Cartridge Nostalgia | Retro Gaming Memories & Modern Gaming Life

The other night I was lying in bed, Switch in hand, playing Bioshock 2. The room was dark, which is exactly how I prefer it, the OLED screen cutting through the black with deep, vivid colours. Outside it was cold, one of those Cape Town winter nights that makes you not want to move. A cup of tea on the bedside table. Exploring Rapture and saving little sisters. At some point, I stopped, looked down, and kinda marvelled at the device in my hands. This small, thin tablet was running a game that once pushed my big PS3 to its limits. A massive console, a big television, and here was that same game fitting comfortably in my hands under a duvet. I still find that genuinely amazing. Just having this experience possible and that I’m lucky enough to have access to it. So no, I haven’t upgraded to the Switch 2 yet. And the more I think about it, the less of a rush I’m in. Bioshock 2 has been on my wishlist for a long time. I picked it up after Deku Deals flagged it on sale. I played the first ga...

The first thing that ever got stolen from me was my bicycle. A silly old postman delivery bike with large brown mud flaps. Nothing fancy, just what we could afford. It was a gift from my parents, which is the only reason it mattered as much as it did. When I realised it was gone, I felt awful in a way I didn’t quite understand. Almost like I had done something wrong. Didn’t protect it. Like it was somehow my fault. I hadn’t. But that feeling stuck around for a while, and I still miss my silly old bicycle. That was my first proper introduction to what it feels like to have something taken from you. It wasn’t about the bike. It was about someone coming into our space and helping themselves. That part never really leaves you. Growing up in Cape Town, and still living here now, crime is just part of the background noise of daily life. It varies a lot depending on where you’re situated. Some neighbourhoods have it better. Others have it far, far worse. The northern suburbs sit somewhere in ...

Somewhere between my first Famiclone console and my latest PS5, I worked out I’ve owned over 40 consoles. Not all at once, never all at once. Usually just one or so at a time. In most cases, one TV and one handheld console. The rest of the journey was funded by selling and trading what I had, paying in the difference, and moving on to the next thing. That’s just how the hobby worked for me. It wasn’t always easy, but it was the best way to experience a variety of hardware and games. It started because of jealousy, honestly. I was young; my grades weren’t exactly setting any records, but my dad bought me a Famiclone, one of those Golden China Family Computer units, anyway. The real reason, though? My older brother had just received a portable CD cassette player, and I think my parents felt they needed to even things out. I wasn’t complaining. That little Famiclone was the start of my gaming journey. From that moment, gaming became part of how I experienced life. And because I never had ...

Some memories don't just live in your mind. They stay in your body. That coin sound from Super Mario Bros, the little chime that rings every time Mario picks one up, I can feel it before I even finish thinking about it. Somewhere in my memory, the CRT image of it all is just burned in. The colours, the glow of the screen in a dark room, sitting too close and messing up your eyes, I miss all that. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. I was around eight years old, maybe a little younger, growing up in the northern suburbs of Cape Town, South Africa. My friend David lived two houses down, which made visiting easy. After school, on weekends, most days really, I would just show up. His house was comfortable and familiar, in the way only a childhood friend's home can be. A small room, comfy carpet on the floor, a single bed, and a few magazines scattered around. I recall a large wooden display unit along the wall with family photos and some action figures. Some of these had seen ...