I am Every Woman!

---We need to speak up, raise our voices because what we have to say needs to be heard. Stereotypes must be reversed and our presence rightfully restored. Woman, I will not only speak on your behalf until my mouth runs dry but I will also speak with you, to you and about you. Because you are graceful, you are delicate and you deserve to be you---

God knows that next to mother Afrika, women are the closest favourite to my heart. I love these creatures. I love them all day and I love them all night, I love them intensely and I am pretty sure that one day I will lie in a casket and I will love them right into the afterlife. Women are symbolic of very many things; they are to me what nature is, quiet yet rowdy, mostly unpredictable but somewhat familiar in their presence. Women mean the world to me, they are like the universe in which we attract our fate, they have this undying love that draws no boundaries and they shine bright, like shooting stars.

These are momma natures chosen nurturers whose smiles can heal broken hearts, whose soft caress can abate any physical pain; the words of woman can build just as much as they can damage….which is exactly why I am here, on this page, searching for words that could aptly describe her, words that she may read, understand and safely tuck away into her minds maze. I am here to speak about woman, and to speak to her, I have brought these words along, not only for company’ sake but I am hoping that today we can build. Build through word and literature, through poetical verses and scriptures. I need to build, I want to build and I must start with who I am and who I am is woman. I am every woman, I am my mother, and I am her daughter, a sister, granddaughter, aunt, niece and sister confidante.

I am indeed every woman. I will not tell you that I am Assata, I am Afeni, I am Coretta, Betty and Winnie. I am Graca, I am Harriet, I am Nambitha and I am also Lillian. Hell, I am even Khanyi, I am Nicky, I am Janet and I am Oprah, I exude confidence, sexiness, intelligence and I am perfectly enough for me and to me. I have no fear or worries because societal pressure does not weigh down on me the way it would if I was just one woman, but you see, I am not one woman, I am every woman and I radiate the beauty, the strength and the courage of ten thousand women. I am every single woman that has ever lived and will ever live, I am Eve, I am her last born daughter and I am every woman between this bond.

We are women and therefore our fight shall be for our own. We are women and so where we go titles shall follow, we will be skanks, whores, bitches and ratchets. We will be gold diggers and opportunists, we will also be enablers, naïve and stupid but one thing we will not seize to be is women. And that should be our pride. Being woman is the pride of woman.

And for the longevity of our pride I am here telling you, my fellow earth sisters to woman up. I am here preaching the sidelined principles of feminism that our male dominated society has put on hold while we stay second best. I am here to try and rectify years of second hand oppression. Hear me when I say to you, you are beautiful and you deserve it all, you are Gods design and angelic adorns your being, woman you are powerful beyond measure and your words were designed to build. To build yourself, to build communities and to build our men… the main sources of the pains we endure; the heartbreaks and tear stains we inch through and insecurities we deal with are the very same ones we wake up to cheer on and encourage regardless.

Daughters of the world through, lets re assemble these notions of feminism and fit the pieces how they suit us. They cannot define what we stand for unless they know the pains of stiletto heels and the bunions that come the day after. They cannot dictate to us the terms of our submission unless they can usher life into this world. Until the day they understand the tears we have cried from our joys and pains, the hot flashes, the swings in moods and the ocean like love we possess then they have no grounds on which to spit feminism in the face.

I am by no means undermining the role of men in our lives, but I simply point out that feminism is no more radical than some of the rules of submission we are subjected to. Feminism is entirely healthy and should be encouraged, unless it is then rape culture, women abuse and harassment are issues that we will be fighting ‘against’ for centuries to come. I hate that the concept of such a beautiful term has been stretched out and re-arranged to mean stubbornness, rebellion and insensitivity of women towards the needs of men.

