing our zine and working with you does make me happy. And that’s enough for me. But obviously, if you need assistance with your part we negotiate that. Freetown: That’s an antidote to my thing. woody:

Yeah. Do you have anything else?

Freetown: No, no. This has been cool. woody:

Okay, I’ll transcribe this and turn it into a conversation. [end conversation clatter and chatter]

meet the team them meet the team themmeet the team meet the team them Nkcubeko Balani (or user: @freetownnoir) is from Cape Town and currently a student at Rhodes University. They also make visual art, and write. They prefer their pants high-waisted and their tea without milk. They use they/them/their as pronouns. Front cover tog'd by Nikita Ndletyana (or user: @theholycloud1, who had to endure a walk in sunny weather with us and have a deserved ice-cream break amidst us being messy. i'm [woody], a multimedia artist who's constantly interested in many things such as color, coming off age films, and books. i learned to hate the word 'thing' from a beloved book i once read. the word, one of the characters said is a "major placeholder". i decided to run away from talking about myself in the third person. i use all pronouns. sometimes, late at night, i get random bursts of inspiration and decide to write on my notes. if someone were to hold a gun to my head and tell me to describe what i love, this is what i would say: wong kar-wai's films, sunlight bouncing on walls in the afternoon, winter and cold cold weather. this is long but now, at least you know me :)