I must confess, whenever Sandiso and I get an invite to a party or launch in Camps bay we can’t help but yawn and side-eye. It’s almost always in somebody’s contemporary style grey mansion. Which amongst you hasn’t been to no. 5 Nettleton road? These multi-million rand things are terribly revolting, often with a nostalgic yearning for brutalist architecture. Honestly, I hate brutalism nearly as much as I hate the phallic rectangular monstrosities with skyscraper delusions that popped up during the apartheid architecture era, you know, when they were trying to be kontempohraree and stuff. Also, the choice of these homes as party venues is almost always about some kind of misguided aspirational brand alignment that never quite gels. Anyway, lemme stop, I’m probably just jealous of the moneyed classes, the bourgeoisie or whatever.
*seize the means of production*
Anyway, this wasn’t that. I loved it. I mean, I’m not sure if it was the booze, the food truck serving the fucking yummiest hot dogs and burgers, or my bestie Idris Elba’s presence. He was rather sweet, chatting freely to inferior mortals and staying for hours. He only had one rule though, no pics. That didn’t stop us from hanging around pretending to take selfies while pointing the back camera directly at him. As for the special friendship between he and I, it really was bro-lovin at first sight. Okay, maybe not first sight, as our first meeting was interrupted by his bodyguard barking at me to stop trying to snap pictures. Bitch. But testosterone and steroids were never ready for a bromance like ours. A little later, I was queuing for the bathroom while six guests smoked weed and what-the-fuck-ever else inside. His bodyguard came to disavow me of my delusion that I might be next in line for a wee, no, Idris needed to wee. The people’s James Bond does not wait in line. Already sensing mine and Idris ‘s deep connection, I said okay.
Idris approached, looked me in the eyes, both of them, years of our friendships through different lifetimes, past and future, flashed through our minds. With what I’m sure were tears in his eyes he said, “I’m sorry, is this okay with you?” I said, “fine, go.” Then right there, he took my hand, he shook my hand, he placed his left palm on my shoulder, we maintained eye contact for what must have been a billion nanoseconds, probs because of that whole telepathic thing that was happening between us. He said, “thank you, buddy.” I said, “it’s a pleasure my dearest friend. And wow, what great moments lie ahead for you and I in our future lifetimes.” I know he heard me, even though by the time I quietly whispered those words he was already in the bathroom with the door locked, with his bodyguard standing in front of that door and looking at me like I was some deranged person. Bitch.
FUCK! THEM LOCNVILLE BOYS GOT WAY HOT WHILE I WASN’T WATCHING!!!!
THE MODELS ARE EATING, BURGERS NOGAL. WHAT KIND OF WORLD IS THIS EVEN?!?!? LIKE, I FEEL SO OUT OF TOUCH.
ALSO, IN 2016, FUCK A BURGER IF IT’S NOT BRANDED. LIKE, WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE STILL EATING SHITTY UNBRANDED MCDONALDS/BURGER KING/STEERS RUBBISH?
WE ARE ALL ALLOWED OUR FAVES, AND OUT HERE IN SKATTIEVILLE BONNIE MBULI IS A PERMANENT FAVE. WE GOT SO MUCH LOVE FOR THIS HUMAN.
KATLEGO YOU BETTER KEEP THOSE LIPS FAR AWAY FROM OUR FAVE. GO POUT NEXT TO JEANNIE D OR LOCNVILLE ONE OR SOMETHING.
BUT WE LOVE U BOO SO KEEP ON KEEPIN ON WITH THAT PERFECT SMILE
AMINAT AYINDE! THAT IS ALL.
WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE TRYNA BE HANGING WITH MY BOO? OOPS I MEAN BESTIE. IMMA HELEN KELLER ON YOU HEAUXS, I DON’T SEE YOU, I DON’T HEAR YOU!
Images and text by Malibongwe Tyilo