Ed's letter: Let's face it, we are now adults

Millennials, we really are up next. Let’s face it, we are now the adults — it’s time to take our rightful place as grown- ups. In less than two months, I turn 35. The perception and attitude is that, after 35, it’s all downhill.

Looking at their definition of young people (between the ages of 14 and 35), the National Youth Commission Act (1996) and National Youth Development Policy Framework (2002) concur that my time is up. The truth hurts, but what stings more is paying for my sins as I write this.

Three days of weekend partying have turned into an extreme sport. My alcohol tolerance is way lower than two years ago. The hangover is unruly, I’m not coping, this one is trying to take me out. The morning- after misery now lasts for 48 hours or longer — hot flashes, irritability, migraines, tummy cramps, fatigue, muscle aches.

My ego can’t handle the fact that I’m now one of the cranky and grouchy geriatrics I once frowned upon, making cruel and mean jokes about their “senior moments”.

I’m the meme — mutton dressed as lamb. My mentor, Lesley Mofokeng, used to smile mischievously at me with every careless judgement I uttered about his old age, then softly charged, Your time is coming.” Forgive me, my friend, the joke is now on me — time has caught up with me, I’m humbled.Man down, I accept defeat, my “salad days” are behind me. I’ve come full cycle; this is my transformational era. I’ve never been one to wallow in self-pity, I will honour with pride my duties as rangwane, malome, grootman or timer. Put me on the wedding or funeral programmes, I will be sending the word of thanks on behalf of the family — just don’t ask me to babysit.

Then it dawns on me: part of harnessing my wisdom as the family elder means I have to fully understand setšo sa Sepedi (my Sepedi culture and values).In the middle of my hangover — read mgowo — on an early Sunday morning, a thought crosses my mind: how am I supposed to keep alive my Sepedi values, norms, and traditions if I’m clueless about many of them?So, I immediately ring up my mother in Limpopo, just after 9am. It’s the wrong time for my cultural awakening, as she informs me that she’s getting ready for church.

I’m persistent, keeping her on the line to teach me “sereto sa ga Tjiya” — a praise poem dedicated to my clan names. To my surprise, she says that she can only recite her maiden praise poem (Maupa), she’s rusty with the one of the clan into which she married (Tjiya). All she can offer me is the hook, “Tjiya ya maphele.” This info is useless to me — we both know the catchphrase.She then stresses the importance of tracing my roots, before giving me a quick lesson on my family tree. For more clarity, she offers to get me in touch with my paternal aunt (Regina Mamoswatse Tshoma) living in a nearby village, who has kept the traditions of my people alive.

It’s not an easy task, but some 48 hours later, for the first time I have the praise poem to my clan names, word for word (and backed up on my iCloud). I can’t explain the pride and joy of taking that first step in preserving my culture. I’m the adult now, in a position to educate the next generation. It’s eye-opening how easily I had lost sight of who I am because I was naively enjoying my youth.

My ignorance came at a high cost, making too much room for Western civilisation while sacrificing my African values.Shout-out to Castle Milk Stout, steeped in heritage, for always reminding young people, campaign after campaign, to get back to their roots. And while you retrace your roots, revive your rich culture, and celebrate your traditions, let our annual Heritage issue be part of your story. We are honouring 30 years of Boom Shaka with a touching tribute to the late Lebo Mathosa from the surviving members. The future of Mzansi sound is in safe hands, thanks to sibling musical trio Biko’s Manna & Mfundo.

Queen Modjadji leading lady Makoma Mohale is also shining a light on her forgotten Balobedu culture, while fashion designers Mzukisi Mbane (Imprint ZA) and Mpumelelo Dhlamini (Ezokhetho) cook up a storm in the kitchen, Mzansi style.Passing it on, from generation to generation, here is the first stanza of the Tjiya praise poem:

Rena re bowa tšetše gare ga morotwana wa kgomo Mo barego ngwana wa ntshe o rota e se monene Yena a gogomoga a tlala diatlaRe bowa sedibeng matebeleng,Kwa ga mamuše, mohlaka mogolo wa kgomo Ba re feta o bone ngwana wa thutsiYena ke yela o dutše le MorefiKua murulana leetsanaGa mamasenya wa kgošiHappy Heritage month!