
I just finished reading “I Am Not Your Weekend Special: The life and times of Brenda Fassie” and I can stop listening to her music. It seems to make so much sense now. Most people agree that MaBrr was born into the wrong era. That she was way before her time. It is easy to agree now too. The book, written by Bongani Madondo is not really a biography. It is an account of different people who claim to have known MaBrr on a more-than personal level, her lovers, producers, back-up dancers, friends, foster parents and the like. After reading the book I feel like I knew her too.
At the time I was born, Brenda Fassie was the talk of Africa. She seemed to be the most interesting thing since Idi Amin. She was taking Africa and the world by storm. Many girls born around the time I was born were named Brenda. In my family, three women were pregnant with girls. Of course at the time there was no figuring out if you would be blessed with a girl or boy. Or maybe there was but they just couldn’t be bothered. My to-be godmother had her baby first. So she got dibs on the name. My mother was next. She wanted to name me for my godmother, Theresa but roundabout that time, Mandela’s 70th birthday tribute was broadcast from London. It catapulted Tracy Chapman onto the world stage. So my name became a variation of Theresa. Tracy. The next girl was, left to be Yvonne. Brenda’s “nemesis”.
But I digress. I am trying to relay just how besotted with South Africa my family was. I grew up listening to a lot of South African music. In fact, at one point all that played in momma’s car was a cassette of Fassie’s “Memeza”. It played almost throughout primary school. By the time the cassette disappeared (and I suspect it was not by mistake), we could have sung it without MaBrr’s help.
Reading the book and looking at the pictures therein, made me feel like I somehow knew this Brenda. And yet, Brenda was an enigma, even those who knew her confess they never really did. The temper tantrums, the love cravings, attention seeking, the drugs, the multiple lovers…it is an endless list.
Funny how the biggest talents have the most interesting short comings. No. Not funny. Sad.
“Weekend Special”, the song that apparently catapulted her to rock stardom and the title of the book is one of the only ones I had never listened to.
It speaks to many frustrated girls today, the ones loving men that pay them no heed till the weekend…
I have been here before…
WEEKEND SPECIAL
You don’t come around, to me see in the week
You don’t have a chance, to call me on the phone
You dont come around, to me see in the week
You dont have a chance, to call me on the phone
But Friday night yes I know, yes I know
I know I must be ready for you, just be waiting for you
Friday night yes I know, yes I know
I know I must be ready for you, just be waiting for you
[Chorus] I’m no weekend, weekend special
I’m no weekend, weekend special
I’m no weekend, weekend special
I’m no weekend, weekend special
I’m no weekend, (daddy’s home) weekend special
I’m no weekend, (daddy’s home) weekend special
[Verse 2] Another lonely night, on my own again
How along for your love
I need your touch, yes I do
You dont come around, to me see in the week
You dont have a chance, to call me on the phone
But Friday night yes I know, yes I know
I know I must be ready for you, just be waiting for you
Friday night yes I know, yes I know
I know I must be ready for you, just be waiting for you
[Bridge] I’m your weekend special…
I’m your weekend special…
I’m no weekend special…
That is all…
I’m no weekend, weekend special (x4)
You dont love me no more… (x3)
You dont love me no more… I know
Every girl hopes the day will come when they are over the person who makes them feel this way. I know for sure the day comes, as soon as you’re ready.