How do the symbols and natural energies support and empower us in our striving to become virtuous divine beings. Even while we are existing in a state or stages of being human?
The ancient Afrikan ways and rites of passage were established to offer us guidance and practical steps towards living our best life. It is important to note that these methods were never matters of individual practice, but necessitated the contribution of family, community and even the whole nation to participate in. The reason why this is significant resonates more today then ever, since many people have given their own spiritual development to Holy-Men, so called Men and Women of God to whom they offer not only their financial resources but most crucially, their energy.
“Men and women are to become God-like through a life of virtue and the cultivation of the spirit through scientific knowledge, practice and bodily discipline.” – Ancient Egyptian/Kemetic Axioms
This season we call Geb, the Earth Father is one of great importance in the scheme of all things. We are being asked to cultivate an attitude of industriousness and exert great effort in foundational work. Whether that work involves financial gains or spiritual goals, the same amount of discipline is expected. We are supposed to draw from both terrestrial and celestial energies of the Earth Father, to become the best that we can be in all endeavors.
In this space we will deal with the details regarding how to take the necessary steps towards attainment of these goals, these virtues, to achieve results and divine life right here on Earth.
“In Abundance of Water the Fool Is Thirsty” – Water Work vs Wage Work.
“Well above the timberline and only a short distance from the top of Mount Katahdin in Maine, where the sun first hits the United States each morning, is a spring of water. Above it is only hard rock. So where does that water come from? It cannot be rainwater percolating down from above. It’s primary water, and it comes from way below the base of that impressive mountain.” – Sig Lonegren, Dowsing for Water (page 137 of Masaru Emoto’s The Healer Power of Water, 2004)
It is now not a mystery that my upcoming book, the House of Plenty is a work that is shaped like a jig-saw puzzle or even a spinning chessboard. In this scheme of things and telling’s, there is neither respect for time nor standardized rules of literature. We are dealing with the simplest as well as the most complex of Afrikan problems. Next to finding workable creative/economic programs and models for creative cultural networks, Land is high up on the agenda.
I will be quoting from essays I wrote between 2018 to 2020 while I also add emerging concepts and thoughts to the foundations of this House, the walls, windows, and the roof will be built by our children and their offspring. This is an intergenerational mission. We do not write to entertain but to regenerate and sustain a Ma’atic civilization.
It is the year 2021 and South Africans are still debating the merits and demerits of the Expropriation of Land Bill.
At its 54th National Congress, the ruling ANC decided that the land reform program had to be sped up. The ruling party announced that it would pursue a policy of land reform without compensation if it were done in a sustainable manner that would not disrupt the economy or the agricultural sector. To this end, much dialogue between opposing parties, the state and the citizens has occurred.
Some heated debates have been aired on state and private broadcasters, civil society groups have issued out questionnaires and much robust conversations have been had around the details of this issue, but it appears as if not much progress has been achieved in the implementation aspects.
The actual decision to review the bill by an amendment of Section 25 of the Republic’s constitution was made in 2017. Some scholars and economist offered many reasons why the ANC should not pursue such a decision, citing the ‘Zimbabwe situation’ as one of the scare tactics. In fact, the so-called Zimbabwe situation has always been brought up in the last two decades whenever South Africans even mentioned land redistribution, or what some more Pan Afrikan and Black radical citizens prefer to call Land Restoration.
This essay will not delve on the pros and cons of a constitutional amendment, but instead we will try to point out that the Land question is tired to the not so hotly debated challenge of water and climate changes. Both these challenges are also tied to the critical matter of Afrika’s regional integration which is also linked to the core focus of this book: Creative and Cultural Unity of Purpose of Black people, beginning in the South.
We are on a mission to define a new economics. We seek to grow wiser and then share the wisdom of both our Ancestors and the new generation, within and beyond the 4.0 generation. In this pursuit of Self realization and self-determination regarding Land, we ought to be very mindful of the past to ensure that it is not repeated. Despite what the various scholars have to say about the matter of Zimbabwe, we should not that just like in all the countries throughout this continent, millions of people were displaced and rendered slaves. Consider these excerpts from some notes I jotted down from a library in Harare:
“Between October 1893 and March 1896, anything from 100 000 to 200 000 cattle were seized from the Ndebele. Armed gangs of settlers and contingents of B.S.A. police equipped with Maxim guns roamed across the countryside, taking what they could.
Although the invaders were sometimes driven off by a show of force, refusal to reveal where cattle were hidden could end in death, as indeed it did for four women shot in cold blood.” (Phimister, 1988, p.16) – The Struggle for Land in Zimbabwe, 2010.
“Marandellas* (Marondera) District was established as a trading station in 1892 when Cecil John Rhodes offered land to any group of European settlers willing to accommodate traders between Umtali and Salisbury. By 1896 the British South Africa Police had already claimed more than 1023538 acres (409415 hectares) of land in exercise of its powers over the land as enshrined in the Order-in-Council of 18 July 1894.” (Palmer 1977: page 182)
Addressing the challenge of land redistribution is a simple matter, only complicated by how we approach it. It is important for people to have a healthy appreciation for the significance of land, it increases respect and value. The settlers simply and forcefully took possession of land belonging to Abantu and proceeded to trade with it as they pleased. As Afrikans we have an Ancestral and futuristic duty to restore our land and proceed to use it as we see fit. All other debates about constitutional amendments and what any settlers have to say about it should be secondary.
Just like the water springing up from Mount Katahdin in the United States, the water belongs to the mountain like we belong to this land. The sacred duty of each Afrikan is to strive towards restoration of land in this generation and we can then begin the secondary tasks of whether we need to save an economy founded on stolen goods. This is not a negotiated settlement, it is a war, a battle for our very survival and wellbeing.
The unmaking of Zimbabwe and its socio-economic conditions cannot be solely blamed on its corrupt leadership, but it is based on a historically progressive erosion of Ubuntu and communal values among its ‘first citizens’, the ruling party structures, its systems as well as a neglect of the principles that defined its people before the aggressive arrival of European and other settlers. Let us take a brief look at Zimbabwe, its cities, towns and a historical perspective on Harare.
“Before the arrival of the Pioneers Column in 1890, the main part of Salisbury District was Chief Gutsa’s territory. Originally a member of the Mutukedza and Nyashanu Chieftaincy in Uhera, part of the Nyanja Confederacy. Chief Gutsa accepted by Chief Seke of Chitungwiza into the area and allowed to co-exist with Chief Mbari who ruled part of the Salisbury District around Mount “Hampden” area. (p. 65, The Struggle for Land in Zimbabwe)
This book describes the occupation of Harare as a series of balancing acts where rural and urban development, the industrial and agricultural economy coalesced to form a new reality for the natives and the settlers. It shows just how there is a seeming separation of these equally vital economies. The people who live and work in the cities and urban areas need the produce of the land just as the rurals who work the land need their sisters and brothers emadolobheni*. The symbiotic relationship makes any separation of these peoples rather superficial, but it has been the legacy of colonialism to ensure that Afrikan people are as divided psychologically as we are spatially.
There is a way of being a rural Afrikan which allows one to remain rooted not only to Nature but also to the values that have sustained our people for generations even before colonialism. The urban Afrikan however has been created or constructed out of the steely vibrations of industrial machines, a peculiar brand of Eurocentric education and ambition to become just like the European ‘boss’.
