Create successful ePaper yourself
Turn your PDF publications into a flip-book with our unique Google optimized e-Paper software.
programs for schools. In America they’d be called “diversity programs.” They were springing<br />
up all over South Africa because we were supposed to be learning about and embracing one<br />
another in this post-apartheid era. This kid’s mom asked us if we wanted to play at a cultural<br />
day at some school in Linksfield, the wealthy suburb south of Sandringham where my pal<br />
Teddy had lived. There was going to be all sorts of different dancing and music, and everyone<br />
was going to come together and hang out and be cultural. She offered to pay, so we said sure.<br />
She sent us the information with the time and place and the name of the school: the King<br />
David School. A Jewish school.<br />
The day of the event, we booked a minibus, loaded it up with our gear, and drove over.<br />
Once we arrived we waited in the back of the school’s assembly hall and watched the acts that<br />
went onstage before us, different groups took their turns performing, flamenco dancers,<br />
Greek dancers, traditional Zulu musicians. Then we were up. We were billed as the Hip Hop<br />
Pantsula Dancers—the South African B-Boys. We set up our sound system onstage. I looked<br />
out, and the whole hall was nothing but Jewish kids in their yarmulkes, ready to party.<br />
I got on the mic. “Are you ready to rock out?!”<br />
“Yeahhhhhh!”<br />
“Make some noise!”<br />
“Yeahhhhhh!”<br />
I started playing. The bass was bumping, my crew was dancing, and everyone was having<br />
a great time. The teachers, the chaperones, the parents, hundreds of kids—they were all<br />
dancing like crazy. Our set was scheduled for fifteen minutes, and at the ten-minute mark<br />
came the moment for me to play “Let’s Get Dirty,” bring out my star dancer, and shut shit<br />
down.<br />
I started the song, the dancers fanned out in their semicircle, and I got on the mic.<br />
“Are you guys ready?!”<br />
“Yeahhhhhh!”<br />
“You guys are not ready! Are you ready?!”<br />
“Yeeeaaahhhhhhhh!”<br />
“All right! Give it up and make some noise for HIIIIIITTTTLLLLEERRRRRRRRRR!!!”<br />
Hitler jumped out to the middle of the circle and started killing it. The guys around him<br />
were all chanting, “Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler!” They had their arms out in<br />
front of them, bouncing to the rhythm. “Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler!” And I<br />
was right there on the mic leading them along. “Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go Hitler!”<br />
The whole room stopped. No one was dancing. The teachers, the chaperones, the parents,<br />
the hundreds of Jewish kids in their yarmulkes—they froze and stared aghast at us up on the<br />
stage. I was oblivious. So was Hitler. We kept going. For a good thirty seconds the only sound<br />
in the room was the beat of the music and me on the mic yelling, “Go Hit-ler! Go Hit-ler! Go<br />
Hit-ler! Put your hands in the air for Hitler, yo!”<br />
A teacher ran up behind me and yanked the plug for my system out of the wall. The hall<br />
went dead silent, and she turned on me and she was livid. “How dare you?! This is<br />
disgusting! You horrible, disgusting vile creature! How dare you?!”