Literary Lives
Please, Mr. Judge Man
Resisting Apartheid With Song and Dance
“We are coming.” The voice on the phone was Zulu, accented and clandestine. “We will meet you outside your apartment in five minutes.”
It was 2:15 A.M. on Sunday when my girlfriend Shelley Kjonstad and I found ourselves in the back seat of a taxi accompanied by two rough-looking Zulu men. Ten minutes later, through dark and winding streets we were at the Beatrice Street YMCA somewhere in the industrial bowels of Durban , South Africa to judge the weekly Isicathamiya song and dance competition. The Traditional Music Association of Durban sponsored the competition and required an independent judge to forestall any chance of cheating or preferential treatment.
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