Unitl next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

I Lost my First Love

---When you allow self to go through periods where life schedules rule and ruin the desires of your heart, consequences can only be abrupt and eruptive as is the nature of all chaos. Clutter has a way of making what matters the most seem less important than the debris of confusion it creates---

This year has taught me yet another lesson in life, as we grow into new passions and find new interests, its essential that we cultivate the already existing ones otherwise it would be pointless to have created them to begin with if we are to lose touch with them at the first sign of new loves presenting themselves to us. Hear me out; I’m only trying to make sense of my own state of mind….

The point I am trying to make is that one should never let go of what they truly love and I only dish out this advice to you because I am hurt I have lost my first love. You see I am fickle, indifferent and unsure of self at times, I am a beautiful bottle of confusion. I am not like the kid who grew up knowing exactly who they are and what their purpose in life was. I, unlike that kid chose a path of self-discovery instead of finding myself and with every layer unearthed is a side to me I never thought would exist. It’s an amazing feeling, coming into your own, experiencing life as you once wished you would but it, just like all the good things in life does not come without a little side damage.

Yes I have evolved into a beautiful, intelligent concrete rose, a rose whose curiosity cannot be quenched and therefore continues to tread on a trail of knowledge. I have grown like a yellow rose, stunning; with petals so rich, thick and smooth that I have long forgotten the scratches and marks that saw me grow out of concrete. I have neglected the things that mattered most to me and because of that I have lost my first love. I have traded in the one person that saw me through hell and back for political insight, an inquisitive mind and all kinds of ‘mature acts’. I have turned my back on the one true love who’s words once soothed my lonely heart and wiped away my saddened tears and I have joined movements that force my heart to turn to stone and would curse me if I dared shed a tear. I have become someone else and I am too deep in that I cannot revert to simpler days when it was just me and my first love.

I have gone and gotten educated, tasted the bitter sweetness of intellectual conversing and I have found difficulty in untangling myself out of this maze of high pitched debates and college-y talks so much that I no longer recognize the one that I once truly loved. This person that has taken over and has become the new me has found new channels and avenues when it comes to the people, this person no longer engages with the people like she once did instead she has built a pedestal where she speaks for them and not with them, you tell me what the purpose of speaking on behalf of the people is when you are no longer on the ground listening to what they have to say and what their most pressing needs are.

Today I heard my first love speak, yesterday I almost listened and last week I could only reminisce as he persuaded me back to the love we once had. The thing is I can no longer be bothered, my circles are different now, we speak a whole other language and try I may but the passion is lost and I can’t seem to find it.

I miss this love of my life but somehow our connection is no longer as strong as it used to be, our signals are no longer in par and truth is he has also changed. I can’t find him…yes I am lost in a web of new loves but none match up to this love of mine. We once spoke in similar tones and finished one another’s sentences, we made memories in crowded clubs and sunny parks, we were once inseparable while he taught me everything that I now know.

And its funny how I thought my love was the one who’d started tripping  but I now realize that I am not who I used to be, our truce was to always be rebels but now I’m rebelling a little differently. I’m picking up my voice and I’ve left him somewhere lingering in the background, baited breath, anticipating my return. Whether I will ever return is an uncertainty and with this new found love for ‘things’ who’s to say our union will ever be the same again.   

Even so, I wish back the days when nothing or no one could ever mess with our bond. I have lost my first love and nothing will ever be the same again without their presence in my life. I have stopped listening altogether and even our old conversations don’t boil my blood anymore, I no longer replay them in moments of anger, of happiness, laughter, sadness or even insecurity because I have allowed my new passions to take over.

I Miss Hip Hop and I can only hope that one day we will re-ignite our love because not only did I once love her, I still do but like queen Assata once said; we are grown up now and its all so complicated when you dig someone.  

I Miss You Hip Hop. You are and will always be my first Love.

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution....

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...

A Note for my Unborn Daughter...

