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FORWARDEVER MEDIA CENTER

Writer Alex Haley writing The Autobiography of Malcolm X with Brother Malcolm.

"The media's the most powerful entity on earth. They have the power to make the innocent guilty and to make the guilty innocent, and that's power. Because they control the minds of the masses."
- Malcolm X

Mission

The Forwardever Media Center is 100% committed to providing unconventional writing workshops and media literacy training to "at-risk" Black youth, particularly males, ages 14 through 24. Working in partnership with The Mentoring Center in Oakland, CA., the Center's writing workshops, website internship, and film forums, help students develop critical thinking skills and discover their creative talents. We recruit youth for our programs from the California Youth Authority (the state's largest prison for youth) as well as from universities and high schools. This cross-pollination of young minds creates dynamic shared experiences.

Programs

Whatchusay Cinema–A monthly film forum hosted at schools or community centers in Northern California that explores issues such as race, class, gender, and society. Students are joined by a panel of activists, educators, athletes, entrepreneurs, etc. to rate the films and convene roundtable discussions about corresponding relevant issues in society. For info about film screenings and schedules contact: cheo@whatchusay.com

Writing Workshops–We offer intensive seminars in journalism, creative writing, cultural criticism, new media, film production, etc. These seminars are taught at the center, located at 1224 Preservation Park, Oakland, CA, 94612. They are also available on location, at schools, community and detention centers, churches, etc. For info about class schedules contact: cheo@whatchusay.com

Internships–Whatchusay.com offers competitive internships to young writers who have clearly demonstrated a passion for the craft of writing or media production. The 3-month internship covers news writing and reporting, feature writing, creative writing, media literacy and new media. Working in partnership with community based organizations, universities and international and national media outlets, we produce a pipeline of informed journalists of color who will go on to create their own independent media organizations or work for major media organizations.

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South African Sojourn

By Cheo Tyehimba

A Daily Journal in the New South Africa

Johannesburg, SA - As part of a US press delegation in South Africa to explore the country's social, cultural, and political ideas as they pertain to African Americans, and Africans throughout the Diaspora, I've collected many unforgettable stories in this country. Here are a few:

Day 1
"Not Africa...South Africa"

After a nearly 15-hour flight from New York, our plane touches down in Johannesburg. Upon walking into the main area of the airport the first image that grabs my attention is a huge 40 x 60 billboard, which depicts a corporate-clad white woman heading into her office. She holds the hand of her young daughter, who happily skips along in her checkered catholic school uniform. The image is very familiar except one thing: the woman's other child, an infant, is strapped in traditional African custom on her back. The visually-arresting message is clear: South Africa's white minority can learn a thing or two from African wisdom. For some reason, the ad feels exploitive to me (but I realize everything I see here is being filtered through American, race-obsessed sensibilities). I find myself wondering if this sheen of integration will be represented by what I see in the "new" South Africa.

A very tall, dark brother dressed in a top hat and tails, greets us and opens our door as we pull up to the Michelangelo, the premier hotel in the Sandton area of Joburg. We check in. Later we are feted by tourism reps from South African Airways. They make no bones about it: You are not in Africa, per se. You are in South Africa." They welcome us home and inform us that the U.S. is #3 in tourism to South Africa and 11% of that are African American. Later we recruit Mandy Mankazana, a local tour guide, to take us into Soweto to see the shibens (pronounced "sha-beans") or South African juke joints where the locals hang out. The shibens we go to are called Masakeng's and The Rock (www.therock.co.za). We enjoy great music, eat hake (local fish) and down a couple beers (drafts are about 70 cents, after rate conversion). We have so much fun, we quickly realize why these places were illegal back in the day.

I meet four DJs who regularly spin South African hip hop (called Kwaito) and African house music at The Rock. They want to know all about America, love Harlem without having been there, and wonder if Tupac is still alive. It's a Saturday night and young people from the township are buzzin' about; some flirting and some frontin' is going on while a couple young men rev their car engines and spin-out in the dirt road. It all reminds me of a fish fry in a small southern town.

Day 2
The White man is the master in South Africa and the white man from the very nature of his origins, from the very nature of his birth and from the very nature of his guardianship will remain master in South Africa to the end. - Quote from South African Parliament in the 1960s.

We visit the two-year-old Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg. At the entrance there are two gates, one for whites and one for non-whites. It is a replica to give the visitor a similar experience of living in a divided society. The museum has several historical documents, photos of the founding ANC members, typical pass books used by blacks and coloureds (incl. Chinese, Indians, Malays and the Cape coloureds) to travel beyond the townships and many video installations. We watch a 20-minute film in an auditorium, which provides an account of South African history and the history Apartheid, which officially began in 1948.

We learn about Racial Classification Appeal Boards, which were set up for blacks who wanted to be re-classified as "coloured." During Apartheid, blacks were subjected to dehumanizing race tests. If a comb could run through your hair or they could use a ruler to measure the angle of your nose, you might "luck out" and be classified as coloured. They examined folks nostrils, hair, forehead for a hint of a widow's peak, lips, and of course, skin tone, to determine ethnicity. After you were classified (to one of four main groups: White, Black, Indian, Coloured (mixed race)) , your pass book would indicate your "race".

I find myself doing a double-take at Apartheid-era "white-only" codes and classifications that are strangely similar to America's "quadroon" and "octoroon" designations. I've heard that there are more than 70 classifications for the degree of African blood a person has. Damn. Hats off to dumb guy who did the math on that one. Guess fear of a "black planet" had whitefolks buggin' back then.

