My Handle

I attended Rodebosch Boys' for eleven years.

Okay, let's double back. Having spent the first seven years of my life eMthatha, I knew next to nothing about isilungu. I had my first crush in what we used to call Sub A at Umtata International School. She was a coloured girl in my class, and one day I arrived at school and my teacher was unconscious with blood all over her face, outside the classroom entrance. Being the Jaleel White (of the 90s) of awkward situations, I searched for my crush. I found her sitting on the floor, crying for her teacher in distress. I'll never forget what it felt like to hold and console her. PAUSE.

The next year we moved to Rondebosch and I was associated with white kids until about Grade 9. By that time the black kids in the school became wary of my delinquent behaviour and I felt ordained when they took me under their wing. And no, it wasn’t to reform me. As much as I felt like I was only there for these okes’ amusement, I truly felt the friendship when one of my mates started calling me 'CA'. I heard this as more of a ‘Siya’ on some Colonial French tip. Either way, I ran with it further than Bruce Fordyce. Maybe even to a point where I was inceptioned into studying chartered accountancy. Nah, that's just the weed talking.

- CA

PS: Oh yeah, my Sub A teacher suffered her head injury by walking into the face brick wall next to the doorway, on her way into class. Drugs are bad, kids.