---Learn so that you may teach. Gather in knowledge and in spirit so that they learn from you. Unite in the name of Ubuntu so that we may generate seeds that will grow and build Afrika. Live so that you may say to your children and their children....ours was tough but it also was the last. Go to battle now so that we become the trees that fought to breathe amongst the evils of the weeds and in so doing our concrete flowers will only reap peace---

Maybe it’s an inherent trait of my kind or maybe it’s the maternal instincts as they kick down the insights of our wombs. Or is it just the latest trend, it could be that we're impatient and hurried for the germination of our seeds. Is it because our own have started to bear theirs? Are the ticks to the clock getting too loud? Are these the prime years in which we find ourselves longing for the companionship of those we wholly create? I don't really care, I don't wish to know what is that has pushed me to this letter, my only desire is to write this to her, to let my unborn know life, to teach my daughter about her people and the sacrifices of her ancestors.

Dear Daughter,

I need you healthy, I need you brave, I need you free from fear and free in thought. Dear child, I want you tough, I want you daring and expressive of whatever dissatisfaction you will inevitably have to deal with. Beautiful child of Afrikan soils, I need you warm, I want you happy, I wish for you undiluted freedom. Child of my womb, before you escape this safe haven that is my body, you must understand what you have gotten yourself into, Inkoskazi ya se Azania, intwana yase khaya lam', you need to find your place as a global citizen, know and take pride in your heritage, as an Afrikan woman. Setloholo-hali sa Moshoeshoe, trace your roots and know about your great grandfather and his great grandfather. Smile child, for you have now blessed this place with your presence, this land is only too happy to see you struggle, toil endlessly for the empty promises it has made to us and to our parents of equality and iniquity, which remain a mystery to us.

Child, I beam at your existence, I am in awe of the miracle that you are but I am also scared for you. I am scared that you will never find your beat and baby I am scared that just like your mother you will fear the unknown. Be nothing like me, be everything you are meant to be, a conqueror, a heroine, a student to the revolution and an active member of your community. Child I want you carrying the pains of your people boldly on your shoulders, I want you to speak when your moved to do so...this is the third world my baby, you will come across situations that will disturb your heart, you will witness living conditions that no human-being should be subjected to, your heart will hurt and your tears will flow.

I expect too much from you but don't let that distract you, live for yourself but more importantly, for your people, be one with them, share your all with them. Be an ambassador for ubuntu, oneness. Dedicate your time to teaching them, immerse yourself in Afrikan literature and gather knowledge from all walks of life. Child, I want you nothing like me. Be enlightened, know your worth and know who you are...find your pace and stand firm on the ground, be confident in yourself, never self-conceited or too knowing of anything. You can never know enough.

Rise, on the premise that you are a beautiful blaque rose, gradually growing from concrete, prove the laws of nature wrong, never conform to popular believes, challenge the status quo, ask when you don't understand, regardless of the seeming stupidity of your question. Child, I want you curious like your father, embed his passion, inherit his charm, be like him and be your own, be welcoming of everyone, love them all but be your own best friend.

I can't wait to meet you, get better acquainted, be your friend, your mother, a confidante. Ingane ya gaz'lam, be a free spirit, when they say right, you go left, I want you free in thought, unbound and unconventional, unchained from political and religious doctrines, be free in spirit, follow your heart and never second guess your intuition. It’s always right.

Khosatsana ya ntlo kholo, lehakoe la pelo ea 'm'e oa lona, stand with giants and let them guide you. Find those that speak your language, your mother tongue, your native vernac and share your vision for the future of Afriqa. Be ambitious, be the dreamer that your mother is and believe in yourself.

Binti wa tumbo langu, yes I am scared for you, I know of the trials of being a black woman in a world rife with patriarchy and the subliminal racism that you will be a victim of. These are the residues of apartheid, a system that repressed many of your people. I know you won't have it easy, the curse of being double oppressed, that you have unfortunately inherited through being birthed in a continent filled with a history ripe with racial and economical disparities. I hope you make this your weapon, let this tragedy be your triumph as you aim your chainsaw at those that wish to imprison your mind, or your being.