Very few Afrikans ever manage to escape this entrapment of affluence. Many stories have been told illustrating the dichotomies of the rural – urban exchanges and changes, suffice to state here that there is hardly an aspect of Afrikan life that has not been adversely affected by colonialism and its accomplices, Western religion, and racism. European settlers have not only tainted our bloodstream and thinking, but they have also effectively and literally polluted our life-giving waters.
A Poem: Songs for Trumpet / Dream Making
- And our lives are unfinished business.
Cynicism and optimism cohabiting the Amen Corner.
Both peddling dreams of utopia
We are both in the middle of a waking nightmare.
Visions steeped in darkness and ghetto squalor.
Yet our minds are ultra-light.
Once lost in the West
But our orient was found.
The journey took us through blood, chaos, blinded faith and Sounds not our own.
(Discordant Trumpet and Ngoma-drum)
Yes, the sound is our heat
The sparkle of blood on the tar
Sunbaked molecules swirling in the whirl of wayward uncivilizations.
We are becoming the culmination
Of all our ancestors libations
Yet our lives are unfinished business
The prayers of our enslaved grandparents
Sweat drenched parents
Burying their knees on concrete
Wood and stone and shifting sands
Offering all that we have
Crying faithfully to an earless
Eyeless, unkind, uncruel
Yet we must repent
For known and unknown sins
We must repent
For willful omissions and
We are the experience of the divine experiment
For polluting the Earth with noise, plastic and other toxins
Repent for committing present, past and future sins
For being all too human
When we know we have been divine
What does walking on water mean
When the forest is a spectre of shadows
Of trees struck by lightning –
And the poor are always with us –
Acts of God!!!
We live in a house of plenty
But we are begging for pennies
At the bottom of a snake filled wishing well
From the scum of the Earth
We are supplicating and bending over backwards
Ubuntu bethu in tatters
Like the ruins of our partitioned land
We need to re-examine the starts of our birth
Check the constellations
For what is the consequence of our collective breath – Ask the trees –
Our Ancestors bled for an Afrika for Afrikans
A lofty dream
Yet today what is it all worth?
We are still Gods bits of dry wood
Slammed from pillar to post
Trying to find who’s got the maps
And remind us how we used to dance.
How exactly are we to harness the Indigenous Knowledge Systems or the Afrika centered technologies to build a prosperous new Muntu? The maxim that says, umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu has been dealt some serious and almost deadly blows since the advent of the inexorable rise of industrial revolution, colonialism, Western theology as well as wage-labour. The latter has been the source of a multitude of false identities. The Marxists/communists have sufficiently dealt with the essential dynamics of the precarious class wars …. We now should be in a better position to offer a perspective that goes beyond simply countering capitalism and private property lore. We should be looking at interventions that reflect the desire to implement laws and actions that show wisdom of two hundred years of knowledge. This is because we are the generation that has seen great tribulation.
We must now be able to take the lessons of the past 500 years and begin to construct ways of being that are not only unique but also in harmony with Nature. There are several avenues which we can pursue towards doing this, beginning with Education. A transformative education requires the participation of many sectors o society. It also requires a re-view of how we use Land, Water, and other resources at our disposal. We ought to pursue a transformative education that is based on an evolved, involved and resolved appreciation of Water.
SANKOFARING: Consider the Source and Uses of the River Nile
Inside one of the pyramids in Khemethi (Ancient Egypt), there is a lake. While there are other waterways and water related rituals and customs in the Beloved Land of the First Times and there are still mysteries yet to be uncovered. Did the pyramid builders build this structure on top of an existing spring and then widen it for their purpose or is it a completely man-made?
It is up to us to study deeply, reflect, meditate and rediscover how our Ancestors were able to utilize these Waters. Our lives depend on the resurrection of such memories – the proper use of the post-Atlantean wisdom.
What does this have to do with the politics of land today? The landmass we call Earth, rests upon watery foundations. The beings that exist on the Earth are all composed of parts of carbon and even larger parts of water. The water is something which is worth much more than gold. Yet we have been fooled into believing that it is Land and the minerals and other treasures in it that are more precious and to some people, even worth dying for.
Wars are fought over territory and finite resources and contentious matters of who owns what and who deserves which share are part of the historical underdevelopment of humanity. Humanity has found many ways to digress or become distracted and far removed from what our priorities should be.
When we consider the supposition that the next world wars will be about the struggle for Water, what should we be preoccupied with right now? The work of the scientist and the philosopher and the guardian of Ancient ways should be all connected to the preservation of Water.
Let us tell you why:
‘How We and Them A Go Work It Out’: A new way is possible
“The roots of underdevelopment lie in the entanglement of African societies in the mercantile capitalist system of the world through the nexus of international trade. The main architect of Africa’s underdevelopment was, and remains, Western capitalism.” – S.Ndlovu-Gatsheni, decoloniality as the Future of Africa, 2015
Disclaimer: The title of this essay is inspired by a line from Bob Marley and the Wailers Song, Rat Race.
They call it Speculative fiction, magical realism and even phantasy or science fiction. We just call it Indaba. Siyazixoxela nje: This one is called Newness Unlocks Time aka NUT
Newness Unlocks Time
The eighth floor of The Meikles Hotel does not feel like it is eight stories up. Somehow, it seems much lower, compared to the buildings around it. Neith has finally forced herself up from the immense bed, Queen sized, is her educated guess. When she looks across from the balcony, all the buildings heave back and forth like grey pines in the August wind.
The stars, her garment, are a dirty swirl. She squeezes her eyes shut and takes seven calculated deep breaths. Maybe it is the jetlag, or it could be last-nights cocktails. She had not drunk in aeons, until recently. She does not remember too much about last-night though and that is extremely concerning.
How could she? Harare was still abuzz with the jubilation from yesterday morning’s announcements. The national broadcaster Zim-Zim FM had confirmed the capture of the arsonists as well as, perhaps more importantly, the infamous fugitive poachers.
The acting President Mkhandawire gushed polemically, “Our Great Zimbabwe has finally shorn off the head of the pestilential scourge which sought to devour all our wild live, even us too in its centuries long wake. Let us celebrate the return of our sacred totems; The Ngwenya, the Rhino, the Elephant, the Black River Serpent and the Fish Eagle and Mwari knows what else.” No one had anticipated it.
Not even She, as well versed in covert operations as she was. All she could remember now as the nearest skyscrapers stopped wobbling and the stars resumed their normalcy, was a deep male voice with its classy Oxford accent, explaining the meanings of Her name. She also remembered how She had pretended to not care.
Her mind had been completely occupied with the skull. Then, as if suddenly struck by a stark realization, she remembered who and when She was. What was she doing at a hotel in the Southern parts of this largely corroded continent?
“The Head.” Neith exclaimed to herself as she stepped back into the dimly lit room. “I hope these white jackals haven’t stolen the Chiefs Head.” Rummaging deep into the drawer next to the bed, she retrieved a large, oblong speaker-box with M.E.L.T. 2000 engraved on both sides of its wooded surface. “Ah Bhambada!”, She intoned gleefully before inspecting its contents. Someone outside her door walked past playing music.
It sounded like Dendera, or something with Mbira. She remembered the first time she and her ex-husband Geba had attended a Thomas Mapfumo concert at some Chicagoan day-club. The noisome affair had lasted a whole three hours. The only things she cherished from the performance was the spritely sounds of the Mbiras, but there was also something about the language.
