going to the bioscope

We didn't have malls when I was growing up. We bought our bread and milk from the corner shop and our meat from the local butcher. We had justed started watching television in 1976, and Rupert the bear, Maja the bee, Heidi and Knersis ("waar's daai hasie") kept us children entertained after school and families enjoyed badly dubbed serials like "Arsene Lupin" and "Tierbriegade" at night. The familiar themes of "Misdaad" or "Derrick" meant that it was time for bed, but I didn't mind because Derrick's eyebags were well scary. Karel Kraai and Sarel Seemonster were seen as figures of fantasy rather than political satire (a clever black crow with a floppy hat and a guitar teaching a thick Afrikaans dragon about factories, hmmm!).

Magda had big hair and asked the little bee to blow on his flower horn, so that the daisies could sing for Bennie Boekwurm to appear. On the Cape Flats, boys would wonder what it would be like to be barefoot, on a farm and white, just like Trompie, Rooie, Dawie (not forgetting Boesman the dog). We all wondered when Heksie and Koning RoseDinges would finally get together (O Griet!). Heidi stashed soft white rolls for Ouma as she did not have any teeth while Pieter spoke out of the side of his mouth to his goats Svirni, Berli and Sneeutjie.

We did not have Hi Definition or Dolby 5.1, so our trip to the local moviehouse on a Saturday afternoon was like a magical adventure. There was the lady at the ticket office with the grey hair who looked at us over her spectacles and the big bearded chap who controlled the velvet rope and looked like a titan. Once my friends tried to convince me to slip between his legs so we could save some ticket money but I was unaccustomed to such criminal activity and stood in front of him, paralysed like a deer in th proverbial headlights. The seats were covered in tacky orange fluffy stuff, seasoned with used chewing gum. The best seats were halfway up, just behind the stairs, as you could drop things on people's heads as they came in.

Movies were an interactive medium during those days. It was assumed that the protagonist (or "Roker") was able to avoid danger based on the advice of the audience, and perform superhuman feats due to their encouragement. Any hint of sexuality (ie a kiss) was met with wolf-whistles. It was not uncommon for a movie to have a standing ovation as the credits rolled or for boys to learn Kung Fu in 2 hours. I can still recall watching Drunken Master with his red nose and matted grey hair, the monks of Shaolin temple with the six burn marks on their bald heads. Some of us started pointing to our noses when referring to ourselves in a conversation. One friend wore bell-bottoms as he liked the sound his trousers made when he kicked. We all wanted to be Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan. We all wanted nunchucks.

It was always a double feature then, with some rubbish used as a garnish for the main attraction. Of course both movies needed to be edited in order to fit multiple showings, but we knew no better. Intermission was a mad dash for the toilet and the tuck shop. Guava juice, Messaris Chilli chipi and Pick a Cake pies were the favourites. The guava juice was so artificial it made you wheeze, but the plastic bottle made a perfect projectile, especially if stuffed with a Chilli Chipi packet.

At the end of the movie, time to pose or practice your moves on the marble steps and then home in time for Magrib, a bath and Dallas.

There were some memorable releases as we grew up, Die Hard (which everyone mad the mistake of reading in Afrikaans when the saw the poster for the first time), Fatal Attraction (there was no concept of age restriction), the Rocky movies which had guys running up the marble steps singing "tadat taaa, tadat taaaaaa..."

With the advent of shopping malls and cine-plexes, it was tough for the local cinemas to compete. If I can think of one event that marked the end of the golden era of independant cinema in Cape Town, it was probably what I'd like to call the Schizm. The owners of the cinema probably thought they could get in more punters if they split the building lengthways into two pizza wedge-shaped sections with screens set at a crazy angle. Basically this meant that you watched one movie but heard two soundtracks. Value for money? It didn't work.

"What do you mean you didn't need a joystick?"

Hands up all those who remember the playground game "Rover". You know, the one where everybody lined up against the fence on one side of the playground and ran to the other. The person reaching the other side last was termed "on", and was given the task of catching as many of the players who weren't as they attempted to traverse the field. People could be called in turn, and try to cross. If they were caught, they were also "on", but if they managed to cross, the entire team made a mad dash to the opposite side. Being one of the slower runners, I had to devise a method of ensuring that I didn't end up standing in the middle of the field alone every time. I didn't choose the slowest runner to try to cross solo. In fact I made a point of choosing someone who was likely to succeed and then target one of the faster chaps as they crossed en masse, hoping to increase the statistical probability of catching them. In hindsight, the game was probably a good preparation for the frequent encounters my schoolmates would have with the security forces during the school boycott years. I think the game got it's name from the call "Rover come over" which was used to invite players to try to get across the field.

