Fikile Ntsikelelo Moya

A sign of my bigotry is my discomfort with homosexuals displaying affection in public, although I have no problem with heterosexuals doing the same.

Religious holidays are always happy times for criminals. Perhaps the overwhelming sense of brotherly love makes cash-flush citizens too trusting and thus easy prey. But a growing category of charlatans is emerging. Instead of pulling a weapon to make folks part with their money, they invoke the name of one deity or another.

My mistake was to express how I lost patience with Jacob Zuma’s tendency to talk about bread when he is with bakers, meat when he is with butchers and pies when he is with both. My friend — a proud, urban Zulu man — thought he had seen through me. He accused me of hating Msholozi.

"The problem with blacks," my new friend says, in condemnatory tone, to the rest of the company, "is that we are too harsh on other blacks. You would think they are the only ones who do bad things." All of us around the table are black. Some dare to suggest that there are a few things darkies need to sort out themselves before blaming the "system" for our sorry plight.

It was a casual chat with a colleague ahead of the start of a long weekend. I told her I would be spending some time at a drinking hole somewhere in Soweto. She pointed out that she did not like Soweto pubs much because they seemed too "nice". She preferred those of the rural Eastern Cape, crowded little places where people sit on crates and drink from 750ml bottles.