The lanky dreadlocked man sang in a tongue that reminded her of her most ancient past-lives. The music passed. Neith could tell that it was incredibly early morning, perhaps 3.30am although it was difficult to remember what the faithful stars had confirmed.
Before opening the box, Neith recites some Heka. The mantra of the recently deceased. The sound of this coded music brought back memories of her most cherished sister Seshat. Old Mama Seshat of the multi-syllable magical mantras. Seshat of the building blocks of sacral language itself. Oh, but for the multi-millennial plagiarisms of men and their manmade gods.
When she finished her prayer she opened the speaker-box dexterously with her nails. Revealing another box, time worn and inscribed with the once secret runes of the Ngoni people. Once again, Neith remembered why it was she who had been assigned to Zimbabwe. There are absolutely no coincidences.
It was AmaThongo, the divine beings enshrined in her DNA that had painstakingly coordinated Her presence here, this moment is no coincidence. Now that the embalmed head of the legendary Chief of the Zondi rested in her palms, “Justice -” she thought. “Ma’at can once again be restored on this beleaguered land.
It had to begin here near the Great Zimbabwe walls.” After examining the severed head of the Ngoni rebel warrior. She was about to place it back in the box when she heard stampeding feet. The sudden din seemed to be coming from both outside the door as well as from the looming mobs outside.
Perhaps overnight, the celebrations through the city had turned into a riot. She turned on the television and behind the bold red letters screaming BREAKING NEWS, scenes of hooded youths wrestling with army officers and night-time burning, and looting filled the screen.
People have been warned to stay indoors for at least 24 hours. The voice of the bullet proof clad young man reporting was almost totally drowned by the mayhem ensuing behind him. All she could pick up was something about Fake News and a massive Prison Break.
Neith was not too concerned about the rioting or the fake news part. She had to get to Azania as soon as possible. The Sanusi 4tet needed the Head before nightfall. It was a matter of many lives and many averted deaths.
What worried her sick was the part about the prison breakouts. The one person who she had to evade by all possible means may very much be at large and searching for the Chief’s head. She did not bother with bathing and putting on henna and make-up. After securing the head back into the boxes, she loaded it into the duffel bag and threw on her star-studded Panther tracksuit.
Last-night’s high-hills would not serve in this situation. She had to make a quick exit, she donned her aerodynamic All-Stars, slung the bag on her back and mumbled a prayer as she headed for the door. Soon as she reached for the handle, she thought She heard the music player walking nearby her door again. She froze in her tracks. Tightened her grip on the bag and listened pensively.
This time, whoever it was out there with the music, possibly from a cell-phone was walking eerily slow. As if waiting. Baiting. She recognised the song, The Reason Why or Hat Dzemurara by Baba Harare. The jiti beat was a typical KaRaNga dance style. The BaKaRaNga, the fabled Souls from the Sun, still kept their own memories alive through music.
This was someone who knew Her. She peered through the peephole but saw nothing. Left and right as far as she could see. There was nobody there, but the beat persisted even though the steps had fallen silent.
Her heart skipped, she made sure that the door was locked before turning around to look for an alternate exit. There was nowhere else but the balcony. The sliding wind-doors were wide opened and the noise from outside seemed to animate the bellowing lace curtains.
Aside from recalling Her father who was an archaeologist and an investigative journalist, she had a nagging feeling that there was something else amiss. Perhaps some untapped power? Besides being part Zulu and part Dogon, her father was also a world-renowned illusionist. “What would Baba do in a situation like this?”
Her lingering thought was interrupted by an abrupt knock on the door. By that time, she was already clambering over the concrete balcony to care who was knocking. The knock became more urgent, but so did the ruckus below. She could not shake the thought that this could be infinitely easily done. No need to go through all this physical trouble. But how? Eight floors up were not so low after all.
Neith considered whether she should clamber up the drainpipes towards the roof, or else join the throngs down there. While the roof was closer, the thought of having to devise another escape route toward the backstreets dissuaded Her.
Not allowing that limbo to collude with the urgency of the moment, she decided to climb sideways and look for an opened window among her neighbours. Three windows rightward a curtain was billowing welcomingly. She made for it. For a man whose body was allegedly found maimed and beheaded on the banks of the Mome River’s stream more than a century ago, Bhambada’s head sure was heavy.
Perhaps it was the added boxes or else it was the oils and years of congealed incense used during and after its embalming. Why was the top of the skull left to calcify though?
The Dogon monks who had ‘stolen’ it from the English Kabbalists so many years ago knew why. She did not have a full grasp of the whole Redemptive Plan, but surely hoped to find out once she had crossed over to Botswana and finally to Azania. Anticipation was a gross understatement. But making it out of this city was priority number two. Off the walls of The Meikles was priority number one.
As soon as she stepped onto the balcony with the wafting curtains, she turned back and saw the head of a tall, silver haired figure looking menacingly at Her. He wove a glowing cellular phone at Her, smiling grimly before dashing back into the room. For some reason, Neith had not expected anyone to be in the room, but as Her luck would have it. The two European men who She had been drinking with last night sat at their respective small tables, staring at Her fretfully as if they had seen a ghost. She was quite an apparition standing there in her Black hooded tracksuit with stars gleaming from head to feet.
The first one who stood up was the one who had been telling Her the meaning and variations of the name Nwt. He was now standing there exposed except for his beltless black pants. Lord Scranton was his name. She now recalled everything, including Her refusal to engage in more drinks and his suggested erotic tryst last night.
Too anxious about the silver haired man outside to waste any time. The first thing that entered Her mind was to turn on more lights and initiate a conversation. But first She had to show them that she was in danger and had no time for small talk, at least until Sunrise.
This She did while the two men scrambled for their vests and T-shirts. Then without much procrastination, Neith explained that She was being pursued by an extremely dangerous character and why She had to be in South Africa before the close of day.
Then while securing the door yet without fully knowing why, she asked the men what they knew about String Theory; how weaving matter in two or more ways could be used in practical situations.
“Well, to begin with, an act of perception changes waves into particles.” Gushed one of the men, now fully clothed. “Yes, but how does that get someone out of a tight situation?” Exasperated by the perplexed expressions on both men’s faces.
She shouted. “You”. Pointing a now gloved hand at the one who had mansplained to Her last night. “You called me NUT and NET after I told you many times that my name was Neith. It’s Greek. You said that I should know some kind of magik and that in my hands lay the lay lines of All Signs and All Possible Worlds. Could you kindly remind me how to use all that knowledge – practically?”
The man was visibly perplexed. Pausing before continuing to put on his shirt and then his shoes. Neith continued. “Right now, all I know how to do is pray and chant what often sounds to me like gibberish. I learned these prayers from my father.” The man stepped towards Her as if examining Her suit. Neith moved back, protecting the prized possession behind Her.
But the man did not seem interested in that. He was marvelling at what or whom he thought he was seeing right before him, in the flesh. Could it really be?
When he read Egyptology those many years ago, it was merely a fascination triggered by his obsession with etymology and numerology. It never crossed his mind that any of the characters he was informed are deities would have any human parallels. Surely it was part of the mysterious African superstitions. Mysticism, or folklore at best. Or was it?
