GOVA - Ike Mboneni Muila’s Mix Masala that says, Jump On, Welcome Aboard!

The word-wand weaves images that translate from our Experience. Conducted by Imagination, they become part of the sensual world – the world of hard and soft knocks, perfumes and stenches. In the 1950’s, the so-called “tsotsi taal” of the townships, the slang used by the most marginalised - the criminals and the artists - developed in response to the innate hunger that all people have to express themselves, and to do so in the language that most reflects themselves and their world. So it was, in a spirit of defiance and verve that all the languages spoken in the polyglot Black ghettoes (set up by the White colonial/apartheid rulers) were incorporated into an urban argot that became known as Isicamtho. Out of the ‘mix and marry’ of new expressions a vibrant bridge crossed chasms in all directions. A language that embraces the diverse language heritage of our fractured society – that is surely a creation to treasure!

Such is the word-wand that Ike Mboneni Muila plays with – and play is the word, for isicamtho is above all a joyous and tongue-in-cheek ‘grootbek’ of a lingo. Isicamtho is so juicy it strikes me as being a relative of Yiddish, that other extraordinary hybrid of languages. And Ike as a master practitioner, conjures the craziness into subconscious order. The train of his associations screams across our minds, awakening in turn our own further associations – transformed and transforming. So for those who are not intimately acquainted with Isicamtho one can only advise – dive in! Do not get stuck on individual words/expressions – plunge head first into the maelstrom. Only then will you break the language barrier! Of course, those who are long time wasekaye or bandiete, will appreciate the subtleties, the finer points, and savour. But first-timers too will taste the fruits with great delight as I and many others have over the years till we became more and more attuned - not just to the words themselves but to the rhythms and the intonations.  

Given the South African tendency to be dominated by other imperial cultures (once European, now North American) Ike Mboneni Muila stands out as a South African original – not that he is the first to write in Isicamtho (many others have done so), but that he is the first to build a developed body of work that is entirely in Isicamtho and makes no apology for doing so. How refreshing to hear his work in the middle of the hip-hop/rap bombardment or the pseudo-Rasta talk and spelling affected by so many young and not-so young poets! Yes, Isicamtho is best experienced live, in performance. The words flow like a tide, musical to their core. In this regard, the compact disk recording PURPLE LIGHT MIRROR IN THE MUD captures the irrepressible energy of the poems that a quiet reading on the page cannot do. Indeed, a very considerable attraction of the cd is the quality of Ike’s unique voice. 

And so it is. The situations and emotions on which his poems are based remain individual and yet at the same time carry the imprint of wider social influences. And both the style and content challenge orthodoxy and comfort. Small wonder that the esteemed but out-of-touch anthologists of South African poetry do not take the trouble to properly engage with Ike’s work. And when they do so, they show their condescension, lacking the feel to identify the most powerful, the most vital. The anthologists’ insularity being further confirmation of their irrelevancy - proof that a definitive South African anthology of contemporary poetry is still very much lacking. Indeed, witness their battle to accept Wopko Jensma, one of our most dynamic, innovative and profound poets.

Ike’s early work as published in the late 1990’s in the Botsotso Jester poetry collective books, WE JIVE LIKE THIS and DIRTY WASHING, established his presence. This collection takes that work several steps further. May you enjoy the ride!

Allan Kolski Horwitz
Johannesburg/Jozi

 

Introduction

wangu dear ike

my dear ike
where and how are you
now this time of the evening in humourstown
there is no lover nearby for dice
old clever piglike spy
there is no time in humourstown
how do you figure this
tsar where are my love letters
I keep on sending you to no avail
you are ignorant ike. . .
I believe you believe
that we all believe you are
what you write about
baby you are a tsotsi
in a tsotsi lingo skin my love
where did we go wrong
in those sweet moments of love
humourstown hanging on the edge of eternity
hang on tsotsi we are turning
corner scratch travelling rugs veranda floor no dice
listen to this love
my man is madly in love wittywise
I mean in love with the socalled tsotsi lingo
Bring him home buddyscamtho
Kindly do return my love regards
In a witty lingo much more better I say. . . .
So, so, well, well
Yours sincere love
Moodystyle
X love in disarray

 

Jamming in my mind

Head on a challenger like a tattered hen
same style same pattern
as usual as always
come over off. . .back off come over
come over come over come over. . . back off
what a marsh mellow jam session in my veins
hell haunted condense milk in my mind
with a finger up there ting ting tinkling tune
strumming down avenues of my black box
brain decoder gee indian sweet spicy jam chillies
burn out fire oven
behave/stop noise roofing in a come together
poor man in the street behave yourself
ugly cable dresser in my skull disco joint
for both eardrums there goes greeting Mr big fish
where are the small fish
double adopter swivel turn wire dangling
a carrot current flow before my face
that which reminded me of my childhood friends
Mpoporia and Dingding dancing to the sound of
torn underwear
rollerskate sound mamma shall we
pack now
with a shocking sound of pleasant surprise
mamma miya free bees man
the meaty juice is spilling over
come over. . . back off or back off
come over come over come over. . . back off

 

Love Index

This poem is an extension of love index
blue mass trap logger dancer
in between venus and mars
calabash archer stalk me
inside out of an imaginary planet
calabash logger dancer
a bundle potscraper spinach fence
junior buck short
love index of discomfort
eloff street candy collar rebels
corner market and nugget
cake tale story turn around both site
washing brake coffee bar gauteng province lights
commissioner benrose ellispark calibres
snatch out referee spy
only to find dry skin in touch salvation spy
dry skin grace vaseline
blue seal petroleum jelly stop station
service touch line slander waterproof
dramatic order disorder in disguise
wardrobe blinkers munching exclusive
blue mass

 

Van Sidlangozwane

Nepotism

stealing four finger
like a snake bite or a dog pulling
things out of sight from a waste bin
within a wink of an eye
covered under cosset
grand ma baker sister now
refuse trying cock eye things
drum ten cook tycoon temptation
upfront you think lots
of wonderful things or what
fill up now properly full to the brim
grand ma baker sister 
this shanty diesel engine
gum gum guys bubbling gums
service station radio maker
what’s going on
is it not how you pump now
natural glamorous or what
grand daddys slam is as good as before
six lights on page
ballatine cock eye chopper
ringing bells clock
seven down mr shoeshine
open and close tails down

 

Madice

let it burn sunshine codesa non stop
let it burn anti clock wise
let it pass around
clock wise man to the left
last bench smell like a chicken in the oven
take a pull and brake down sound of a cracker
popomala durban poison cork eye poke
cork eye poke stubs watch out and first go bash
take bind and go godess of love
bring back latter days
first floor smokers corner beer customer buy
plank fountain zozo plate
zoll no fuss
what do you mean now
fully symbolic these days
giving gesture. . . mmbo
giving is giving
mothers are mothers
continue a round figure rand
sister bow legs
half crown pringle
evenly divided
in your  mind

 

Bafoza

brotherman
take your time steam
cool down my brother
there are plenty cats at home joe
there is no more a great hall dance
now lately for the rat race
minkey mouse and mice chipping monkey soul
as much as they please
when the mother cat is away
cup shape small business tea spoon tipa to bottle figure
conscious sight                        puppet string cola punch circle
go slow down cheap boaster courts of law
if you see a stop sign stay alert
short left and short right driver
no u turn javelin sports man twist
take your time steam cooldown brotherman
from the six nine station           rider pee
non stop spoon down test
come back no more joe
they are a lot of cats and tricks at home
right across the heart and soul city centre daddy
drive safely grand
when you spy by the corner
tread your needle with care gambler stall
take your time steam
cool down brotherman