It is dark. A match is struck and a paraffin lamp lit – bring up stage lights. can themba is wearing a white shirt, with his tie slightly loosened. He puts on his spectacles as he sits at his desk, getting ready to write. A typewriter is in front of him, and books are piled up on the desk, some open as if for reference, with sheets of manuscripts topping the pile. Next to the typewriter is an ashtray filled with dogends. He starts typing. The sound of the typewriter echoes for two minutes. He lifts his head, takes off the glasses and faces the audience.

CAN: My name is Can Themba. Those who know me call me Can von Themba. Never call me ‘Mister Can Themba’. There are certain names that do not go with ‘Mister’, and I don't have a clue why. Surely you cannot imagine a Mr Charlie Chaplin or a Mr William Shakespeare, or even a Mr Jesus Christ. My name operates in that sort of class.

I’m a graduate of the University of Fort Hare, where I majored in English and passed with distinction. I’m a teacher by profession, a writer by inclination and a journalist by trade. I’m a living exemplar of the modern, educated African's dilemma. I read English and trained to be a teacher, but you never know which government department is going to expel you and pitchfork you into which other government department. So, I also took Native Administration as a safety option.

I was born and raised in Marabastad, Pretoria, but I am a naturalised Sophiatonian. My writing is all about the celebration of life. Sophiatown represents the strength and the will to survive of ordinary masses of African people. Klevas, big shots, boozers, bamboos, coat hangers, hole diggers, bullets and blondes, wash planks and two-ton trucks all traverse the streets of our beloved Sof ‘town.

In Sophiatown the moments of splendour are splendid indeed. White Johannesburg cannot match the swarming, cacophonous, strutting, brawling and vibrating life of our township. Life here is strangely complex, interestingly challenging and absolutely dangerous. It is a shadow life in which we wander as spectres, seeking meaning for ourselves.