“Of course. Of course, that is it exactly. You said you were born in Washington DC? And your Mother was part Zulu and part South American. And your father, was, what? Nubian or some other ancient race?” Before Neith could reply that She had not mentioned any Zuluness but had specifically said Ngoni, or that She had said South Mexican, not just South American. They were interrupted by a loud banging on the door.
Her first instinct was to simply jump out of the window. But the stocky European, who had been silent all along, firmly grabbed her forearm. Noticing the panic in Her eyes. “Well, then. Pray. Pray for us all and not just for yourself. If my partner here is not hallucinating. You must be Nut. Named after the Great Goddess who covers the whole Earth with Her garment of stars. Surely Some One will answer Your prayers.”
With that said, he loosened his grip on Her arm. “We Westerners have long ceased believing in prayers. We have literally cast our fates upon the wind. Fate might not even be the right word. We have become lesser beings that the Greeks or even our Druid forefathers were. All we have is are these cold buildings, fickle economies and even fickler science. But you. Your kind may still save us all. Look outside.
You can hear that this world is falling apart. But you have something that the world’s destroyers really want. Do pray for us. In fact, no. Forget the outside. Perhaps we can help you to look inside.” The knocker was now banging incessantly, it sounded as if he was now kicking the door.
Neith made a swift move towards the balcony. Mumbling some invocation in what sounded like a mixture of the Zulu, Karanga and Badarian languages. The thought of jumping eight floors into a rebellious throng made her shiver. She continued intoning the prayer as everything became silent, the men were talking to her furtively but all she could see was their mouths moving. The room began to wobble and the more she spoke, everything became hazy like an out of focus camera. Yet she remained calm. While she chanted;
Anuk Wsr Anu ki Ma’Nuti
Un Nefer Ausaru Mwari WeZanusi
Manje dala indlela!
The door to the lobby bursts open and the man who was pursuing her could only make two lunging steps into the room, before grabbing his eyes bawling. The room had become suffused with a terrible light. Piercing shards of light beamed from Neith’s body as if her whole being was the centre of megavolts of blinding shimmer. The two men in the room were now kneeling before her in stupefied reverie. They were unable to move but she found herself not just able to float, but she became translucent, her skin becoming a darker shade of blue blackness.
When She looked at the silver haired man’s eyes, a cold trepidation gripped her, but she stilled Herself from panicking. Lest the spell be broken.
His name was Ap-hep.At least the humanoid version of the great primordial serpent. What could he possibly want from the head of a slain Zulu warrior, and how could someone as powerful as Him ever be imprisoned. By whom? This was no time for speculation. The intonation of the last heka, the magical formula which she had always thought was mere prayer – Mwari Dala Indlela – sucked her and the two kneeling figures out of the room through a mirror like watery vortex.
She found herself in the shade of tall jacaranda trees surrounded by recently harvested maizefields. While she was still stunned by her surroundings, the first thing she did was stretch her arm behind her and feel for the box inside the bag. Thank Goddess it was still there. But where was here?
Neith or was it now Nwt or Neter Nut, had been teleported to a 600-hectare farm just outside of Mashonaland West. While still trying to adjust her eyes to the now dazzling midday Sun and to the new environment, she heard the barking of what sounded like many dogs barking. Before succumbing to panic, she took seven deep breaths and straightened herself up to listen carefully.
All else was utterly silent except for the dogs. But in hind-hear, they were not approaching. They seemed to be barking at something or someone else in just beyond the stretch of no more than forty-two trees. She was on the north eastern edge and the sound was coming from the west.
Should she approach it to find out what or who it was? Or should she find her orientation and make her way towards the airport? After all, she was not here for sightseeing and now that she had rediscovered her space and time weaving powers, couldn’t she just quantum leap to her choice destination?
Another idea sprang into her teeming mind. Perhaps she was translated here for a good reason. So why attempt to mess with the program? She decided to take her chances with the West. Walking briskly yet careful not to crunch too loudly the leaves beneath her feet, she reached the fringe of the jacarandas and looked northwards before emerging fully into the khaki coloured cornfield.
One of the Labradors that she could still hear yelping and growling stood just outside a thicket seemingly unsure whether to join the others or not. Neith recalled that she too had once had a dog named Sirius in her childhood. What is the worst that could happen if she attempted to win the trust of this nervous one?
Surely it was no puppy but aren’t canines meant to be man’s best friends? She decides to risk it. Stepping out into the open, she walks toward the mutt with her hands stretched out towards it. She is whistling an old Dogon hunters tune.
As the dog turns to regard her curiously, the rest stop barking and all four of them leap out of the bushy patch and charge towards her but stop immediately along the dusty path to run around in circles in front of her. She too is perplexed by this. When she stops whistling they charge again. When she resumes, they whimper and continue chasing each other’s tails again.
Their movement reminds her of the ouroboros symbol. The snake that appears to swallow its own tail. While the black and tan Labradors continue their spellbound dance. Two figures emerge from the thicket. It is the two Europeans men and they are still on their knees.
Perhaps it was the whistling that made them not get up and run in the opposite direction. But why are they still kneeling, with the same expressions as they had at the hotel? She stoops on one knee before the dogs and pets the first one on the neck before she stops whistling. “Hlala phansi. Hlalani phansi.” She finds herself saying. And surely the dogs all stop whirling and sit down on their hindlegs. Smiling in relief, she begins petting all of them one by one and they all sit all the way down. The men get up and scurry around the dogs towards her, careful not to offend the friendly beasts. ‘What on earth happened at the hotel?” Gushes the one.
“And where the hell are we?” Asks the stockier one as he looks around only to see hectares upon hectares of maize field. The only green patch being the trees next to them, casting slanting shade over the path. “I can merely assume we are somewhere on the North Eastern farms of what Zimbabweans call Mashonaland.” Offers Neith, observing the way of the shadows. “Mashonaland East?” The etymologist taps his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
“This might be the land that was also previously owned the owner of several buildings in the Harare CBD, including the hotel we were in.” “Well the mobs are the current owners right now. And by the looks of this place, it’s the dogs that now own this one.” Says Neith, getting up to brush off the chaff from her track-pants. “Ah, ownership. What a fatally foolish notion.
Whoever came up with it had to be one of us. The know-it-all European folk of obsolete traditions from the previous generations.” “Well, it’s too late now anyway. Regret can never right the wrongs. That is the work of bitter-sweet Justice.” Neith states this matter-of-factly as if to halt this conversation before it goes out of hand. They must find a way out. At least she must. She has no time to consider what the agenda of these uninvited guests is. Show me a woman who knows what men want and I will show you a liar.
The dogs became a little restless, the Europeans became visibly nervous, hiding behind her like little boys, and out of sheer irritation, she had to stop herself from whistling again. The dogs suddenly got up and started past her. Running along the path and behind the trees as if someone was summoning them.
Cumulous clouds begun gathering around and past the Sun, casting swiftly moving shadows on everything. Although the fist instinctive reflex told her to start praying again, Neith stopped herself and simply started running in the same direction as the five dogs. Humanity’s best friends cannot be wrong, she figured.
The Europeans also followed suit. What lay beyond this farm had to be better than this desolation or the anarchy in the city. Isn’t the old alchemical adage that ‘Out of chaos comes order’?
