We saw Afrikaans as boring. It was Bles Bridges and Riaan Cruywagen. The tongue of the unfashionable and the conservative. The language of the oppressor. The language of apartheid. By 1994, it seemed like all the stuff we had been told was true. Afrikaans was totally uncool. It looked like it was a goner. A dead language that would be assigned to the scrapheap of history.

But fok did we get it wrong! The Afrikaans kids are here to take the power back. To show us who is baas. But this time, the politics and the weirdo white power stuff is gone. They are here to kick it hard and  party like its 2099. They are here to show us no-one throws down like an Afrikaner rushing on klippies — the cocaine of the working-class man.

Rising up from the streets of Belville comes Jack Parow and his Tyger Valley crew. They are mining deep into their suburban roots. Pulling up the shit that the rest of us have shunned and twisting it into gold. While we sat there thinking we were the coolness, the creative ones with the hook-ups to the international scene, these kids went inside. While we looked to NY, Paris and London for our influences, these kids looked to CY, Parys and Benoni.

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