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RIP Sandile Dikeni

RIP Sandile Dikeni

shake shake my comrade shake that invention of the working class shake that unifying medicine before it’s too late shake before the time come to pass shake that guava juice.

Guava Juice 


“Detroit like Johannesburg, New York like Johannesburg.. freedom ain’t nothing but a word ain’t nothing but a word…” Sandile Dikeni and Gil Scott Heron
(Photograph by Monique Delatour)

Rest in peace Sandile Dikeni – poet, brother, comrade, a voice of truth and dissent and long time contributor to Chimurenga.

We pay respect with this archive of his writing published by Chimurenga.

QUEENSTOWN

It all began in the year of fire this fascination and obsession with the frontier town. ’85 is for me a year of fire in South Africa’s modern history of turbulence… Why Queenstown? I remember wondering. I also remember that any attempt at answering the question by means of the popular press and broadcast services produced no results at the time.


WE USED TO DANCE

On the day that I met Digger Jazz for real, the sweet wine drinkers and the brandy fraternity was very present at my joint… I asked him what he was cooking on the gumba-gumba. He explained to me that the Long Player (LP) on the turntable of the Hi-Fi was a dangerous brew by the Jazz Ministers and the singer on the track was Bra Victor Ndlazolwana. I said “heyta daar!” And later when he was organising me a chis kop with a Minora blade, he explained to me the piano of Tete Mbambisa. I said heyta daar! again.


SHOES

When we formed Shoes Span, nobody had shoes. The reason for our shoelessness was not a secret, it was simply varied. Out of the team of eleven, nine thought that shoes were made for white boys… My shoes did not die a natural death but were kicked to death on imaginary footballs like stones, coke cans and some more stones…. see more.  


HOW THE WEST WAS LOST

Where to go with the story of a dompas lost? To Mum? Everloving Mum who sleeps with my unemployed father every night? No man, that is one sure way to betray yourself to a hungry and therefore angry man called your father.


Chimurenga finds its true south

“I was following a friend, as is usually the story. Friends take us to places. I fell in love with a South African poet, Sandile Dikeni, in the first few months of my arrival in Johannesburg.” Chimurenga founder and editor Ntone Edjabe speaks to Percy Zvomuya about how it all begins.


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