I’ve been working from home even before the pandemic struck in 2020. I started after my near-fatal accident in 2017. At first, I stayed in a quite neighbourhood where the only pests were Jehova’s Witnesses faithful who would wake me up on a Sunday morning.
I relocated two years ago and came to a place akin to hell. At first, I took it on the chin when people would suddenly rock up on my doorstep to visit. These unannounced visits would go on until late at night. Those who know my night owl habits would park their fannies until the wee hours. Apparently, because I stay alone, I constantly need company.
Nonsense. I never get bored and am more than capable of filling my days with fruitful activities.
As a creative, my mind is forever churning ideas, which sustain my well-being. Then they would come empty-handed and expect to be wined and dined.
Then last year I purchased music studio equipment and set it up at home. Word soon spread like veld fire that there was a studio in the neighbourhood, and they beat a beehive to my doorstep. At first, I was flattered and would take the trouble to show them around. Then they would gush and express they also wanted to make music.
Even kids in pre-school would come knocking, saying they want to sing in my “choir”. I’m glad the traffic has reduced after schools reopened, but there are still others who want the celebrity that comes with being a musician.
I realised early how the making of music requires time. We would literally stay up all night and when loadshedding hits, we would wait for hours for the electricity to return.
On set days, I’d let the studio go quite and complete other projects that require my attention, and put the bread on the table. On those days, the brave ones would come to borrow pieces of my equipment, from headsets to microphones. Hell no, it does not work like that. Electronics are sensitive, and I don’t have the time to argue over whether it was working when you borrowed it.
Even our mothers knew better than lending the iron because that can escalate into war between neighbours when it comes back broken.
As a matter of fact, studio time costs money. I am ready to share and help talent grow, but not at my expense. I know the high rate of unemployment is wreaking havoc but that cannot be my baby alone.
So, this year an accountant associate drafted a business plan to ensure anyone who sees herself as the next Makhadzi rocks up ready to work. As a number cruncher, my friend lacks my empathy and sees only business.
Sorry folks, the party is over.
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