Outside, the sun is piercing and we look for shade while waiting for the bus to take us to Gold Reef City, a casino/amusement park venue. There we see an African dance group called African Footprint perform at a theatre in the casino. This mostly black group has a diverse repertoire, ranging from Zulu dances to jazz and tap. By the time they take the stage, some of us are cat-napping, our non-stop itinerary catching up with us. They perform a "boot dance" that is clearly the direct predecessor to the "stepping" practiced by African American Greek-Letter organizations, especially by "the Ques," Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Inc.

The casino is patronized by lots of working-class folk looking for luck in the slots. If you blink, you might think you were in Reno or Vegas. And given the exchange rate is currently R11 to $1, American high-rollers can clean-up here without losing their shirt. Later we head to the night clubs of Joburg and party at a club called The Calabash. On the turntables, DJ Fresh and DJ Cleo cut creations that rival anything I've heard from NYC to LA to Chicago...they spin "African House music" heavy drums and tribal vocals over classic house loops...nonstop mashing riddims! The crowd is hip, the women are fine, and suddenly South Africa feels like a night out in NYC...naw, better.

Day 3
Soweto Now

We tour the Saps-Hillbrow section of Joburg. This is an urban area that at times, reminds me of Brooklyn or Harlem. It is now mostly black, though it used to be white. We visit a middle-class black neighborhood in Hillbrow, where Nelson Mandela has a home. Bishop Desmond Tutu also has a home in the area. We go to the site of the 1976 Soweto Uprising, where because of a government decree that Afrikaans would be used as the official language of instruction in South African schools, black youth protested in the streets and hundreds of black students were killed by police. A memorial rests where many of the youth died.

We tour Soweto and visit an "informal settlement," commonly known as "shantytowns." The homes are tiny dwellings made of patched plywood and tin. Old women with babies in their arms hang clothes on lines and smile. Small children dressed in cast-away clothes wave. Some of us ask residents if we can go inside their one-room homes. They are immaculate. I ask a woman if I can take her photo and then leave a donation for her. The people are very proud. We all leave with renewed spirits.

Our driver takes us on a 4-hour trek into the bush, to a game reserve called Entabeni. We arrive after nightfall and are greeted by the parks' rangers and other hosts. I check into my room. It is designed in a safari-theme, with a vaulting, beamed ceilings, a stone fireplace and a deck in the back, which overlooks Entabeni River, where I can hear hippos night-bathing. I fall asleep to the sound of murmuring wildlife and early morning thunder echoing across the rooftop.

Day 4
"This is bungee-jumping without the rope!"

Next morning our South African safari begins! Its 10am and we're riding in a 12-seater Toyota Jeep on the game reserve. Along the bumpy road, we spy zebras, antelope, baboons and wildebeest, to name a few. "I have a surprise for you this morning," says Henry Parsons, our Ranger. He turns the jeep down an off-road and heads towards a clearing. "I need 4 people to come with me" he announces. I hop out, eager to see what's next. Three others join me and we follow Henry about fifty yards into an open field. Suddenly a helicopter swoops down and Henry ushers us to get in. Next thing I know I'm buckling up and watching the ground grow smaller beneath my feet.

Our pilot reassures us that we're safe while at the same time taking the twirly-bird in looping dips and hang-gliding plunges over cliffs. We see the sedimentary face of the mountain up close. The mountain appears to be the size of Yosemite's Half-Dome and in the midst of our screams as we careen around it, we suddenly find ourselves atop Hangklip Mountain, some 5,000 feet up from where we started. We are further amazed to find a gourmet champagne breakfast sitting on pristine white tablecloths and a chef welcoming us to eat! A few brothers who helped cater the food stand nearby and later I ask one to tell me how to say "I ate well on the mountain." After a couple tries, I say my first words in the language of the Northern Sotho: "Ke jole Kudu mo godi mu ga thaba" After breakfast, I look out at the vast, biblical sky and valley below. From here, life looks like a crystal stair.

Day 5
From Wild Kingdom to Balmy Durban

We rise early and take another safari. In the bush, we ride right up to lounging lions in the tall grass; creep close to white rhinos, zebras, giraffes and other animals. The ranger stops every so often to point out just about every herb and plant know to man growing along the terra-cotta red road. Before we check out, we see a couple elephants near the lodge.

We fly to Durban. Getting off the jet and walking on the tarmac, I am hit by the balmy heat. Durban is located on eastern coast of South Africa, in the province of Kwa-Zulu Natal, the land of the legendary Zulu king Shaka. The coast, dotted with tall hotels and other buildings sprawled out along the warm Indian Ocean, reminds me Miami Beach. We also notice several squatter camps - ramshackle patchboard dwellings -- along the highway. Many west and central African "foreigners," recently relocated in South Africa for a better way of life, scrap out an existence among these camps.

We check into the Protea Hotel Umhlanga, then later eat the world's largest shrimp at Famous Seafood Co. on the waterfront. Tomorrow we head to Durban's Kwa Mhule Museum and see first-hand how apartheid permanently changed the lives of millions of black South Africans.

In part two, I also visit the village of Mandela's birth, tour Robben Island where he was imprisoned, experience the jazz scene, ramble on the beach in spectacular Capetown, and discover why we've finally begun the African Century.

Posted on July 23, 2005 12:48 PM