/ 11 March 2009

Where art thou, brother?

Last weekend I rediscovered the soul of the Johannesburg I love. My sister Vuyo and I went to see the tremendously talented Hip Hop Pantsula in the confines of the smoky jazz club, The Blues Room at Village Walk, Sandton. And goodness did he wow us! But beyond his electric and powerful performance, it was the atmosphere of the Blues Room that had me enraptured.

There were throngs of people out to enjoy and appreciate vibrant South African music that reflects the trials and tribulations of their generation. These were people out to have fun in a soulful, unpretentious place, people who are not pre-occupied with either being spotted by — or trying to avoid — the ”tab hacks” or by getting their pictures in the society pages in scanty clothing.

It was refreshing because it was not the kind of ”good time” that seems to define many of the hang-out spots that cater for young black people these days. As singletons, we are often lectured by ”couples” friends that meeting new people is not going to happen while one is lazily draped over the couch e-v-e-r-y weekend wearing oversized PJs decorated with childlike bear-motifs while glued to the E entertainment channel.

But what happens when one does venture forth — bold, beautiful and determined to take on the big city? Well, let me tell you.

Every other weekend my friends and I will hit the club scene in the Rosebank area. That’s because we know these venues are age appropriate (there’ll be no anorexic-looking teeny boppers) and they play the kind of music that at the not so tender age of 30 I can recognise and still want to boogie to.

A good time could be had by all, but what is it with these establishments that seem to attract prostitutes? I kid you not these days it seems whichever club you go to there will be ladies of the night conspicuously peppered about the room. Now I understand the economic disparities that plague our country and the fact that some women resort to transactional sex to make ends meet.

I can also appreciate that, like the rest of us, the girls also want to unwind. I can only imagine that too much time spent between the sheets can be exhausting and they too want to lahl’um lenze, in a manner other than their day — or night — jobs prescribe.

Where it gets complicated is when the male clientele at these clubs are looking for that kind of woman. This leaves girls like us, who would prefer to have a conversation that doesn’t involve a rate for services rendered, a bit out of the loop. It’s also quite clear that these girls are still, well, hard at work.

A few years ago it used to be so easy to meet like-minded, interesting, smart, funny and attractive men. These days the chances of that happening have become as slim as a black African becoming the next South African Idol. I mean this is the fifth season and you mean to tell me that there isn’t one black kid in this country who can sing? C’mon!

Once upon a time, there was that fantastic and peculiar beast called the house party. People would gather at someone’s house for a rapturous party — there didn’t need to be a reason for the celebration. No invite was required but through chain-like communication by cellphone text messages or good old fashioned word-of-mouth, everyone knew where the party was.

For some reason these gatherings would attract people of the same social standing who would party the night away in a contained and suitable environment. That you didn’t know who the host of the party was was never an issue or seen as a reflection of your manners.

The evening would more often than not end with you having spotted someone you fancy and swapping contact details.

These days a night out on the town leaves me feeling emotionally drained, bored and desperately hoping that fellow revellers don’t jump to the conclusion that the impact of the credit crunch has forced me to abandon my pen and microphone for the oldest profession in the book!

So the big crisis isn’t so much that scores of attractive, accomplished, politically and socially aware women can’t find mates, it’s more that they don’t even know where to go or how to begin to meet like-minded potential partners.

The howling winds of change which blew across the country in 1994 brought freedom that invigorated and refreshed us, but in the aftermath, especially when it comes to the social structure, so much has been rent asunder, leaving us grappling to find our way in a new world where the old rules no longer apply.

The traditional house party is now a thing of the past in Johannesburg and the club has emerged strongly as its often bitterly disappointing replacement. What a shame.