By Lerato Motsoagae
This narrative is based on realities of how capital assists us to curate life exactly how we want it… circumstances circumvented to the point of always getting what you want. The narrative is centred around a gent, a true gent it appears. Gent relates how he and his wife were invited to a wedding in the bundus but they didn’t get proper lodgings when they got there. Ladies and gents were separated into two rooms and they all had to sleep on the floor (an exaggeration probably, for dramatic effect) but you understand the concept of blankets, a sponch on the floor and the implications the next morning. He said he decided to book himself and wifey into a nice hotel nearby, with comfy beds and didn’t want to put his wife through grief, because of smallanyana fears people will saying he is a snob.
Now, I get it. The moral of the story, that is. You don’t have to put yourself through discomfort because other people around you can’t afford the things you can or because they just don’t have a snobbish bone in them. Granted. Tata lived and died so we could experience our people marry whom ever they want and do it within a democracy that allows for comfort, if you have the right capital. Gent says, the next day, all the couples that were sleeping in those dorms, were tired, while he and wife were fresh. Of course. People were probably up all night, chatting away, having fun, sneaking into the other room to join the boys and drinking last bottles in a medley gin, gags and gossip, while you and snobbish bae, on a mission(ary), are making love on a four post bed, with a knocking headboard, probably like the one that you have back at home, but for a price. I get the idea of being comfortable, and considering celebrity comforts, but where you are used to being comfortable 365 days a year, what’s one night, sleeping on the floor with old friends , strangers, catching up and complaining all day the next day, while laughing at how people were cramped on that one tiny bed and someone had to fart in someone’s face on top of that?
Where’s your sense of adventure Moafrika, made soft by the ways of the bourgeois who forget they come from the people whose resilience is tied to those mornings after , and their memories, the bonding currency? Without it being a question of preferences, do you value your celebrity comforts over the actual people, the working class that you took time to spend with and the experiences that may come with their financial limitations? The sheer possibility of being with a snobbish husband, who misses out on the little details that bring colour to very black and white, carefully curated lives appears a betrayal by the ancestors. If our lives are marked by love-making on crispy Egyptian cotton sheets, let’s go out there to the “weird wedding” whose obligations cant be escaped, and have a quickie behind the bushes. “I’ll be Eve, you be Adam…” kind of roleplay, practicing decency only because democracy prescribes freedom not to infringe upon the freedoms of those friends and strangers trying to sleep in the 2 rooms setup. And so capitalism can only offer us so many options, but in the kingdom of the imagination, living a life curated by action, freedom, chance and a “sizobona phambili” mentality yields some experiences that cannot be bought and it’s the ones that come spontaneously, that we wouldn’t dare plan or prepare for in our sober minds, that make life worth living.
Lerato Motsoagae writes. Particularly drawn to her long facebook reflecting on society, and the complications we find posts helping people think while enjoying some well thought out . Follow Her Page on Facebook.