Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Tag: Kirstenbosch

Where the Revolution Should Start

I went with friends to Kirstenbosch today, to see The Soil, and I came home and wrote a poem. The poem doesn’t really say how amazing The Soil are (totally, unbelievably amazing) but it is a follow on response to last year’s post after they played at Kirstenbosch last year. Here it is.

Where the Revolution Should Start

When there is a revolution let it start

At a The Soil concert

At Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens

Let it start as the people

In  their gorgeousnessandhighheels

With cooler boxes stuffed

And sun block and sun hats and lip gloss

And mirror shades

And torn jeans and huge gold bling

And shweshwe skirts and loose fitting pants

All arrive to take over the space

And the sun-red tourists

And old people in comfortable shoes and walking sticks

And parents pushing sleepy babies in complicated prams

Scurry from what has been a silent, almost holy white place

When the revolution starts let it be

As the gates open and we rush in to grab our spot

On the manicured lawn in the tiniest section

Of blessed shade because kushushu, I’m telling you

When it starts let it be

As we wait and check out our new neighbours

Even the ones who stand on our blankets

Spread tight and wide as possible

To hold our bodies.

Let it start as we cluck in disapproval

At that one, too much make up, and that

A white woman with a big doek on her head

And that one, it hasn’t started and already so drunk.

When there is a revolution let it start

As people turn in their spots

And see a sea of faces, a sea, and it’s there

Where black seas are foreign and white faces,

Like small sails, dot the ocean.

Let the revolution start in our bodies

As we jump up to dance

And pata pata ourselves, showing where we

Want to be touched

Even though it is our hearts, our hearts on the inside

That are being touched, squeezed, shaken, awoken

When the revolution starts let it start

With everyone who is there

Whose intention is shared

And where everybody is singing that same song

When the revolution starts

Let it be in the spontaneous singing

And the staying and holding

And dancing and loving

And owning, yes owning

That place.

Kirstenbosch and The Soil

So, yesterday we celebrated our industrial theatre project’s wrap party at Kirstenbosch, watching The Soil. It was utterly fabulous, and the best way to hang out and enjoy the place, the music, each other and a whole new crowd of Capetonians. (Ntombi you were deeply missed, by the way).

I love The Soil. They are super talented, charming, sexy, hip, honest, funky, sassy and humble, and their music is pure genius.

But the true eye opener for me was how for many in the crowd this was their first time ever at Kirstenbosch. In my own group of 5 I was the only one who had ever been before. 4 gorgeous, professional, young people living in Cape Town who had never been to Kirstenbosch before. I know for sure that there were many others in the huge, predominantly black audience who were celebrating there for the first time ever.

This notion is bittersweet. Yay and kudos to The Soil for bringing this crowd there. It felt like a teeny floodgate had been opened. And, because I am going to be called on it I am going to over explain. I am not suggesting that black people don’t go to Kirstenbosch. I am reminded about how many black people have never been. And of course, this confirms again how the city is divided, both along racial and class lines.

This particular story has a happy ending, thanks to the new fans Kirstenbosch made, because of The Soil. (And only now do I laugh out loud! Kirstenbosch. The Soil. Bwahahahahaha!)

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