Going down memory lane through bizarre love songs

Let it be known that some love songs can bring 30-something men like me to tears in an instant. Some of those songs bring back the fond memories about anything.

I want to talk about my two childhood friends.

Earlier today a DJ played the song "unconditional love" by Atlantic Starr. As I was listening, I remembered how Phehello Maloka, Matela Mthwalo and I used to rove around places like Ha-Sethunya, Mangaung, Matoling and Sebokeng. If you are wandering where that could be, think areas surrounding Charles Mopeli Stadium in Qwaqwa.

We used to traverse the place. We would be taking turns listening on the stereo. It belonged to Matela. Somewhere in our pockets and school bags we had cassettes of Tevin Campbell, Joe Thomas and... Do you remember those TDKs? Yes, we had the mix of songs by the likes of Celine Dion, Mariah Carey and Karyn White.

Imagine. Just imagine three teens in their school uniform getting emotional as Karyn White wailed 'I'd rather be alone than being unhappy.' Isn't that bizarre?

We were in Grade 10 or 11. Back then, the urge to meet beautiful girls who could later on get into the habit of deserting their household chores to be with you around the secret corner, to steal a kiss before returning home to re-live the moment, was very high. We had pimples. We fooled around in the maze of adolescence. But we were so woeful during our prowl we often came away with nothing. But songs like “can we talk” by Tevin Campbell gave us hope.

And there was a radio DJ. Thabang Rampooane. RIP. He remains the best radio DJ Lesedi FM has ever had. He was so good that Matela bunked afternoon study and ran home to listen to the show. Matela loved the DJ. He loved the way he cast a spell on the listeners with his choice of music.

One day the DJ died in a freak car crash. We were devastated. We mourned, and we mourned, so much that we tried even bizarre things to cope. We even tried jokes. One day we were sitting in class, stewing in the afternoon's heat, struggling to get on top of the Afrikaans notes we were writing. Seuntjie Sekonyela made a joke about what led to the fatal accident. Most people in class burst out laughing. It was guffaw all around. Matela stood up to sternly reprimand Seuntjie before walking out in a huff. When he returned, it was obvious that Matela had been crying.

Matela always made hard choices. He spontaneously chose Thabang Rampooane over afternoon study, knowing well that he was also choosing corporal punishment from Mr. Mokhoaetsi the next day. He was always at peace with the consequences of his choices, and indiscretions. He took punishment with great humour. He is still the same. What a guy.

Lesedi FM was our staple diet. We learned about the R&B music through shows like ‘Ntetsetse ke o bapalle (call in I will play your chosen song).’ A very excited listener would call in to dedicated a song “take your love and keep it” by Steve Kekana and Coyote to his lover.

Sometime last week I heard the song "united in love" (the Commodores) playing on my phone radio. It is 18 years later. I phoned Matela.
‘Hello,’ he answered the phone. I pulled the mouth-piece closer to the phone radio. I could hear my friend melting the way he used to when he was 16. We glided down memory lane. We laughed at what today seems like a decade of teenage foolishness.

Today things are oddly different. Phehello and I can find common ground on the music of the African Continent. Think Oliver Mtukudzi, and Angelique Kidjo. We dance to the music of Papa Wemba, and we have long agreed that "Bane" by Oliver Ngoma can turn any mzansi wedding celebration on its head.

Matela, on the other hand, still prefers American R&B, and nothing else. I know this because they guy attends a live concert of Anthony Hamilton at the very exact time when I think doing so is the waste of hard-earned money. But you should see how I jump with excitement whenever I learn that Salif Keita will be in town.

So whenever Phehello and I get animated about the music of the Continent, you will see Matela withdrawing, shaking his head as if to say ‘what is wrong with these morons?’ But the memory of the music genre which we have shared, and still love, lives on.