There are some games, however, which had names for which I have no explanation. Piegits (or Piggy Liggy), Nickies (which was also called Kimberley Jim in some parts and Kirri Bekka in Johannesburg). There were also some songs, which in hindsight could be construed as cruel, bordering on abusive.

My sister's getting married, married, married

My sister's getting married, disma disma day.

Oh may we come to your wedding, weding, wedding

Oh may we come to your wedding disma disma day.

No sis you are too dirty, dirty, dirty

disma disma day

It is quite interesting how the theme of exclusion from weddings and using it as a basis for establishing social standing are explored at quite a young age (regular readers may recall a reference to this in a previous article "the great indian wedding part I"

Other songs have lyrics which are a bit more cryptic with regards to their origin, and any feedback would be appreciated.

Ing Ging Goga

I Figgi Nogga

I Figgi Anything

Ing Ging Goga

My question is, what exactly does the act of "Figgi-ing" entail? Also, it seems as if "Nogga" is used as a noun, but if not, does it serve to describe the act?

"i recorded it inna Gyal(axy)"

Umesh was a pioneer, ahead of his time. I'd never heard about house music till he let me listen to a recording on his tinny speakers. My brain was not ready for it yet, and the repetitive four-on-the floor beat overlaid with camp vocals remained as mysterious to me as the recipe for Apa's Chana Magaj. While he was trying to explain the difference between Acid House and disco, my classmates brought in mix tapes they had made by leaving a casette recorder running in a club and spent study sessions carefully drawing playboy bunnies on their canvas bags and arguing about the exact size of DJ superfly's fingers. The quality of the recordings was far from adequate, but they were happy as long as they could hear the bass, to "klop it", while the DJ could be heard (vaguely) trying to get his voice heard over the music:

"mumble mumble mumble TONIGHT!

mumble, Jerome your mother's in the foyer

mumble TONIGHT!"

I do not understand to this day why DJ's at the time insisted on trying to sing along, telling us to "Jack your body", or "tay tay tay tay take or leave us". Vocalists get paid rather well to do what they do. Leave it to them.

The arrival of the CD meant that the quality of sound improved dramatically, but actually owning a CD player was beyond the reach of most of the kids at school. Having a recording from a CD was something cool, whilst actually owning a CD elevated your status to something approaching minor deity. One of the first CD's I heard was by Chris Rea (on the beach) at my friend Yogi's house. His brother had quite a collection which included Michael Franks, whom I've never heard from since and Sade whom I thought was gorgeous. Some of the posh girls still listened to Wham!, although I still can't understand how we never figured out that George Michael was gay even after we saw him dance.

Choice of hairstyle was dictated by the musicians at the time- the mullet was king, but the curly perm with the obligatory wet-look came a close second. Girls often opted for the androgynous quiff favoured by the new romantics like Duran Duran or the untamed mousse-mane with the hat-behind-the-fringe look to go with the plastic Madonna bangles. Party-wear was clashing colours, tights with bubble skirts for girls or pastel Miami Vice suits with sleeves at half-mast for boys.

Ah yes, the eighties. So glad to have been there, so glad they're gone.

Blinde Spy

Our childhood games of hide-and-seek were more than just a bit of fun. There were strict rules of engagement. Anyone who did not play according to the rules was shunned. Even worse, they could be left counting while the remaining players secretly vacated the playing area.

The seeker had to count out loud, and then confirm that the other players were ready, by calling out:

"hier kom ek" (I'm coming)

If the players looking for a good spot had not done so in the alotted time, there was some leniency to take into account the level of literacy and numeracy of the seeker, as this would of course impact on the speed and accuracy of the countdown and indeed in the abillity of the remaining players to understand what he was saying. They could appeal for extra time, calling out:

"Notty" (pronounced "naughty" and implying that they were NOT ready)

Once they were suitably hidden, or a mutually agreeable time had passed, they could say:

"Kom maar" (oh well, alright, you can come)

I believe one of the more innovative rules, which I believe is peculiar to Cape Town, is the Blinde Spy amendment. It was designed to ensure accuracy of identification on the part of the seeker, and meant that well-camouflaged or well-hidden players had the benefit of doubt. If the seeker believed that he had found a player, he had to identify them by name, and if his guess was incorrect, the player could invoke the "Blinde Spy" (translated blind spy) rule, appealing against his capture and therefore resulting in a new game due to a vote of no confidence.

I have written before about the way childhood games form a template for social interaction in adult life. I wonder if the Blinde Spy amendment is a model which could possibly have been put to good use in the Middle East conflict with regards to the American Millitary Intelligence (? a perfect example of an oxymoron) reports on missile bases and chemical factories in Iraq. An example follows:

A: julle het missiles (you have missiles)

B: nee ons hettie (no we don't)

A: ja julle het (yes, you do)

B: Wela, blinde spy! Ons speel weer, en ons kry Kuwait! (blinde spy, new game and we get Kuwait!)