I Will Love Afrika ™

---Afrika you were my beginning and you will undoubtedly be my ending. Queen Afrika, the womb from which I was ushered from, the land whose soils clothe my heart with tenacity. I sing a song of hope; I sing a song of light. I sing your praises and I see you in a new dawn. Afrika you were my beginning and you will undoubtedly be my ending---

My beginning....My ending 

Below is a piece entitled "I will Love Afrika" which I have been playing with all night at the expense of my sleep. My love for this place flows deep and can only grow stronger from here.The only mother I have ever known and the woman whose breasts I have suckled from since my inception. Herein is an ode to a place where the beauty and the ugly of the world are merged and can only be detached through magnifiers. I chose to taint mine with visions of butterflies that roam freely, with happiness, equality and an educated youth that determines its own tomorrow.

I will Love Afrika,

For the restless spirits of it’s off spring

For troubled pasts of its tribal groups

For these soils that have dried up my ancestral blood

For pain filled memories that were never eased

For dark clouds of colonialism that never ceased

For surviving the gluttonous state of all oppression

I will Love Afrika,

For shaping the books of the worlds history

Through the lengthy lines of royalty it has bore

For battles fought with bare hands and few weapons

For the reign of Makeda, our Queen of Sheba

The wisdom of woman, of her mystery unsolved 

 For King Moshoeshoe, mora Mokhachane

Naledi ea bosiu, ntlo kholo Menkhoaneng

The father of the Basotho nation, founder of a peaceful land

A land where my people were shadowed by the gloom ea Lifaqane

When survival mechanisms insisted on cannibalism

For Lepoqo’s teachings that still ring true today

That "Peace is the Mother of nations"

 Yes I will Love Afrika,

For the battles of uShaka, the Zulu warrior

For Insandlwana, a pride filled initiative

For standing our ground and fighting for our own

For Seretse Khama, the son of independence

To the fierce Mutato the Great
For Sankara's re-written notions of leadership
By humbly and heartily serving Burkina Faso

For the positive actions of Nkrumah 

An icon to pan-Afrikanism, a gift of our liberation

For his and Sobukwe's contributions to the Pan Afrikan Congress 

Sons whose ideologies painted a canvas that depicted freedom at last

I said I will Love Afrika,

And all her descendants

The children of my mother, our siblings in solidarity

For the insights of Shabazz on who the real enemy always was 

And letting us know that for being Black we should be Proud

For Marcus Garvey, a black star who called us all to unity 

His vision of an undefeated nation of blaques

For Huey Newton, a black panther roaring in anger

Of a two faced system that preached integration and practiced segregation

For Dr. King who preached the revolution,

Anticipated days when colour held no barriers on our progression

For Harriet Tubman, the underground star of the night

A true master of the anti slavery movement

I will Love Afrika,

For the turmoil it has been responsible for precipitating

I will love it with all its self inflicted conflict

Sundiata's strikes at his fellow brothers

The Aminian theme noted in every chapter of our every country

For the misruling of Idi Amin, Jean Bedell Bokasso and Robert Mugabe

The ravages they caused and left their countries floating in 

For its rulers who suffer from megalomania 

Who would rather die than to forfeit their power

I will Love Afrika ,

For even in its state of a freedom complex

This land still has birthed my nature

It has molded my being and knows of my struggles

This is the only place I will ever call home

Where I share similar stories and sentiments 

With those that came to battle with me

This land where momma nurtured me towards greatness

Where real learning is never in congregated classrooms

But rather in street corners and folk tales that have no records 

I will Love Afrika,

It is where my journey commences

It is where my story continues to unfold

And it is where my bones and my soul will be rested.

I will Love Afrika!

" But late is never a bad start in
Africa my beginning
And Africa my ending
No easy way to freedom...

I was there I will die there
In Africa my beginning
And Africa my ending
Lets do something..."

  - Ingoapele Madingaone

Winnie Mandela...The Hero that Went Unsung

---"I am the product of the masses of my country and the product of my enemy"---Winnie Madikizela Mandela

The reason I love Rhodes is primarily due to the fact that I learn something new everyday. Literally, not a day goes by without new insights presenting themselves to me. So here we were, having lunch when one of the most enlightening conversations I have had all year springs up. Allow me to paint it for you... 

