By Mmathabo Maebela and Relebohile Mohapi There were no page numbers, no poem titles, just brief pauses as Kobus Moolman’s steady voice carried the audience through the reading of his latest collection of poetry, Fall Risk. What last week’s event bore witness to was not a performance but an embodiment of the pain, beauty, and fragility of the human body. In South African literature, writing the body has long been an uncomfortable yet fertile terrain used to reflect the weight of history. It has emerged as the witness of scars caused by apartheid and post-apartheid realities and their nuances of…
Author: Mmathabo Maebela
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By Mmathabo Maebela (Iyooo, we’ve been walking) I seldom find myself on this side of Grahamstown. Unfamiliar with all the possible shortcuts, my friend and I opt for the long route that leads us to a corner opposite Shoprite. We turn to Chapel Street, leaving all the familiar behind us and stepping into a different world. Chapel Street hums with movement as people walk to and from the Shoprite complex, now carrying two or three yellow plastic bags that whisper, “This grocery should last us till the next payday,” On the left, there are fruit and vegetable stores, a red…
By Mmathabo Maebela (Can this umbrella close already) As the door swings open to announce our arrival, my friend and I are greeted by a gust of warm air. The damp scent of rain drifts from our jackets into the air, intensifying the restaurant’s petrichor. The atmosphere is humid with laughter and the low hum of clinking glasses in every corner of the room. A lady in a black Pothole & Donkey uniform walks towards us with a pen and paper, “Good evening, ladies, table for two?” (Aghhh maan, the booths are full). Couples and groups sit tightly in the…
By Mmathabo Maebela As I rush to join the wave of people walking towards the complex, my phone rings. Absentmindedly, I fish it out of my backpack. (Eish, these focken telemarketers.) Before I could end the call, a brake squeals from a taxi hurtling past. My body jerks back, heart pumping in exasperation. The driver leans out the window, glances at me, and presses against the hooter in irritation. (Yeses, death almost had me.) The wave of people walking in front of me does not stop. Even those who click their tongues in dismay at my silliness. Urgently, they slide…