The making of a rainbow nation on hold
In unique style, overflowing with a special brand of humour, Casey’s writings accurately reflect wretched times, eking out a lowly existence in the notorious township of Sophiatown.
• Cliff Buchler, former Managing Editor of Caxton West Rand writes:
It’s while culling books from a sagging shelf that I spot a willowy booklet squashed between two heavy tomes. Like two bouncers protecting a VIP. In fact, they’re rubbing spines with a gem titled Casey & Co.
As I fondle the treasure, now beginning to show signs of old age, memories flood in of a bygone era during which black people suffered at the hands of a cruel regime. The writer is Casey Kid Motsisi, a journalist in the ‘60s who wrote columns for Drum magazine and The World newspaper (now Sowetan).
In unique style, overflowing with a special brand of humour, Casey’s writings accurately reflect wretched times, eking out a lowly existence in the notorious township of Sophiatown. Another prolific writer, Mothobi Mutloatse, helped produce the book for Ravan Press in 1983, in which he selected the best of the bunch. The book is probably out of print.
I was involved with Casey’s writings while cutting my teeth around the subeditors’ table at The World, owned by the then Argus Company. That in itself was a remarkable period as the newspaper was staffed by an equal number of both black and white editorial, advertising and production teams. Argus, whether or not it was conscious of it, created a hybrid of the yet unknown and still elusive ‘rainbow nation’ under one roof. We’re talking about the height of the apartheid regime’s draconian clampdown on press freedom, with regular unannounced inspections of newspaper offices – The World a regular target – and often arrested reporters daring to expose the atrocities taking place in townships and prisons.
It was in this world Casey’s characters existed and with whom he fraternised – mainly in shebeens he called ‘taverns’ with endearment. His readers became familiar with Kid Hangover, Kid Soprano and Papa Asparagus. The incidents almost always took place after a visit to what he called sipping sessions, ending with hilarious, if not tragic consequences.
I couldn’t wait to get into his copy that inevitably arrived late on Monday mornings and delivered in person by a suffering Kid nursing a heavy hangover. And it’s thanks to his zany contributions the column bug bit. But I’ve never come close at painting verbal pictures in like manner.
One incident, among many others, summed him up to a T. Evidently a reader of his column took exception to something he had written about, demanding to see the editor.
Fortuitously Casey was the only person at reception when the irate reader arrived. Not recognising Casey he spelt out his grievance. “No, problem,” says the wily writer. “I’ll tell the editor you’re here. Just one thing, though, the editor is stone deaf so you’ve got to shout.” Casey said the same thing to the editor about the hard of hearing visitor. What ensued was a shouting match echoing throughout the whole building. It ends with the two screamers going off in a huff. A lucky let-off for Casey.
Naturally, the gem goes back onto the shelf with its bouncers. The book isn’t just about a colourful character, but a reminder of a momentary period when the rainbow nation existed – albeit in a rundown, leaky factory situated in the seedy part of a factory area.
Sadly, the rainbow remains behind dark clouds of incompetent and corrupt leaders, intent on keeping the fires of racism ablaze. Casey would’ve torn Kid Ace, Kid Jacob and Kid Carl apart.