‘Vula okuvaliwe, Ndiphe Izimpendulo.” She repeated that part of her previous chant as if it was a key mantra. “Open want is closed. Grant me the answers.” To whom were these words addressed, and who granted the much sought after answers? How she needed the wisdom of both her parents right now.
As they turned towards the direction where the dogs went, she felt a deep foreboding pang in the pit of her stomach. The clouds had almost completely covered the Sun now and it was becoming dark very quickly. At a short distance beyond the field, some trees took the form of hollowed out skyscrapers. She felt that she had to lose her unwelcomed accomplices.
Of what use were they? They had not helped her one bit. Or was there really something to her name? As she ran, she remembered her mother reading a poetry book to her during her early teens. “There is magic in a Zulu name.” Those were the only words she could remember. But her name was not Zulu. She was no longer sure that it was Greek either. “Magic in a Zulu name, huh?”
What could it mean? And how can a European stranger be the one who reminds me of the significance of my own name?” Perhaps she need not get rid of them yet. Back at the hotel, they had suggested that they could help her look within.
Had they already done so or was there still more? Just when they could see the dogs still running at a distance of a few paces, she made out a reptilian figure on the hillock right next to the hollowed buildings. She stopped dead on her tracks when she realised who it was. She immediately regretted following the dogs.
Between the silver haired reptilian faced man who stood as if just waiting for her at the dimly lit horizon, a tree appeared to be growing on an impossibly green meadow. Everything around it was changing and becoming darker, only it grew greener and it almost obscured the menacing figure beyond it. But he also appeared to be approaching now. They were moving towards each other, or at least towards the mysterious tree.
The dogs had now vanished, and she looked behind her to ascertain if the Europeans could also see what she was seeing. They only seemed to be focussed on her. Should she leave the duffel bag with them while she confronted the beastly man near the tree or was that too risky?
She was not sure. But she stopped running. They too stopped on their tracks, exasperated. In the now oppressive darkness, she asked them what they knew about Chief Bhambada from the twice great Zulu nation. She needed answers fast and she also wanted to know what their business was in Zimbabwe? Was there even time for such questions?
Realising that she had to act fast. Neith took a deep breath and threw the black duffel bag into a yawning gap between a cluster of young jacarandas. Just far enough so she could still see it protruding. The men simply looked at it once without much apprehension and continued staring at her.
She realized that they were not at all interested in the bag, so she turned to look towards the tree and beyond that to the gradually approaching threat. The first man to speak was the Etymologist. “We are traders now.
We haven’t known each other that long though, we only met at a conference held a few Months ago at the Hotel Cassiopeia in Lilongwe. Although we are both from Greater Britain, we have mutual business interest in the Southern African extractive industries. The Lilongwe conference whetted our appetite for prospecting, diamond mining to be specific. What better place then Zimbabwe, the city of discreet Embassies, and of course, the many ancient abandoned mines?”
Neith had listened cautiously even though her attention was also divided. She asked the two man to remain where they stood. It was a test, but also a way for her to mark the location of the bag.
Between her realization that what she had thought were abandoned apartment blocks from afar were rather reconstructed silos, and the men’s stereotypical yet feasible story. She decided to trust them. At least for now. “So, this place used to be a maize and wheat farm.” She thought. But where was the farm house and who had transformed all those silos into living spaces then abandoned them?
When she had walked about fifty paces towards the tree, she paused. What did she really plan to do or say to this man, did she even know whether he sought her life or simply her precious possession? “I will know what to do when we are face to face.” She muttered to the breeze. It was as if the wind had carried her whisper to the tree-leaves, because they shook as if something had quickened the branches.
Before she stepped onto the meadow where the tree stood luminously, she could already smell its musky scent. It reminded her of jasmine, but it did not appear to bear any flowers. Just a crystalline, deep green foliage. “Zodiac!”
She could have sworn that the voice had come from that tree. She told herself she was merely hallucinating or perhaps it was the reptilian man who had spoken, because he too had stepped into the lush grass of the meadow where the solitary tree stood, as if fully sentient. How can a tree be aware of our presence? Besides, trees do not speak. That is the stuff of fairy tales and religious mumbo jumbo.
But as that thought coursed through her mind, she looked back only to see the men talking to each other and looking at her. “These suckers see something in me. Something I can only barely perceive. If I ever needed an omen, I sure do need it now.” Right then, Neith got down on her haunches. Her mind reeled back to the hotel, before she met the men at the bar, before she had ordered the drinks and back to when she had arrived by taxi-cab to The Meikles.
The man was now standing right in front of her kneeling self, but her eyes were sealed, yet it was as if he suddenly could not see her. Yet behind her eyelids, she saw his searching eyes. The pitch-black elongated face, “Be careful of those Horoscopes.”, She now remembered the taxi driver telling her just before she got off the taxi. She had been reading the astrological charts from the Inflight magazine. “They are not of God.” The driver had said this so casually.
She was not a religious person. Her prayers had only been mantras she had used to deal with her bouts of anxiety. But they were also more. An uncanny inheritance from a life she could barely remember. Her parents who were neither religious, traditionalists nor atheists had always told her to use her head wisely.
But she had just thrown away a head entrusted to her. A head she had been assigned to return to those responsible for rewriting the fortunes of this unsettled land. Had she succumbed to fear, using her instincts instead of her head?
When she opened her eyes, the reptilian had passed her, and he was now heading straight for the two white men. Could they not see him? Why were they not running and how was he unable to see her crouching right there before the tree?
Perhaps she was not meant to reach Azania? A land she had only heard and read about but has never really seen. So, what about the head of Bhambada kaMancinza? There was just so much she did not know, but at least she had started on a journey to know herself. She stood up and approached the tree. Leaning with both hands on its luminous trunk. She felt invincible. Something about the permanence of this tree reminded her of the faithful yet evanescent beauty of the stars. When she heard the European men screaming behind her. She awoke, still looking out at the Gardened City of Harare, from the patio of The Meikles hotel. The screams and the music she had heard were just people downstairs, still celebrating yet another day of co-dependency.
D’vices, Democracies and Devotions
A Prelude to an Essay: The Ancestors Write a Letter to Their Lost and Found
Abadala/The Ancient ones of the first people wished to write a letter to their offspring. Many generations had passed since this council had sat for the sole purpose of communicating with their children’s children. So much time had passed that not one of the Ancient Ones had any memory of the specific Zep Tepi, the place of the First Time.
“In all of the Twelve Houses, now spread out through-out the Earth, To Whom Shall We Address These Words?” After some deliberation which took just a few days, a couple of lifetimes in human years; the decision was made. They chose to begin at Tanganyika. But the decision was not fully welcomed by the entire council. While others fretted about imagined language barriers, some questioned the Beautiful Bearded Mother’s choice. It was neither out of disrespect nor disbelief in the reasonability of that particular place, it was that among the Ancient Ones, there were those who’s Ego had not yet been expunged in the Fire of Truth. Although now dwelling in the Spiritual realms, many of the Elders still regarded themselves as humanoid and longed for yet another embodiment.
You see, there are those among the Dead, who are never really dead, who still feel. They feel that their time on Earth was not sufficient and since they could not discover their Purpose while still breathing, craved to be embodied once more. Never mind the many scriptures cautioning about the Lust of the Flesh. Flesh was still one of the most sought after prices in the Known Galaxy. Some Gods still require it as a sacrifice in their devotion. Some even ransom their precious Immortality to the fleeting Glimmer of Mortality.
