Aaron P Kohn

On the 10-minute drive from the border of downtown Johannesburg to The Bioscope (an independent cinema in one of the city’s revived arts districts), my friend and I were stopped at a police checkpoint. I noticed the driver of the truck in front of us hand the officer a wad of bills. My reaction was a sigh, hoping that we wouldn’t miss the film, knowing my friend wouldn’t pay a bribe.

Luckily, we made it to the screening of Behind The Rainbow with time to spare, although not before my friend made it clear how unhappy he was to park at night in downtown Johannesburg—a fact he made evident to the security guard watching the cars.

It is now a well-known fact that South Africa has its problems; that the end of Apartheid did not mean the end of social inequalities; that the ANC although once leaders of a moral battle, may not in fact be so transparent anymore. In recent years, controversy has shadowed many aspects of South Africa’s dominant political power, from corruption charges to questionable foreign policy.

For Jahin El-Tahri, the Egyptian director of Behind the Rainbow (South Africa being the “Rainbow Nation” since 1994), the irony in South Africa became an exploration. She began work on a documentary in 2004. For five years she was motivated by the question: How could such a promising liberation movement led by the ANC and figures like OR Tambo and Nelson Mandela lead to such a let-down? Post-Apartheid South Africa has seen rising unemployment, corruption, crime, xenophobic violence, and a lack of basic government services.

Then, unexpectedly, when finishing the R5 million film in 2008, Thabo Mbeki stepped down from his position as President of the Republic of South Africa. With hours of interviews with Mbeki himself, Jacob Zuma, who would become President, and countless other ANC “comrades” involved from 1975 onward, El-Tahri has an amazing film. Behind the Rainbow provides an inside look at the workings and conflicts within South Africa’s political stage.

The documentary unintentionally captures the relationship between “Thabo” and “Jacob”, from their initial bond formed in a Swaziland jail while in exile, through the moment Zuma defeated Mbeki as the President of the ANC. As El-Tahri explained, she is not South African, and she doesn’t care who the president is. On camera, President Jacob Zuma appears candid and reasonable, even while explaining his favorite song, Umshini Wam, “Bring me my machine gun”, which he says is a “Nice song.”

Jahin El-Tahri was present for two screenings of Behind the Rainbow at the Bioscope. Behind the Rainbow is not designed to be entertaining or frilly—it is a 138-minute documentary that provides an intimate primary source on South Africa’s history.

When the movie ended, my mate’s car was untouched and no bribes had been paid.

Came across these kids who could not be more than 10 years old yesterday in the Maboneng Precinct, Johannesburg.

Ten moments from Instagram (apkohn) since I arrived in Joburg.

Last week I arrived in Johannesburg. When people think of Joburg, good thoughts don’t generally come to mind. In many ways, the city is the epitome of “white flight” and most tourist itineraries leave the city off because it’s not terribly appealing to look at walls around homes, huge shopping malls and derelict business districts; especially when Cape Town happens to be one of the most gorgeous cities on earth.

Luckily, when I was in Gaborone in 2008, I met Phil Sandick, who turned me on to South African art (among many other things). A photography book on loan to Phil from Andrea Eaton, Some Afrikaaners Revisited by David Goldblatt, gave me the first glimpse into the fact that South Africa is not characterized just by Apartheid. Goldblatt describes that his work was not originally published in America because it was not political enough for an international audience—now his works sell for $30,000+ and are featured around the world. One of Goldblatt’s most recent publications, in collaboration with author Ivan Vladislavic, “TJ”, is all about Johannesburg, and how it has changed, but also its heritage (which could fill volumes).

While I am excited by the art in Joburg [Newtown, Maboneng Precinct, 70 Juta; all amazing; where you can pass the likes of William Kentridge on the sidewalk], what might be the most amazing part of being here is the lesson that I learned from David Goldblatt. Yes, Apartheid is part of this nation’s history, but it does not define it.

Tuesday night at the Market Theatre production of Woza Albert, mom and I were surrounded by young black and white students (high school age)—a generation that was born into a post-Apartheid South Africa. Yet, there were a few young black South African couples, as well as a number of older white South Africans in the audience—a few in the seats next to us.

It was to these white South Africans and me in the front row of the theatre that the two actors—black, shirtless, and spewing sweat—approached. With passbooks in hand, they acted out what it was like to be on a street begging white people to hire them in the days of Apartheid.

            “6 month permit sir!”

            “I make nice tea sir!”

            “Please sir, 14 day permit, I’ll take any job!”

The actors had just described how it could take weeks to get a permit to work in “The City of Johannesburg”; how without a pass, they would be jailed for even being there. Inches from us, these two men fought for the attention of a potential employer, but it felt like they were talking to us––two Americans and two South Africans who very well may have once inspected passbooks before hiring someone.

