KASI CHRONICLES WITH VINCH
There are things you can change about a person, but don’t try to change their childhood memories.
So, keep your World Wrestling Entertainment. We will keep our World Wrestling Federation.
For those of us who grew up in New Magwegwe, wrestling was more than something we watched on television. It was part of kasi culture. It was entertainment, playground competition and, if we are being honest, a good excuse to disturb the peace at home.
Saturday afternoon had a different meaning when wrestling was on.
But there was one person who understood the power she had over the situation; uNaVinch.
My mother had one simple rule: no one watches iTV yakhe without bathing.
There was no negotiation.
You could plead. You could promise to bath after the match. You could even explain that The
Undertaker was about to make his entrance. It did not matter.
And because mothers have always had a mysterious ability to find chores at exactly the wrong time,
she would suddenly remember something that needed doing.
“Shayina phansi kuqala.”
There I was, cleaning the floor with one eye on the clock and the other on the television. But I could
not refuse. I wanted to watch wrestling.
That was the genius of uNaVinch. She knew exactly how to make a chore sound reasonable while knowing I had no choice but to do it.
Once the floor was clean and the bath was done, I could finally take my place in front of the television.
Then came the heroes.
The Undertaker was not just a wrestler. His entrance alone could silence a room.
Then there was Shawn Michaels, the Heartbreak Kid, with his swagger and flying moves.
And, of course, Hulk Hogan.
In New Magwegwe, we didn’t have the fancy championship belts, but that was never going to stop us.
We made our own.
Cardboard was cut into the shape of wrestling belts, decorated and proudly worn around the neighbourhood. For a few hours, you could be the champion of New Magwegwe.
Someone would claim to be The Undertaker, another Shawn Michaels and another Hulk Hogan.
Then the backyard became our wrestling arena.
The problem was that we knew the moves were scripted, but our bodies had not received the memo.
We tried to imitate what we saw on television, often on dusty ground and with far more confidence than skill.
Looking back, it is amazing that most of us survived our childhood wrestling careers.
But WWF also gave us something that today’s children may struggle to understand- a shared experience.
There were no smartphones to watch highlights whenever you wanted. If you missed the Saturday programme, you missed it.
So you made sure your bath was done, your chores were finished and you were planted in front of iTV before the action started.
And somewhere behind all that excitement was uNaVinch, probably smiling because her plan had worked.
She had got me to bath. She had got me to shayina phansi.
And I had done it all willingly because I knew the Undertaker was waiting.
So, to today’s generation with your WWE, streaming platforms and instant highlights, enjoy yourselves.
Keep your WWE. We will keep our WWF.
Because in New Magwegwe, those Saturday afternoons gave us memories that no streaming service can replace.
And for that, uNaVinch, I can only say:
Well played, Masalu. Well played.