The Great Mother had used the Apparatus of Music to Reign in the rebels and voices of Dissent. Many knew that the Great Mother’s music was one aspect of Black Magik that was impossible to resist. The blind, the hearing, the deaf and the dumb could find something that they loved about Ingoma, since it had long been established that Music was much more than noises or dead notes strung together, it was more like a Ngoni Love Letter in vibrational tones.
Before the Mother Ship was set for the Sequence to Earth, the Elders gathered once again to select a Soundtrack for Contacting the Souls. By the time the Sun began casting red, gold, orange and purple hazes on the Mountains of the West, a twelve bar Blues was composed by the Celestial Choir and these are the 7 refrains that were selected. These seven songs formed a seamless medley, the keys to the world’s heart.
- Folon – a song from Malian Salif Keita’s fourth album, released in 1995, produced by Wally Badarou, with track extracts by Jean-Phillipe Rykiel.
- A Common Wonder – a mash-up of MC/Poet/Rapper/Actor known as Common, paired with Stevie Wonder ( Add Production Credits )
- Wadada Leo Smith’s Mbira – Dark Lady of the Sonnets – an Avant-garde jazz album featuring songs such as Blues: Cosmic Beauty; Zulu Water Festival with Pheeroan akLaff on Drums and Min Xiao-Fen on voices and Pipa.
- Moyo Wangu and Kufa Kwangu – a medley of two songs by Thomas Mapfumo and The Blacks Unlimited, recorded 1985 and 1989.
- Everyones Child and Nhemamusasa ( From Ancient Voices) by Chiwoniso Maraire ( There was another contestation regarding this particular choice as the composer was ‘One of Us’)
- Ibusise – a song composed by the Black Baptist Nazarite Prophet Isaiah Shembe kaNhliziyo
- Journey to Satchidananda – the fourth studio album by Alice Coltrane, featuring Shiva Loka, the third member of the Hindu holy trinity.
Although the Abadala transmuted these songs in Mdw Ntr, the primary barrier to communicating with the humanity was the quality of their Questions. Unlike the days of yore, the species of hominid that now roamed the earth had degenerated to such deplorable levels of materialism; even some of the brightest minds had stunted intuitive faculties. They had forgotten why and how they were Natures members of a New Race. After travelling for three Moons through the Great Lakes Region, the council of the Elders had visited Great Zimbabwe.
“What on Earth Are You Doing In Zimbabwe, of all places?” Asked some of the locals where the council had chosen to quench their thirst. This was a common refrain from the people of Harare, surprised by why any sensible person would choose to sojourn in their stricken land. The Elder would simply answer with one word. Living! You see in the land of the lost and found, colonial limitations had created a situation whereby people who were close relatives barely even recognized themselves in each other.
Five Elements of Invocation:
Fire – Am : Awaken Qebsenuf
Water – Nu : Awaken Hapi
Air – As : Awaken Imset
Earth – Ta : Awaken Duamutef
Quintessence – Sa : Awaken Khephera !!!
Chant: Am Nu As Ta Sa!!!
We used to be a people of invocation. NATURAL MAGIK, scientific ingenuity, rainmakers, HEALERS and seers are still among us, but we are somehow either unable to make a new Afrika or we are left with scraps of knowledge from other religions to comfort us – the masters tools are still expected to help us to undo the masters work.
A wise old Zimbabwean man once told me while we were queuing at a fuel station, that Zimbabweans are not well educated as it is claimed, but they are rather well ‘trained’ mimics of their former colonial masters. We had been talking about the impact of colonial education, religion and economic systems on the present generation. The elder and I agreed that a completely new education system is required throughout the whole continent of Afrika, an open system as well as several levels of secret societal systems, where the real essence of Afrikology is taught and practiced.
The following is a story I wrote on my journal right after seeing another biblical sign boldly advertising quite a peculiar message. The Israelite religion is still quite appealing to Africans, in spite of all we have been through, but it is not a mystery why this is so. As the elder said, we are well trained.
Once, driving along Harare’s King George street, towards the suburb of Avondale this afternoon, I noticed a sign outside a church wall; it read or quoted the biblical verse Genesis chapter 26 verse 18. I memorized this scripture as I could not read the entire quote fast enough from the car. It was the graphic image and the message that clearly showed that it was now time to dig the old wells anew – that resonated. But what does it mean?
The significance of this scripture for Zimbabwe was very poignant and once again I drove on contemplating just how much the church means to a people who have been and are still undergoing severe economic troubles as well as social degeneration.
While it is clear to all that this is a wealthy country or a potentially prosperous people who are suffering from severe cases of misrule in addition to cultural and spiritual genocide, there is so much dependence on the unseen, the hoped for and the often mysterious world of Gods, Ancestors and sundry invisible forces.
The tormentors of the people are known. They are the people in powerful positions, some elected and others imposed through cultures of compliance and convenience and connivance. The land is thirsty for fresh and vigorous leadership. The land is thirsting for progress and an end to the brutality of a regime that squanders the resources and saps the energy of generations of hopeful and faithful people. The people are creative and ingenious in how they manage to keep above the sinking sands created by both failed internal systems as well as international misunderstanding resulting in sanctions and repression.
While we are acutely aware of the geopolitical or macro-economic environment that the country is operating under, it is not a subversive idea to call for a radical revolution. From the political, governance and business standpoint there has been plenty offers of advise or possible solutions given to the rulers or decision makers but it appears that there are forces who are not ready to see the end of their peoples suffering. As long as they are comfortably numb in their own false opulence.
This biblical verse is just one thread of the greater puzzle, a significant populations very needs. There is scarcity of clean water, there is scarcity of living wages, jobs and opportunities for the educated youth. We depend on wells or borehole water in Harare and many other locales. The biblical verse is not something that should only be taken metaphorically or evangelically, there are many ways to interpret Water, but let us look into the purport of this scripture: Note the story of Isaac found on Genesis 26 verse 18 –
“He dug once again the wells which had been dug during the time of Abraham and which the Philistines had stopped after Abraham’s death. Isaac gave the wells the same names that his father had given them. Isaac’s servants dug a well in the valley and found water …The names of the wells were Quarrel, Enmity and Finally the last was named Freedom and the other one was named Vow, in Beersheba.”
Many people all over the world find affinity to these stories which are collectively called the Gospel. Afrikan people in particular have found such deep resonance with Biblical scripture that there are various interpretive routes under the banner of Black theology and scholarship that supposedly prove that the very roots of Hebrew /Judaic religion are to be found in the continent called Africa. This is a subject we shall revisit in due time. Suffice to say, there is something remarkably strange about substituting an original for a copy.
“In the Kemetic Tree of Life, each sphere and its divinity represent a particular human and / or a transcendental philosophical issue ( lower 5 spheres) and cosmic issues ( upper 5 spheres) that must be experienced and mastered in order to progress. Once the aspirant progresses to mastery of the 10 spheres ( branches of the tree), they can transcend all and enter into the realm of cosmic-consciousness, in other words the mystical awakening, oneness with the Absolute ...” – Sabau Muata Ashby, cht n ank
A Brief Background:
There is a song by a Reggae band from St Croix, called Midnite, the chorus goes “Drastically resistant to Rome / drastically resistant to brush and comb …”, we will return to the meaning of these lyrics on Part 2 of this telling. We will strive to make the essays as brief as possible, as we are going to be telling a story that spans almost 30 years of Soul-searching.