Be free child, you can fly if you wish, if they say you can't, tell them I said you can. As you stride the earth on your quest, as you tread amongst nations and preach on your peoples behalf, as you climb the Maluti Mountains, in search of peace from the silence of the valleys of your mothers’ homeland, know that I love you deeply and I love you always.

Until next post,

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

 

Stella Needs a New Groove!

---Too many of us are hung up on what we don't have, can't have, or won't ever have. We spend too much energy being down, when we could use that same energy -- if not less of it -- doing, or at least trying to do, some of the things we really want to do" ---Terry McMillan

Stella getting her groove back...

For the most part I'm happy. As I've alluded to in previous posts, I am at a good place with my life yet lately I've had to go back to my earlier proclamation and thoroughly examine its sincerity. Am I really content with the spaces that the universe has tossed me in or do I announce that I am, with the hopes of shadowing the delicacy of these petals that I claim have grown in strength? This state of so called mental liberation that I preach to self and others, does it really serve anything greater than the brief periods of self satisfaction that lead me to believe that I have done my part for humanity? Do these notes and rambles, written with expectations that they might lift a heavy heart out of misery heal me or do they heal a nation? Does this count as me actively getting up and boldly declaring that I wish to become a martyr for my people? Do I walk the talk of a true revolutionary as well as I write it on these pages? Do I even know the duties of a true comrade or am I taken aback by the glorified tales of our struggle heroes.

Audience of mine, Stella might seem like she's in tune with the timeless melodies of the revolution, she might bop her head and stomp her feet from time to time, give the impression that she can break it down on the dance floor of black-consciousness advocacy, anti-capitalism, pro pan-Afrikanism, the liberalist and socialist movements but can Stella even bust a lyric that might guide and bring you in tune with what the real revolution in essence is about. Does Stella even know what a revolution sounds like? Can she identify the beat to the struggle?

Last night, at a wonderful dinner with class mates, was the usual long table conversations and chit chats. Now, these people have demonstrated an intellectual grasp of some of the most pressing issues of South Africa, of ubuntuism, of what real democracy entails and of what the political landscape of this country is in need of. Yet last night, between wine sips and pasta servings was a continuous rant. A black rant.

Last night we dined and whined so much about our blackness that our white counterparts went out for a suspiciously lengthy smoking break. We talked about the successes of personalities such as Tiger Woods, Oprah Winfrey, Will Smith and Beyonce and to a lesser extent, those of Morris Chestnut, Vivica Fox and....well "black" entertainers as they so put it.

The argument that one of them made is that to be successful as a black folk, one has to let go of their "blackness" to find themselves appealing to a more affluent audience which naturally is the audience that holds the decision making powers as far as ones success goes. In my simple interpretation, the only alarms that were going off from this black, angry outburst was that white supremacy still rules and consequently still pulls the decision making reigns in all aspects that concern our well being as a black people- a truth that despite my being aware of, still causes great discomfort at the conscious realization of the world order as it currently is.

Now, I don't know much about how far back this world order goes. Though I would like to think that probably every continent has taken part in its practices, whether through apartheid, imperialism and other systems of oppression in Africa or the racial segregation of the 60's in the United States, oppression of the black people has been a prevailing force since the days of Jim Crow and continues to leave emotional scars that refuse to heal to this day. Scars that are still puss-filled with the pretense that black people are finally emancipated. Yes, we are free from the physical chains but the shackles that they so persuasively tie to our minds are far more dangerous and can only cause the ultimate collapse to the progression of our people. The advent of true acknowledgement that the jim crow laws still exist however concealed to the confines of our slave mentalities will be the start of our revolution.

My believe is that a true revolutionary stays true to self and his people. A true revolutionary is not bothered by street or party politics, he is too preoccupied with the real slave masters, the capitalists that still have mama Afrika at the whelm of their greedy pursuits. True revolutionaries will shine a light by educating and enlightening their people and attempting to unchain western influences. A true revolutionary will make it a point to let their people know of their blessings because it is only when one awakens to their blessings that they can only ever be free from the clutches of imperfection.

