The Travel Journalist

Zola speaks in metaphors. The world is a chess game in which the poor are pawns, and people can be either pills or coffee filters, depending on the situation. Even his character in Tsotsi is an inanimate object: a cash machine.

“I play a gangster called Fela," Zola says, sipping his white wine and leaning back in his chair, feet up, arm slung over the back rest. “He's a cruel, dark, sleek character. A jack of all trades," he explains, adding, “He's an economist. If cash doesn't come out of his mouth when he speaks then there is something wrong". Fela wears suits and drives a black BMW convertible through the streets of Soweto, but Zola wears jeans, a red sweatshirt and a white beanie.

Since his emergence on the South African music scene six years ago, and four albums later (including most of the remarkable Tsotsi soundtrack), Zola has become what some describe as, “the 50 cent of Africa". Despite his success, he is charmingly humble, saying that he never dreamed Tsotsi would be this huge. “I knew nothing about the movie world," he says, shaking his head, seemingly amazed that he is sitting in a hotel in London, being interviewed repeatedly before rushing off to another TV appearance.

Humility, however, does not make this man naive. He speaks in a philosophical manner, with conviction, on what could have been his fate had he not had strong women in his life. “I could have been a tsotsi" he says, “but I had a grandmother who knew how to spank little boys, but who also knew how to talk". Growing up in Soweto, he saw things that mirror the film everyone is raving about. “I watched my uncle die a very pathetic death," he says, matter-of-factly, adding, “I saw that I needed to try something different".

“The hardcore thing is bullshit," comes vehemently from Zola's ordinarily poetic mouth. He is speaking of gangs who glamorise their lifestyles. “You face the sentence alone at the end of the day, death is something you meet alone". He speaks of rapists and murderers, like the boys in Tsotsi, who do everything together when the going is good. “You have to make your own decisions, you may be influenced on the street but you have to be your own person," he says, and brings in his coffee filter analogy. “People have to filter themselves like coffee, to make their own flavours, you know?"

So why are gangs so popular then? “There's loyalty in gangs, my baby," he smiles. "You can get food, a girlfriend, a big brother. Children live what they see, and kids born into negativity seek shelter elsewhere. It makes them part of a group". But, his point remains, that when the going gets tough you're stuck with only your little ol' self.

Despite his clear determination that people be decent individuals, he sees merit in the criminal world. Not in crime, mind you, but in the way the society functions. And he should know, he has played sleek gangsters in nearly every role he's had, from Yizo Yizo 2 to Tsotsi. “There's structure, and you do what you are told to do because you have respect," he says. “The criminal world is the fibre of what the rest of the world should be, they just use it wrong".

He has a particular dislike for big business and politics when it uses the poor. “War is nothing but profit," he says, sounding like Noam Chomsky. “White collar criminals and adults mess up the world, but kids are pointed at as the lost generation. Who makes the guns and puts them in the hands of children?" he asks, not expecting the obvious answer. It is here that he says, “The world is a chess game and we are all players. The poor, especially the kids, are the pawns and they always go first".

Zola, on the other hand, uses his power for good. If you read the track listings on his albums, you will find many featured names, and if you listen properly you will hear little voices filling the gaps left by huge orchestras. “I work with young, supposedly amateur artists," he says, “and a child can make a hit if given the chance. I promised myself when I started that I would feature four or five unknown people on every album. If I hear a kid singing in the street I will ask him to do a track with me because I can see potential".

He writes songs in the bath, when he's driving, or when he's playing admittedly bad basketball. "The only thing I've ever been good at is writing," he says, but even though he has been approached to write a book he has no desire to do so. Yet. “The music industry isn't just about money, it's creativity, and I don't drop an album when everyone else says I should," he says defiantly, “I do it when the album wants it".

The man is spiritual. He has an inner calm that probably comes from his daily meditation, and his attitude about people in general is remarkably positive. He doesn't believe in discrimination, and says, “If you were turned into a pill and swallowed, you wouldn't know if the person you were inside was black or white. And they don't give black people's hearts to black people, or white hearts to white people only. If you stripped us of our skin we would be the same inside".

In his roles and his music he tries to make people understand this sameness we all share. "I try to inspire people through my music, and I try to portray them in movies. I want to tell people that I am just like them, that we are all the same".

Religion is something he feels strongly about. “People need something other than themselves to believe in, but church has become a business and faith has become a myth," he says, in what can cynically been seen as a very pat line. But you can understand why he says it. He has seen death and murder, and thinks that children who see the same need some kind of guidance. “Kids start seeing things in grey," he muses, “and they get sucked into the world and lose themselves".

It is this lost innocence that he tries to preserve in his two-year-old daughter, Lwandle. “We are raising her to have respect and to share," he says proudly, sitting up animatedly. “She can have anything she wants, as long as she deserves it, because we want to prevent her from being spoiled". He tells of how she will automatically break her sweets in half to share with her little friend next door, and how she loves to visit his mother's house. “My mom's house is a day care centre, practically," he says and laughs when he adds that all the moms drop their kids off with her because they know they will be safe.

“I just bought my mom and car, a Mercedes," he says. It is one of the few moments that he speaks like Bonginkosi Dlamini, not Zola the movie star, like a boy looking to make his mom proud. “It's my job as a son to look after my family," he insists, eyes alight and face earnest.

“I have always believed I would be a success, but my friends at school laughed at me when I said so," he says. “Do you know the Zulu belief that says if you challenge the universe to give you what you want then it will happen?" Look at me now, he seems to say. He likes to prove people wrong, and his school friends must be wiping the grins off their faces right about now.

Mini Film Review

When you see Tsotsi, take tissues. And do yourself a favour, watch it on the big screen. That way you will be able to appreciate the cinematographic brilliance that is this movie. Every shot could be a photograph of merit, and the panoramic views of Johannesburg will make you homesick even if you've never been there. The language is so unique to our little tip of the world, and the people so familiar. The only thing I found amusing, aside from the general orange shading on every shot, was the fact that the supporting cast all came from Generations.

Copyright - Lindsay du Plessis

Photo courtesy of the Tsotsi web site - http://www.tsotsi.com

For permission to publish these articles or photographs, or to commission articles - Contact Me