It has been about 13 years since I began studying the deeper knowledge of one of Afrika’s most enigmatic civilizations. I specifically begin to count from the year 2009, since that was about the time I had undergone a kind of existential recalibration, a crisis of religious and philosophical proportions.
In simpler terms I had been looking for a Spiritual discipline that is as authentically Afrikan/Sintu as possible. But all I had been taught about Isintu had included matters of slaughtering and appeasing ancestors. As a practicing Rastafarian, the thought of animal sacrifice and having intermediaries between myself and the Creator did not sit well. Surely there must be something in Afrikan traditional spirituality that did not require me to sacrifice innocent beasts. Of course I knew that it is more complex than that. This was just the simplistic view that I had acquired from my Christian upbringing.
In addition to this, it was clear from just observation and listening in, that many Afrikan people simply did not delve very deeply into the practices that had been passed on from their forebears. But there were things that I desired to know or to learn regarding rites of passage for boys, rites of passage for men and how to conduct certain simple rituals that connect the Self to Nature and to the Spiritual world.
I had been a fervent Rastafarian / Christian since 2001, but there was a strong pull towards the more Afrocentric way of living, as my soul searching had constantly created friction between my zealously Christian family and friends, it began to dawn on me that one could not continue to be ‘luke-warm’ or serve two masters as the Christian bible had warned.
Even though I had always viewed the Rastafari way of living as the best middle-path between Ancient Afrika and modern messianic expressions, I had struggled to reconcile some of the glaring contradictions between a colonial or borrowed religion and the social realities pertaining t Afrikan people in particular. Even earlier in my Christian life, I would question my parents and my fellow church members about the dichotomous relationship between what the Word of God is supposed to represent and the harsh realities of being Black in a world that was so aggressively anti-Black.
There is a lot that I can write that is positive about the journey through Rastafari, the many rural community and urban social development projects that my brothers and sisters and I began or envisioned but never quite brought into total fulfilment; there are many positive personal habits that I learned through adherence to what we call Ital-livity or a Natural and vitally righteous lifestyle. There are also many stories of negative or heartbreaking events where humans were just being our fallible selves in-spite of external or verbal posturing. The reality is that any alternative lifestyle that questions and attempts to upend the status quo is bound to face all kinds of resistance, depending on the levels of discipline and organization that the practitioners display.
It was in the midst of personal and social upheavals that I kept on finding the wisdom of Ancient Afrika, the East Afrikan region and Nile Valley civilizations more intriguing than the shouting and testimonies of Christians. Rastafari, despite the many redeeming aspects, began to seem like all other Bible based ways of being in this world. The petty and self-righteous behavior of the believers in either Jesus Christ or in Emperor Haile Selassie I, all displayed a similar intolerance for new knowledge, even when that knowledge was clearly part of the Ancient Afrikan variety. Until this day, I have been trying to find a Rasta who is interested in the Oromo or Waaqeffaanaa religion of the most populous and most historically afflicted people of Ethiopia.
While an increasing number of Rastafari and people of Afrikans in general do dabble into the Kemetic yoga, meditation and symbolic space, there appears to still be a reluctance to become fully submerged in the Tree of Life as a holistic and complete way of being. It is mostly the Rasta’s who have totally turned away from biblical interpretation of life who have begun to embrace the Nile Valley renaissance as something that is truly ours. There are a few who still romanticize and are still stuck in the Pharaonic phases, but there are also some earnest seekers who are manifesting in the truest sense of Kemetic magical/cosmic reality. It is after all in our Nature to become one with Ntr.
CULTIVATING NATURAL JOY
Black Economic Power Matters:
“If the heart is the image of the Sun in man, in the Earth it is gold.” – Juan Eduardo Cirlot, Dictionary of Symbols ( Great Zimbabwe: Resting Place of the Lion)
As healers, we are constantly working on ourselves. Our own weaknesses, shortcomings and fragility. It is very instructive that one of the primary ways in which Nguni/BaNtu shamans/sangoma’s/Nyanga’s become initiated into their powerful duties as mediums is that there must be a recognisable illness or sickness that they have to go through. This sickness is usually impossible to define in western terms, but it usually involves a kind of psychosis and sometimes strange inexplicable misfortunes and physical suffering.
Part of Initiation involves overcoming or conquering ingulo/ the sickness and occurs in the early stages. The healer never forgets this usually near death experience, it is a constant reminder of the fragile bond between the visible and invisible worlds, between wellness and infirmity.
We have to be healed and cleansed in order to guide and heal others. Cerebral or mental Consciousness of this is not quite enough. We have to strive to walk this path daily with the required sense of purpose and keen vision. Our guides can teach us so much, but we walk the road alone. Healing may be for the community but it is also a solitary road. We must embrace the loneliness as much as we must enjoy communal living.
While working on my own deficiencies and striving to improve my character as well as my practice, I have been studying various books in addition to a deeper meditation work. One of the key books is Anodea Judith’s Eastern Body Western Mind: Psychology and The Chakra System As A Path To The Self. I hereby quote from a chapter titled Excess and Deficiency.
“In order to develop love – universal love, cosmic love, whatever you would like to call it – one must accept the whole situation of life as it is, both the light and the dark, the good and the bad.” – Chogyam Trungpa
“Excess in the heart chakra is not an excess in actual love, but an excessive use of love for our own needs. Excess occurs when we overcompensate for our own wounds. Since love, by nature, involves others, then others become victims in our drama of overcompensating. Excessive love is desperate in its need for constant assurance, and does not uphold another’s freedom to be who they are. It is love that is used like a drug, where the goal is to get high and remove ourselves from our responsibilities and unresolved pain. We are in excess when we use love to compensate for the incompleteness in ourselves, or when we use another to go where we cannot or will not go ourselves.
Excess – An Excessive fourth chakra has such a strong movement outward that very little can get in. This eventually depletes the core, which tries to replenish itself by connecting with others in the same excessive manner that caused the depletion.
Deficiency – Rigid boundaries keep the inside from coming out and the outside from coming in, resulting in isolation, which perpetuates deficiency.
By definition the heart chakra is about reaching beyond the self and connecting with others. Codependency expresses an excessive heart chakra, where the emphasis on the OTHER is out of balance. The compulsive need to fixate on others with excessive care taking and meddling is a behaviour that arises from our own denied need for such care. Codependency is not an act of love, but an obsession clothed in the guise of love.
An obsessive heart chakra can be demanding and possessive. It is passionately connected, but often blindly so. ”
There is so much illumination in these pages, but we have to stop here and contemplate, meditate on Self care and how to let go of our own compulsive behaviour that hurts us as well as others. We often do this without noticing. I am constantly reminding myself to be aware and to act accordingly.
The next post will focus on Healing The Heart Chakra. This is a topic that the author of this book deals with deftly on Chapter Four. She begins the theme of Healing / Restoring the Lotus, with the following words, which shall be the closing of this post:
“Love is the essence that heals. Patience, skill, training, and talent all play their part, but without love they are merely techniques. All wounds cry for the universal medicine of love. As the cosmic glue of the universe, love is the force that bridges the gaps that cut us asunder. In the gap between Heaven and Earth, love is the binding force that holds together the many-coloured steps of the rainbow Bridge.”