As one man took a swing at the other, saying, “Look, I am strong!” the audience began to roar with laughter at the slapstick humor. Scene after scene of depressing anecdotes about life under Apartheid ensued. But, just nearly 18 years since a free South Africa, the black actors were eliciting the crowd’s laugh. Black, white, young, old—we laughed.

The power of respect and of comedy are everywhere here. They go a long way. For a white man to say, “Thanks boss,” to a black man in America would be derogatory…the way an adult might jokingly speak to a child. But here, it is respectful and friendly to address anyone as boss. After years of being forced to say “boss” to white people, many white people say “boss” to black people in passing.

            “Thanks boss!” to the guard or parking attendant.

Or you could try Setswana (in northern South Africa): boss—morena, father—ntate, or king—kgosi. It shows that you have made an effort to speak another’s language.

The beauty of South Africa lies somewhere within this persistence to move forward—to laugh—despite the scars of the past and problems of the present.Most would find it hard to believe that a decade and a half is long enough to heal the wounds of this nation’s history—and it isn’t healed in all regards, but the nation has come a long way. It’s similar to the way that most Joburg citizens living in the scattering suburbs would be surprised that I can safely write this from a smoothie stand on a sidewalk in the center of “crime-ridden” downtown, but I am, and I’m having the best smoothie I’ve ever had.

(photos by David Goldblatt)

A story about new “African Fabrics” from the top of the line Dutch Fabric company, Vlisco.

My first essay published in The Current is an encounter I had over the summer.

This is immigration. No more Ellis Island. No obvious estrangement. Possibly wait months or years to save money. Endure lines and frustration at an embassy where young State Department servants learn to block out the stories in order to see the statistics. Win a lottery for a residence permit and make a Facebook update. Take the last gaze at a familiar country, at home, for the foreseeable future.

With the final click on Facebook and one’s past can be erased. Put behind. Out of mind. Off the web. Forgotten. Deleted. A blank CV. A migrant with a one-way ticket. A new Act I at age 25, with a love of Oprah.

I had a unique chance to talk to the engineering firm behind Yinka Shonibare’s replica of Nelson’s Ship that has been in Trafalgar Square for the last year. Here’s the article via Cool Hunting!

Today is World AIDS Day. December 1 is the annual date.

Though in the USA, HIV is no longer a death sentence, there is still no cure, no vaccine, and in many parts of the world, ARVs are still not available.

Phaswane Mpe, a South African writer, who passed away in 2004 wrote about the virus and its effects on the society around him. Here is a poem published in Words Gone Two Soon, edited by Mbulelo Vizikhungo Mzamane, p91.

loveLife - Phaswane Mpe

the only roll-on every woman wants

the billboards say

& we say …

we are not that woman

 

now that they say you are positive

bone of my heart

i will write you this loveLetter

 

i am waiting for words to run

to the tip of my fingers

but they enjoy the warmth

in the heart of my heart

feeding on the placenta

of my dreams for tomorrow

 

silence too is love

bone of my heart

let us lie on the green

& bask

p.50 Studio Magazine Summer/Fall 2011. The Studio Museum, Harlem, New York.

Pulane Mpotokwane, an architect from Botswana, wrote the poem above for the Harlem Studio Museum Magazine. The poem is of the same title as the museum’s recent acquisition by Robert Pruitt (seen below on the page).

The two works evoke the irony of chains from slavery and chains we know as fashionable “bling”; both featured around one’s neck. 

On Friday I finally got to see Baloji live. We chatted after the show…more on that soon. He has an album release and new videos on the way, so keep an eye on this “Afropean” guy.

I’m going to start tagging African things I find online in this weekly collage that you can follow. Comments always appreciated.

I met Sebastian Lindstrom on a rainy night in NYC last spring. He brought me camel milk to taste from Nairobi and we chatted about the film that he, Alicia Sully and Phillippa Young have been working on. I recommend reading up on the What Took You So Long film projects and find out a bit more about camel milk!

The team is here in London this weekend to talk about their filmmaking in Africa and to preview a cut of Hot Chocolate for Bedouins at the London Experimental Food Fair (the photo is of Sebastian sticking his head into the screening).

On a personal level, I am certainly inspired by these three–Alicia, Sebastian and Phillippa–who are examples of the potential of filmmaking (in Africa), making things happen (hence their foundation’s name) and enthusiasm (their willingness to meet with people, network and try things). Thanks guys for involving me from time to time!

Step into a Wagamama restaurant and you expect friendly service served alongside contemporary Asian dishes. U.K. visitors to the chain will now get a taste of nine emerging English artists too. Working with Moniker Projects, the new program goes by the name Art and Eat. With Moniker, Wagamama started…