We can't break down the walls of oppression, capitalism or exploitation when we don't even know how they affect us at an individual level. Only when we know of our position in the fight will we then willingly give it all we can.

This Stella is somewhere mid air, half stepping to the influx of western ideologies. But this Stella has stopped dancing to the rhythms of illusions of freedom, is in search of a new melody, one that will see her tapping out of this shell and into her own...This Stella is creating her own harmony for her and her people to groove to.

 

"The state has not failed to protect us from our enemy, the state IS our enemey...."

 

 

 

Until next post,

 

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution...

 

When Lauryn Hill leaves...

---“I pray for the people who don't understand me. And I tell you, be honest with you, I pray more now to be understood. No, excuse me, to understand then to be understood. I pray now to learn how to love and to be loved, because God has given me abundance …. these people don't understand me, they think I'm crazy …I pray I understand them so I can talk to them"--- Lauryn Hill

I love Miss Hill. Hasn't always been that way though, I will admit that at some point I thought this woman had reached the deepest ends of crazy, the kind that could not be saved, not by Jesus, Allah, the Bhudda, nobody. But then I crossed over to that side and I finally understood Lauryn for whom and all she really is and what she represents. I took time out to study this lyrical buff and I came back with nothing but respect and the highest level of appreciation for her. Say what you may, call her what you will, fact is...Lauryn Hill is god and try you can, but not anybody is getting her down from the pinnacle grounds she soars at.

Alright, let me take it back a bit and bring in some perspective. I'm thumping down the street, minding my own when out of my phone (which is a reliable source of music in the outdoors) and into my ear canal pops Talib Kweli talking about...

"Ms. Hill got skills, that's a gift, it's real
get ill, What you spit got the power to uplift a hill

I wish I could talk to Lauryn
I mean excuse me, Ms. Hill
and let her know how much we love her its real
the industry was beating her up
then those demons started eating her up
...

her songs still better than anything out
that "Hot" or "Power" play
remember how they accused her of saying
she did her album without help
then she went to Rome to sing
and tell the Pope about himself"



And just like that Kweli's summed it up. His gone and extracted a piece of my brain and out of it captured my emotion and articulated it into one neat verse. This is what Lauryn does for me through her music; uplifts, inspires, encourages, teaches and strengthens all facets of my being. And what is the thanks that this overflowing fountain of talent has gotten from an industry that should only be so flattered that she has once blessed it with her presence? While you figure that out, I'll go on.

Kweli now on the second verse of the glorification of Lauryn Hill has got me thinking....what happens when Lauryn leaves? Not the acknowledged kind that she has already decided on but what is going to happen when we lose Lauryn? Not the industry but the world. This is my thinking, it is the way of my uninhibited thoughts and I ask that you excuse them; they can't help but think of reality and the consequences of its occurrences.

I'm reminded of Kanye West's wish of Lauryn’s heart still being in rhyming because "who are the kids going to listen to if it isn't her"...truth is Kanye, the kids still aren’t going to listen to Lauryn regardless. What, with an industry single handedly saturated by Nicki Minaj and the occasional support of a self destructed Rihanna, I don't see where Miss Hill could fit in, in this setup.

But on the real though? My own question hit me hard, I took myself back to the year Aaliyah died, the tears that flowed, naturally we weep for our icons soon as the become fallen soldiers. Still I can't begin to fathom the state of my mind on the day Lauryn gets back home. Its not a day I look forward to, its one that I am almost certain is no where near our grapples because this earth goddess still has so much knowledge she needs to unwrap and disseminate to young minds across the world.

I suggest we listen now while she still has her chance to speak. Give back your roses by appreciating this teacher of inter-nations when she is still here.

 

 

Until next post,

 

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution....