-Scenario-

Kebabetswe: So have you decided on whether you are going to enter the 'Educate to Liberate' poetry competition?

Madingane: I'm still not too sure hey. The only 'woman of topic' I am remotely familiar with is Graca Machel.

Kebabetswe: Okay, so why don't you write about mam Graca then?

Madingane: Nah...I don't know, I don't see it, you see me I'm more a Winnie Mandela kind of girl!

Lethabo: Oh come on. That murderer? How can you even?

Madingane: Come again...a what? Call her what you may but I happen to think what Winnie did for South Africa is truly a revolutionary act. So you say she killed someone, apartheid was war and in a war people are bound to die.

Lethabo: Yes but not if 'people' is a young black boy whose entire death she orchestrated. 

And the story goes on and on and on but a few things have happened here. Firstly I have been caught dead in the middle of an ignorance exposure attack, secondly I have stumbled upon a very interesting revelation, that I idolize an apparent murderer -at this stage I had no insight into the inhuman acts of violence that Nomzamo has been accused of since the country she fought for saw the light of democracy- and lastly I have tasked myself with a mini research on the life of Winnie Madikizela and tracking the record of her infidelities to her husband and her people.    

The search rapidly begun and the search, just as speedily fizzled out. The reason is that my opinion of Winnie Madikizela before I knew of her 'dark' past is the same opinion I hold after finding out that she allegedly kidnapped and murdered 14-year old ANC activist Stompie Moeketsi (Sepei) back in 1988. The same respect I had for Winnie before I heard of her corruption dealings and brutal attacks on the youth of Soweto has not shifted an inch. Yes I will catch a lot slack for admitting to this but personally I happen to believe that the case of Winnie Madikizela’s controversies has been blown way out of proportion and to an extreme extent I even believe that this mother of our nation is a victim of a conspiracy set against her by the (then) ruling National Party.

We are all entitled to ours and mine is that it would be extraordinarily naive of me to believe that Winnie is only a victim and that she glows of innocence, of course not, but I am saying that a lot does not add up for me, I watched the wounded families during the Truth and Reconciliation periods in South Africa, I saw them cry, hurt and point fingers but I also saw Winnie, not a flicker of remorse and so that led to my thinking that this woman is tired of trying to tell her version of the story only to be flipped aside like hers was a struggle in vain. It saddens me that a woman that went through so much heartache and misery has been subjected to nothing less than a liar, a murderer and a burden to the society that she helped free. 

I am reminded of an article I read by Esther Armah on Neslon Mandela's birthday, this open letter was addressed to Winnie and  the opening line read as follows...

"It is not that I refuse to celebrate your ex's birthday. It is that I do not know yours".   

Miss Armahs theory is that as a black people, who are descendants of oppression we need to serve ourselves with emotional justice, a term she coined herself in a plead to the black nation on addressing, discussing dealing with, and healing from the "legacy of untreated trauma that affects us globally". 

This brilliant concept is unfortunately one we easily look past down in these shores. The idea of emotional justice as interpreted by our people is that the black majority forgive the white minority while we all pretend to shake hands, fake smiles, call it a truce and start afresh--clean slate and all. But our understanding of it is flawed beyond repair because we are not at the root of the problem, mending the damage that was done, we are instead concealing it by pretending that we are fine and all is well. But I disagree, like Miss Madikizela herself states, she is a constant reminder of a past that we are trying so hard to forget. 

You see what Esther Armah is saying is that we forgave a whole race of people that did us wrong for years yet we turn our hearts cold at the thought of forgiving one of our own. We chose to drag Winnie Madikizela Mandela’s name through a concoction of hatred and disgust at a time when our hands should be in one another's clasps as we move forward and lead this continent to better times. What’s to happen when the incidents of one woman have driven an entire nation to dialogues that cannot be rewritten in favor of the contributions of this apartheid opponent? Why have we instead opted to replace these narratives of revolution with negation and subjugation? Is it not a dreadful shame that the calamities of apartheid's climax still haunt us to this day?  

When is the day that we shall turn a crisp page with nothing but forgiveness of self and our people as its title? This irony is daunting- that we forgave the 'enemy' the minute Mandela asked that we do yet here we are, twenty four years later and Winnie Madikizela Mandela's name still leaves a bitter, angry taste in our mouths.

