I learned to spin in a place called Vosloorus [a large township in the south-east of Johannesburg],” he explains. He moved to Joburg from the small coastal city of East London in the Eastern Cape to live with his father. He didn’t know anyone up in the big city and didn’t have any friends. Unusually for a white kid, he started hanging out at the minibus taxi ranks and making friends there. “Because of that, I grew up in Soweto. I was driving taxis as a teenager. I speak Zulu, I speak Sotho, I speak everything. I grew up in the townships and made it my decision to learn the language.” More than 20 years after the end of apartheid and South Africa’s subsequent transition into a multiracial democracy, it’s still relatively unusual for whites to speak the indigenous African languages: English is the lingua franca; the language in which virtually all business is conducted. Skopas’ heroes were people like the late Sibusiso “Terminator” Mthimunye – known as the “King of Spin” – who he cites as his role model, and fellow spinning pioneer Eric Maswaya. These guys, along with others like them, are household names in these communities, where the sport has long reached cult status. Skopas vividly remembers the first time he saw them spin on street corners in the townships. Terminator passed away in 2012. “He taught me everything I know; he’s the reason that I got a grip on spinning,” says Skopas. “He died in an accident on the way back from a spinning event in Nelspruit. We were coming back when he had a blowout, went onto the grass and got flung 100m from the car. “He’s a legend, the greatest spinner ever,” continues Skopas, pointing to the poster of his fallen friend that hangs on his wall. “To this day, his is the biggest funeral I’ve ever seen. Townships were shut down, and there was 15 kays of traffic heading into Kwa-Temba, which is where he was from.” Behind the bar at Wheelz N Smoke later that day, I spot a guy whose shirt pays homage to another spinner who has passed away. It seems that this sport has had its share of fallen heroes. “I’ve been to Swaziland for at least a hundred shows so far,” Skopas reveals. “I’ve been to Botswana, Namibia, Dundee, Madadeni, Vryheid, Durban, Kimberley, Kuruman, Bloemfontein…” The ultimate goal for Skopas and his fellow spinners is to be able to do these kinds of exhibitions all over the world. But, to do that, the sport will first have to decide exactly what it is. There’s no THE RED BULLETIN
Another one bites the dust: more than a hundred tyres were left shredded at the end of a night’s spinning delight at Wheelz N Smoke
scoring system and no race against the clock: this is freestyle drifting, plain and simple, although it actually pre-dates drifting. It’s about doing the wildest tricks at the highest possible speed. There are distinct types of drivers, too. On one side, there are the guys who get out there purely to spin and drift the car; those who are trying to get as tight to the safety barricades as is humanely possible with their out-of-control tails. These guys aren’t satisfied unless the spectators, who are sitting with their legs dangling over those barricades, have to rapidly lift them out of the way in order for the back end of the Beemer to sear past without them losing a limb. On the other side are those who are more into doing their tricks outside the confines of the car. These are the drivers, co-pilots and tricksters who, like Bad Company, leap out of and onto the car while it’s spinning. In Skopas’ opinion, these are the entertainers. “There are forms of what we do all over the world – there are burnouts in America and various forms of drifting all over – but nothing is quite like we do it. What person in their right mind is going to jump out of a car window and do tricks while it’s spinning?”
This sport has had its share of fallen heroes
Another of these entertainers is Stacey-Lee May, a seemingly timid 20-year-old student in corporate law and finance from Eldorado Park, near Soweto. She’s one of the very few women in spinning – the only one at Wheelz N Smoke this evening – and her pink Beemer stands out from the other cars. Her support crew are her family: mum, dad, brother, brother’s friend, sister, sister’s boyfriend and her own boyfriend – they’re all here. They run around getting and changing tyres, and loading the vehicle on and off her trailer. “They swear a lot here,” May giggles innocently. “It’s my hobby and my sport, and there aren’t a lot of females involved. I want to be involved in something that’s unique, and spinning is unique. “About two years ago, my dad’s friend asked him if they could borrow me to come and spin,” May recalls. Luckily for the young girl, her father said yes. “It was like a bug that bit me, and I’ve been spinning ever since,” she adds. “I love it – it’s different, it gives me a different feeling, it’s an adrenalin rush.” Like Skopas, May considers the stunts to be a big part of the sport, helping to keep up the interest level. “It keeps the crowd on their toes,” she says. “They don’t know what’s going to happen next – it’s just amazing. “I enjoy interacting with the crowd,” she adds, “though I’m also a very shy person and I don’t really see the crowd when I’m spinning; I’m just being myself. But when I get out of the car and people are coming up to me and taking pictures, I actually enjoy that. I’m definitely becoming more open as a person.” The sport has had a more profound effect on her confidence, too, she says. “When I was in high school, I was a nerd, and people used to walk all over me and push me around. Now people don’t get that chance. If you tell me something wrong, I’m going to tell you back. That’s how I am now.” There’s a theme among all these young daredevils: the need for acceptance. Spinning has become an outlet for these youngsters – kids who have lived tough lives, who couldn’t make friends, or who were previously too meek to stand up for themselves. “This sport used to be associated with gangsterism,” says May, “and people would say that spinners steal people’s cars, but look at me: I’m not even capable of stealing a car. I’m here to help people see that spinning isn’t about gangsterism; it’s just a sport, and we’re trying to make a name for ourselves.” 33