Generation Y Diagnosis

---Now that the struggle is supposedly over. What are we gonna do? Do we roll in beds of comfort or do we peek between the curtains that cloud our vision?---

I am feeling guilty right now. Not for any particular reason, I have not engaged in any tomfoolery in recent days as far as memory serves me. I am just feeling guilty, for all of life, for all of humankind and for all the youth that belong to my generation. I am sitting here feeling guilty for the choices we make and I am also feeling guilty for feeling guilty. A triple layer of guilt, someone snap me out of it.

Today I am tired. No, scratch that, today I am exhausted, housewife kind of beat, the last push when in labor type of worn out. My blood is fatigued, my mind is drained and my body has chucked the deuces up on all of it. Like one friend of mine would put it- "I am tired like bitch"...I would not have ever bothered to know what exactly this phrase means but today I am curious to find out, it sounds so apt for the way I am feeling.

Okay. I go on about being worn out like I just crawled out of war and am deserving of all the gold medals of the world when the truth really is that I brought this upon myself. My big headed self happens to think I am immortal, an eleventh wonder of sorts and for that reason I am constantly under the impression that I am immune to certain things- like the flu. Last week I found myself stuck in cold and angry drops of rain, instead of making a plan to duck out as quickly as I could, the Chuck Norris in me decided to make the best of this uncomfortable situation. I played with those heavenly showers, kicked puddles, and caught droplets in my mouth as I giggled away at my juvenile behavior. I will not lie, I had my fun.

However, even fun must come at a cost. Being a self-perceived wonder of the world has taken its toll on me. I feel nothing close to admirable, infact, the only wonder right now is where in the world was my mind when I decided to befriend the rain. I am frozen and that rain from last week is probably having the last laugh asking who I thought I was. I will hold nothing against it though, it was just answering to the call of nature and I just happened to think I could join in on that conversation.

I know better now, than to interrupt nature by thinking I can have a little fun at her expense. My ice cold self knows a lot more than it did last week about naively assuming that 'a little rain aint gonna hurt nobody'. Now we know a little rain can hurt anybody, even those that think they are like superman, probably even superman himself. Although I bet his always been smart enough to stay out of the rain.

I'm rambling. Sorry. Its not even the cute form that will have you get out of here having learned or thought of something differently. Nope...I'm fresh out of those today, all I have is this icy ramble that’s been stagnant from the get-go. Even my brain has gone into freeze mode and deserted me and my sniffles.

My case of a miniature cold has sparked some light though. Here it is....my symptoms read as follows; lethargic, lack of vision, teary eyes and blocked but runny nose, involuntary trembling and a devoted chill in every last atom in my body. I am mentally deciphering these symptoms, thinking up how I am going to deal directly with each one of them when the contents of my diagnosis strike me as similar to those of the youth of today.

I am probably not being as profound as I had wished to be but I still make a pretty valid point if you ask me. I often say that our generation cannot produce icons as celebrated as Ngugi wa Thiong'o, Kwame Nkrumah, Hector Pieterson, Malcolm X or Thomas Sankara because we have it as easy as it gets. We are born to democratic times where BEE, tenders and political affiliations work in our favor. We are the born frees who have never had to think a day about choking on tear gas or the feeling of rubber bullets on our backs. We are the generation Y that believe in swag and praises pop culture, the millennium generation who walk the world with blinded eyes, cottoned ears and shackled minds. Us, we are the passive group that have forgotten the blood, sweat and tears that got us here.

We are the generation that has caught the cold and could not be bothered to get checked out. With our blocked nose, model c accents and "Ivy League" education, with the laziness of the brats that we are, the vision cluttered by materials of the world, eyes too preoccupied with trends on social networks and with trembling hearts that send chills up the spines of the boomers that birthed and paved the way for us....we leap into a world that expects us to be agents or catalysts of some, any kind of change in the social transformation sphere. 

We are the tired generation in need of an emergency vaccination! 

 

Until next post,

 

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution....