I am by no means condoning her actions--if indeed there is any truth to them. But I do give rise to questions that need some thought and analysis. How do we move forward in strides of peace and authentic reconciliation when our hearts are settled in an era we are so quick to label as 'dead and gone', or is it really?

Let’s flash back to the times we boiled with anger and rage and start by forgiving ourselves, and then forgiving our brothers and sisters of the same struggle. Only then can we move on from a past that obstructs the progress of a true rainbow nation. I end this with a quote from Esther's letter that I believe captures the abstract of this piece....

  “I call this emotional justice - looking at the toll of injustice on who we become emotionally and how that legacy reaches from those past moments into our present and far into our future, demanding our attention...Forgiveness for me, like black love, is revolutionary. So, I waited to hear your ex ask black South African men and women to forgive themselves and each other for what they must have put themselves and their families through in order to navigate hostile apartheid waters and come out breathing. That didn't happen." 

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

Take me back to 1976...

---“I want the war to be over, the hate to be over. I want to come home to kindness. Freedom is just the beginning, think bigger…the prison door opens; the prisoner walks free, what then?”--- Whoopi Goldberg

Technically it is still exam time but I have given in, the cherry has popped and I can’t resist the urge to steal some time out to this tranquil space of peaceful rants and mental riots.



The Youth of 1976 toiled in struggle....



I just watched the critically acclaimed South African movie Sarafina which was set in the apartheid regime. Forget the fact that I watched this movie over ten times in my teenage years and focus on the fact that today it made me cry. I’m sitting typing this with tears welled in my eyes, my spirit replete with pride and my heart with anger, I’m sitting here but my thoughts are back in ’76. Right now I have escaped my own self and I am Steve Biko sitting in the back of that police van enduring strike after fist after kick, right now I am no longer a 22 year old rolling in privileges, no sir, today I am Nelson Mandela as I sit at Robben Island, eyes feeding on the doors of my prison cell hoping to witness the chains come free, symbolizing the same for my people. Just for today, I am Lillian Ngoyi back in 1956, I am fed up of being denied my basic human rights and I am about to lead 20 000 women in a protest march to the Union Buildings in Pretoria. Nomhlanje I am Hector Pieterson cradled in the arms of my fellow blaque brother as he and my sister flee from the torment that will end up killing me. Just for today, for now, for this moment, I am struggle, I am pain, I am hurt and I am fed up.

Just for today; I am worried, I am scared, I am anxious about our future. Today I worry for the black mans peace, kaloku I wish back the rebel-hood of our ancestors, I am scared of how the story unfolds and I fear that we will remain trapped. I look around and I see shackles, I ask around and I still sense fear, I speak out loud, I scream, shout but I get hushed.

Now the prison cell has flung open and suddenly there was ‘peace’, our prisoners are set free and we are somewhere caught up in singing their praises and salutations so much that we forget that there is still a final lap to this so called freedom. Biko’s spirit went back home, his bones were rested and somehow we forgot. Mandela was released, he returned to us and so we felt the need to over glorify him, we named everything after him, streets, bridges, bays, universities, we gave his face to money. It all seems to have eluded the spheres of our minds and we sing a brand new song, the lyrics to Nkonyana Kandaba have slowly slipped away, a fedile mathata a Afrika because it is no longer tomorrow, it is today and freedom has come, right? No. Wrong.

These are the days where the only chant we know is “each man is on his own” and because of this, freedom will never come. So long as we waste the gift of our liberation on sparking new conflicts against one another. When in the dawn of democracy, the ANC is going at DA, the LCD taking jabs at the DC and when communists, liberalists and manipulate-ists are constantly on each others necks about one thing or another then my people will remain in abyss of poverty, illiteracy, ignorance, hiv/aids and ridiculously wide economic margins.

Take me back to those times because I do not want to be here, at a time where we are supposed to unite as Afrikans and rake away the forces that still keep us captive we would rather fight amongst ourselves, I want nothing to do with this era where a brown envelope is all it takes to buy our freedom, take me out of here and back to a time when fists were thrown in the air as a tool of empowerment not on one another in a club where a skhothane isn’t wearing shoes that are expensive enough to reserve him an ounce of respect from the useless ballots of his peers.

