An antidote to black tax: sibling thrivalry

I recently discovered a new podcast which feels perfectly aligned for this season: Sibling Thrivalry. It's a podcast by a sibling pair (Talitha and Zuko Ndima). It's refreshing on many levels and I found it while I was feeling weirdly homesick at the end of four weeks away from home. I had to will myself from turning it into yet another academic project (I love what they are doing with language and I think a paper should be written about them and how they are responding to the zeigeist when it comes to code-switching and being multilingual; in fact a thesis would be nice but I digress). I also discovered it while I have been mourning the lost art of conversation. Just basic ukuncokola seems to be going through a crises. I have been ideating a blog post for a while (I think I've drafted it somewhere) writing a letter to my mom reflecting on the lessons she taught me about small talk which is my gateway to indlela yokuncokola. Mama is the ultimate conversationalist, ulincoko elithanda abantu and she always seemed to to know how to do it with strangers and with us.

But back to Sibling Thrivalry.

It has left me with big emotions. I didn't realise I needed to watch siblings getting along until I watched this podcast (that feels like a weird phrase; I've been watching on Youtube as opposed to listening on Spotify so I'll saying watching instead of listening). By big emotion I mean tender. Tis the season to be jolly is often wrapped up in family gatherings whether it's weddings or imigidi (those who know, know). Dezemba is a culture in South Africa, particularly amongst black people. In fact, it is the height of black culture with plans for going home (this needs a whole post of its own) that highlights the ongoing patterns of migrant labour. Beneath all these plans and Dezembering (yes, Dezemba is a verb) is the black family and black communities. And for the purposes of this podcast I want to focus on the black family.

The thrivalry in "Sibling Thrivalry" is an obvious play on rivalry (which is very cute and clever). Personally it has left me with big questions about what does thriving look like in my own family at the moment. I won't go into the details of my family funk but while it can't necessarily be characterised as rivalry, it doesn't necessarily feel like thrivalry either. One of the things the Ndima siblings have become is a representation of siblings loving each other (that's their tagline: love each other) in a context of profound family angst. We have developed code language to describe this angst: black tax, the rich aunt, the drunk uncle etc. While some of these appear to be harmless and at times influencers capitalise on the humour for their content, beneath is a layer of deep pain in black families where it needs to be said: love each other because many times, we don't love each other.

Watching the Ndima siblings reminded me that a while ago, maybe last year, I had a longing to see and experience healthy, wholesome black families. At the time it probably had to do with some '90s nostalgia which has been blown wide open (I don't think I've recovered from Bill Cosby's representation of the wholesome family man only to find that he's a rapist) and I was coming to terms with my own family funk which seems to be an ongoing conversation that may never be resolved (I'm being euphemistic with funk out of respect for my family and not being that person who writes about family and therefore hanging our dirty laundry for everyone to read; but in short, I should find the right words: family dysfunction). I wanted to know that while families are not perfect, they can be healthy and safe. I managed to make some headway in this but it was superficial because I am always a visitor in another family and we all know about the etiquette when there is a visitor.

There's so much I want to say about "Sibling Thrivalry" but for now I want to sit with the tenderness of the difficulties in black families. When I found the podcast I shared it with at least 10 people in the first few minutes because it resonated with so many conversations I've been having with friends. The more episodes I've watched the more I've realised the deep yearning I have for more content on black families where we can talk about the good stuff and not complaining about the black tax and the strife, without being naïve or in denial about it (not that our problems could ever give us a break to be in denial, ingxaki zethu zime ngenyawo ziyapetsula!). When I shared the podcast I was gushing with friends about how real the conversation feels between Zuko and Talitha. Unlike some of the content where influencers are letting us into their homes or families (especially the couples) which often feels fake and contrived, I have been drawn into the laughter and the jokes between the two (what's the psychology of watching people belly laugh together? Other than the immediate response of joining into the laughter) and I'm trying to guard my heart against forming a parasocial relationship.

More often than not, my conversations with friends about family end with advice about how to protect myself by having boundaries with my family. This advice feels unsustainable. It's exhausting having to remember to have my guard down with people I care about but keep making terrible choices. I know there are people who have had to make the decision to walk away from their families and start afresh with chosen family. Sometimes I envy them and I wish I had the same courage. For some reason I keep using my courage to stay connected with people in my family. Sometimes I blame this on isintu that simply refuses to untether me from my immediate family. That's a conversation for another day.

I've been watching "Sibling Thrivalry" as a counter playbook to black tax and black family dysfunction. There is a world in which there is goodness in our families and belly laughing and genuinely enjoying each other's company. There is a world where Dezemba is a pause for family fun times that don't feel mandatory or riddled with guilt or peer pressure or weird feelings. There is a world where black families don't only meet for funerals or big events, where going home is not about putting on a mask in order to count down the days. There is a world where black families don't need an exit strategy. There is a world where black families can have healthy conversations about money and resources; especially families where people are not in the same class bracket (we need to talk about this more outside of the problem of black tax). There is a world where sharing resources in the family amongst siblings, is exactly that, sharing and not flossing for each other. There is a world where black families are supportive and kind and safe spaces. There is a world where black families do not need to be replaced with friends who become family. There is a world where our families have healed from what colonialism and apartheid and capitalism have done to tear them apart. There is a world where black people love each other consistently. But that world seems to always be in formation and needs us to create it and recreate it over and over again because it is always at risk.