PUMEZA MATSHIKIZA

I want to say something but first I want to explain part of my psychology. It is said that we don’t necessarily see things as they are but how we are.

My grandmother worked as a maid around the suburbs of Cape Town; Constantia, Tokai and Sea Point.

There’s nothing wrong with being a maid but being a maid in the Apartheid era was tough. She retired at 55 from being overworked. She always said the Jewish family finished her, they worked her like a horse, with very little pay. She had to cook, iron clothes, clean and look after this family’s children for almost nothing. Also they had fisheries where she worked part-time. The husband died in her arms, he actually called for her after having a hard verbal fight with his wife. His last words were to my grandmother, that he couldn’t do this anymore and had a heart attack. My grandmother was not educated but extremely intelligent, emotionally and cognitively.

Anyway, I was 8 yrs old when on this one occasion I had to go with her to where she worked. I think it was Tokai. She told me the day before we went that she had a name for me that we’ll use for her employers, not Phumeza (yes my original name has an H which I took out), so that it’s easier for them. It was an English name. I cried so much, telling her that I didn’t want that name, that my name was Phumeza.

The next day came. Like all days come, even the day of our death will come. We went. Did she not introduce me to Mrs Higgins as E*^*xx?

I corrected her with my non existent English, “My name is Phumeza.”

Mrs Higgins welcomed my correction and called me, Phumeza. Let’s park this one here.

My family and I lived in KTC, Nyanga around this time. Those who know this area well, know that from Nyanga taxi rank, New Cross Roads is on your left and KTC on your right. KTC was a sea of slums, ghetto or shacks. I spent a substantial part of my childhood there. It was tough; nightly gunshots, which most people in Europe heard only on television. I’ll insert a photo of a typical slum around Cape Town for reference.

Now this is the story I want to tell you. On some occasions I’ll be coming from school, remember there was a lot of unrest especially at this time as it was close to the end of Apartheid, I’d see ashes of a dead people who were burned for being spies (iimpimpi) for the apartheid regime.

I still remember the cry of one man who had been necklaced and was begging for mercy whilst burning. No one helped him. Necklacing people was putting an old tyre on their necks, petrol and throw a lit matchstick. They’d eventually burn to death. The situation was so dire that no-one thought we were children and we shouldn’t be seeing all this. Children and adults alike watched these scenes as if they were normal. At this point I believe my trust in adults fell to a low point. How no-one’s heart moved anyone to stop this madness, it wasn’t making sense to my small psyche.

Back to what I wanted to say. I value freedom more than anything. I was brought up as a Seventh Day Adventist from the very tender age of 5 and left the church at 17. My main reason for leaving church, funny enough, was that I liked women and I chose women over God (the God of the bible and church) and am still happy with that choice.

I can’t help it but say, when something is not in order, or doesn’t sit well with me even though we’re all meant to be these docile followers of whatever pays us or otherwise… I despise that “OTHERWISE” I can be wrong but I want the freedom to be wrong, for myself and everyone, for discussions to continue openly rather than cancelling people for saying things we don’t agree with, even when not harming anyone emotionally nor physically!

I worry that freedom is dying whilst we profess to be living in democratic and free countries. This is sad. Freedom doesn’t give notice before disappearing!

Two things I think are possible for someone like me: to have lots of money so as to have a say, or to make peace with poverty. I’m not afraid of poverty, I know what it is. Now I’m an adult so it can never be as bad as it was as a child and I could never be that helpless. I value my freedom. To express myself in not fashionable ways. When I say uncomfortable stuff, know that I can’t help myself and if need be, freedom will always be the hill on which I lose everything.

I’m a woman in a world rife with misogyny, I’m black in a world with racism and I’m queer in a world with queerphobia but most importantly I’m a person with many many many lovely people. People of all races, genders and sexual inclinations and that’s where my main concentration is.

Now, on being political as classical music practitioners. I think it’s a mistake. One I once believed in. If you have open sympathy for Navalny and not for Assange, then the activism is questionable, if only Putin must answer to the ICC but not Blair and Bush, then again same as above etc.

It’s either we embrace holistic activism or concentrate on our top Cs and Mahler 5ths.

If I’d follow political activism, given the history between Europeans and Africans, basically I wouldn’t be singing the music of “ dead white men” as one intellectual told me in South Africa, to which I pointed out that as far as I know, suits and a BMW, which was his valued possession, weren’t necessarily an African invention. I promised to give up this music if he gave up his love for BMW.

A friend of mine had to urgently travel from Berlin to Russia today because her father is extremely ill. A journey that usually takes just less than three hours is more than 12 hours and overnight. The politicians aren’t suffering, they hop on private jets.