Bring back the days when enough was enough, where the people were afraid to speak but even more afraid to stay silent, I will gladly take a day that was filled with purpose, with drive and with a passion to save Afrika, a passion entrenched so far into the spirits of those we owe our freedom to that no amount of tjambok strikes or gun bullets would have stopped them. Re-introduce to us, the days of our fore fathers, where their peaceful nature was their own demise, I want nothing to do with this misery and strife between our own, what happened to the days when united we stood and divided we fell? I fail to comprehend the structures of this system that claims to be free yet is still so plagued with multiple social ills.

I cannot stand to be a part of a generation that will go down in the books of Afrikan history as the inventors of skhothane lifestyles, extreme corruption and the fatal death of ubuntu.

       

Beloved, come with me to the days when we were one and together we could accomplish anything, even the full emancipation of Africa.

 



So that the Youth of 2012 could do this.



Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

Nomonde...The Afrikan Xena

---Give your Roses so that your garden is furnished with love and nothing else. Bless the Angels that glow along your path and they shall forever shine their light in your heart---

It was my promise to self that I would not bless this blog space with any new entries during my exam period but something moved me, any writer will relate to that mystical feeling that clothes you whole and forces one to slide pen on pad, or in my case, fingers on keyboard. 

This post will be as short is it can be because this post is nothing like previous posts. This here is my bouquet of Roses, it is me paying respect to an earth child whose presence in my life has greatly and positively impacted me. This is for an African Princess whom every word she's ever uttered I have stolen and tucked away between the ribs in my soul, these joined syllables and vowels are dedicated to a leader of our generation whose heart is sequined with carats of love and laughter. This is a tribute to a young revolutionary who deserves her roses fresh from my garden of admiration. This is the only accolade that I am blessed with the ability to create and so this shall be my token to you, child of Afrika.

Nomonde Remoratile Ndwalaza is tiny but tough. This young warrior princess blessed me with her presence early in 2012 when the universe cast our paths across one another. At first glance, this was a no nonsense kinda chick, hers was the face of one who has just collided head to head with the sun, hers was the tongue that bit so sharply and hers was an opinion that stuck, regardless of whether you liked it or not. If only first impressions really did have a lasting effect then this blog entry would have never seen the light of day. In all honesty Nomonde was hella intimidating; this tiny creature had the presence of an elephant in a room, large enough to send someone who is possibly twice her size to a distant corner.

Alright, lets fast-forward to the praise part, lets get to the scene in which I looked forward to being in the company of this Afrikan goddess, lets talk about the times when her opinions drew me into deep thought and deliberation of the state of Afrika and all things pertaining to its development. These were now the times when we shared Jay-Z tracks and sang Erykah Badu in computer labs; we now laughed and joked together all the while agenda "Afrikan Progression" was never too far from the midst of our conversations. These were times when I decided to unfold my insecurities and wrap myself in the warmth and brilliance of this bright star.

It is only when we open our hearts, our minds and our mouths to those we admire that we give away a piece of who we really are to them. It is only when we understand the true value embedded in the theories based on turning the pages of the books we shelve as friends that we then really learn to stop the reading of covers. It is when we pluck the roses from our gardens and willingly carry them into to the hearts of those who touch our lives in ways we can never really express but only ever attempt to do so through craft that our hearts are lifted and we are left feeling lighter and brighter. 

It is because of this friendship found that my consciousness flows deeper than it did just last month. It is from scraping at the mind of this Phumzile-Mlambo Ngcuka of our generation that I slowly quench my intellectual thirst, it was when I sat with this spirit that soars like an eagle that the one truth she abides by rang true to me and it is that  "people are nice, when you finally see them”. 

It is this urgent tribute to this Xena, the African Warrior Princess that has me taking a break from this essay due for submission tomorrow at noon to come and furiously toss my seeds of love and appreciation into her garden, which is already overflowing with praise and awards. Nomz, I hope you have room for one more accolade in your cabinet....here, I honor you for the individual that you are, the open heart you wear so selflessly on your sleeve and for the wisdom you so wittingly serve on the platters of knowledge you possess.

Daughter of Afrikan Soils and Skies, I salute you....<3

 

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...