Do the Right Thing....and Sequel

--- I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live---Ecclesiastes 3:12

A month and some ago, Rhodes ran an hiv aids awareness campaign on campus. With this they hollered and tooted all across the streets on the importance of why one should be in tune with their health. They offered tests in types and all rounded wellness advice...these people spoil us, I love it here!

Any who, I wont go any further before I explain why it is that I chose to write the oh so terrifying hiv or aids 'un-caps lock-ed'. A few years ago, in 2008 I was reading books, as had always been the case since the days when daddy started to shove literature into my life. So this habit of reading stuck with me for life and I am forever grateful to him for instilling the love for literature in me from that delicate age. It has become one of the best companions I could have ever wished for.

Let my digress-full self get back on topic. In 2008, I was no longer reading the cinderella or puss 'n boots or the rapunzel's that daddy had filled my mini bookshelf with. Nah, in 2008 I was reading grown folk books, you know, the type that wake the third eye up, spin your entire psyche around and get you thinking about life and all its offerings in ways you never thought you were capable of. Yes, that’s what I was reading in my confused state of eighteen years old.

I met someone I now consider my best friend in my first year of varsity, at sixteen. I hate the term 'best friend' trust me, the passion with which I absolutely despise this term is too untamed to fit these pages. Labelling friends and my relationships with them has never been a practice of me and so I only use this term 'best friend' loosely, to describe just how highly I take the big-sister-I never-had relationship I have with this daughter of the soil and to add to that, how "bestly" her presence in my life has molded me into who I am today.

But that’s not where I am right now, I am in 2008 and I am reading books. And amongst these books I happened to stumble upon a few by motivational speaker and author Louise L. Hay. Let me explain how in the world I came to cross ways with Miss Hay...I am going to have to bring in my big sister I never had once more, she is an inspiration fiend and is a sucker for this motivational type of writing. For two years straight she had been trying to get the bug to bite me but I never pitched, I did not have the time to show up to a self-help book feast when I was too busy checking out Gwendyln D. Pough's 'Check It While I Wreck It: Black Womanhood, Hip-Hop Culture, and the Public Sphere'

I now realize that it has taken me three whole paragraphs to explain why I refuse to hit the caps lock on hiv or aids, but I guess thats the ugly of writing, one needs to paint contexts into discussions. The reason I have gone against the standard rule grain is because of Louise. L Hay. She wrote in one of her books, one which the title has now escaped me that she does not give aids or hiv the satisfaction. She went on to explain how we as global citizens have shown all respect to a deficiency or virus that has wiped out billions of our own by deciding to honor it with capitalizing its every letter in the way that we do only the first letters in peoples names. We don't even caps lock our full names yet here we are giving this aids guy all the glory!

Anyway, back to where my story begins, out of curiosity of my body and what its been getting up to, I went for a pap smear test that would have usually cost a small fee but was free in that campaign week. I went in there with the gut of a captain and came out feeling pretty good about myself. Fast forward some six weeks later and here I am....trembling at the knees as I drag myself back for the results. I'm pretty sure I have tried at being a good girl and to some measure, have succeeded so I should be clean, yet words like herpes, yeast infection and other similarly ugly terms float endlessly at the back of my mind.

The end to this long story is that I finally did the right thing. I have been postponing picking up my results for weeks now, for fear of the unknown and today I had finally had it with myself so I grabbed me by the roots of these locks and I dragged myself to that healthcare centre, pulled a 'bravery' on myself and asked for my pap smear results. And just like I thought, all that freaking out was for nothing, but when the possibilities seem more factual than the reality itself, then like Houston, we got a problem.

I did the right thing by being inquisitive about the state of my health and deciding to take that pap smear then I almost fell out on sequel-ling that by collecting my results. I'm learning on doing good and following that good right through to the end… completion of good deeds make me feel good, it’s a whole chain reaction of goodness...

With all that said, lets all learn to do like a Spike Lee joint.

 

 

 

Until next post,

 

Africa Rising, Peace & Revolution