As we close this episode, I must state that, not since reading Ayi Kwei Armah’s books Two Thousand Seasons, The Healers and The Beautifull Ones Are Not Yet Born, have I been so moved by the written word. In the next episode we shall also explore just how words can both heal and harm.
“Why is it that harm can be done in an instant, while healing requires days, years, even centuries? We exhaust ourselves trying to repair damage faster than the next wound can occur.” – Dr Wellington Yeuh
“If those early forms of social organisation also contained elements of democracy, it was the democracy of that particular time, totally unfitted to the democratic practice of man in the present epoch. To say that an African can learn democracy simply by looking backward to see what our great grandparents behaved is not only meaningless but downright reactionary. As an economy develops, new socio-economic institutions also develop with it and the peoples outlook and aspirations also undergo changes.” – African Socialism or Socialist Africa, A.M. Babu
What would be the function of kings or queens in a modern Afrika, restored and decolonized as so many of us Afrocentric activists agitate for? After having tasted the once forbidden fruits of Western style democracy, experimented with forms of socialism, monopolized capitalism and other structural adjustments, will we ever be able to become the society we once were, give or take the natural progression of time and circumstances?
During the remote past, in the often cited setting of ancient Egypt/Kemet, such was the case: “The function of the state were to own, control, divine, discipline and defend; they were also to cherish, nurture, shelter, and enlarge the population. The god-sent controller of the Egyptian people was the herdsman who kept them in green pastures, fought to secure fresh pastures for them, drove off the voracious beasts who attacked them, belabored the cattle who strayed out of line and helped along the weaklings. The Sun-God appointed him or her to be shepherd of this land, to keep alive the people and the folk, not sleeping by day or by night in seeking out every beneficial act, in looking for possibilities or usefulness.” (1)
This vision of what a ruler was or should ideally be like seems to have been shared throughout the ancient world, and when in the 18th and 19th centuries, the rise of enlightenment, various kinds of new ideas, technology and mass social revolutions swept the world, the power and usefulness of kingdoms was severely reduced. The few remaining places where monarchs are still respected pr honored, have retained for them only a ceremonial status. Still, royals appear to have retained some charming effect on the imaginations of people all over the world. That ceremonial power seems to still mystify many people, but of what use is localized mysticism in a world clearly ruled by material or global economic powers.
One thing is for sure, even in ancient times it was the law that controls even absolute rulers. In most cases, the majesty belongs to the laws of every given land. Kemet/Egypt was no exception to this rule, as it is depicted here:
“The hours of both day and night were laid out according to a plan, and at the specified hours it was absolutely required of the king that he should do what the laws stipulated and not what he thought best” (2).
So clearly it was never a matter of absolute power of either the masses or the elites that controlled how things are done, it has always been the Law. We shall return to how this law is fundamentally similar throughout the great Afrikan continent and perhaps we may find ways to blend whatever works in modern law with customary laws.
Decisions, decisions, decisions. Romanticism seems to get the best of us Afrikans when it comes to questions of power, be it political, communal or economic. Many of us dream of an idyllic Afrika where our best traditions are restored along with the land and the resources. We wish and some of us strive to regenerate our ancient systems of ruler-ship, trade and customary laws. Exactly how this can be done is still rather vague. There are several version of history and the notion of nationhood has always been steeped in a multiplicity of conflicts. We know that newly independent pro-socialist leaders such as Kwame Nkrumah, Nyerere and Leopold Senghor tried their best to unite disparate “tribes” or ethnic groups in their bold attempts and nation building, yet their efforts were still executed within the confines of what the colonialists had left, the imposed borders are just one glaring example.
Is there a feasible reason to believe that the continent of Afrika can once again be ruled by monarchs, whether at decentralized local or provincial levels or otherwise?
There are many regional as well as localized associations wherein those designated as traditional leaders congregate and deliberate about matters of tradition, statutes and power. The pivotal question seems to be just how their power is shared among themselves but more crucially, how that power is shared or split between customary and modern political legislators. Where democracy and customary laws meet is rather vague, what is clear is that who ever wields the most constitutionality sanctified power also controls much of what passes as law.
So the question is, how meaningful is it for Afrikan people to dream of a return to a social setting where generationally or genealogically selected rulers lord it over the affairs of communities? While in the Southern parts of Afrika and surely in other parts of the continent, we still know of chiefs/ Izinduna and other socially and constitutionally accepted stewards who generally wield particular levels of power, their real influence is rather negligible compared to the democratically elected ones. How will the process of decolonization deal with either absolute monarchs or even benevolent rulers and what of anarchy, the notion that people can simply govern themselves?
I think that we cannot relive the past. While there may be localities wherein traditional leaders maintain some semblance of power, their influence will not reach a level wherein they can effectively be called empires. Empire is neither desirable nor feasible in the 21st century. Even the most aggressively imposed empires from Europe, the Far East and the United States of America are showing signs of serious fracture and are checkmating each other as they compete for control of the resources of developing countries. Sovereignty may still sounds appealing to many idealists and ambitious power-brokers, but even such last century ideas are fading away just like the divine rights of monarchs faded.
I am thinking of King Mswati and his precarious kingdom whose many citizens subsist outside the borders of that beautiful country. The Swati Royal House bears many aspects of the olden feudal state while still maintaining a fiction they call “monarchical democracy”. in reality it is a state that could be called a benevolent dictatorship, where the absolute monarch and several of His minions, secretly compete for influence.
The Swati Kingdom’s best asset is the culture and tradition. Is the a way to maintain some positive aspects of these traditions while transforming the Kingdom into a real democratic modern state where the needs of the masses are met in equal measure as the privileges of the ruling house? As a clear sign that rulers simply learn nothing from the examples of the historical revolutions, King Mswati still finds Himself entwined in the same corruption and scandals that former rulers in many other countries found themselves in before they were violently deposed.
Under the chapter titled, Destabilizing Africa, Babu writes: “It will be a sad chapter in Africa’s glorious history of struggle if our leaders allow themselves to be blinded by the pursuit of objectives which, in the final analysis, work against the true interests of the masses. If we are to serve the people effectively, it is our responsibility to examine critically the consequences of our leaders policies, in the revolutionary spirit of criticism and self-criticism, and to chart a course to rapid development.” The sad part is that it is the same corrupt leaders who we find speaking such patriotic words on world stages, but what they do at home leaves much to be desired. How sure are we that the Kings and Queens we say we want will not behave in the same depraved way as present day rulers? In essence, how are we to guarantee that the LAW, or Ma’at /Ubuntu as the Ancients called it, is maintained as a governing principle for both the leaders and the led?
References: The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man*.
I am currently reading devoutly a book by Kwame Nkrumah. This particular copy of African Must Unite, is actually signed by none other than Nkrumah’s daughter Sanna, with these words written before her signature, “Our father reminded us that this is our mission.” This copy of Nkrumah’s fourth book, published in 1964 and reprinted again from 1972 onwards was gifted to our esteemed organisation, the Institute of Afrikology by Ms Nkrumah herself. She handed it to the Director of the institute Yaa Ashantewaa-Archer-Ngidi in the year 2019 during her South Afrikan visit.
Towards the final pages of this very important book, Nkrumah confesses’ “I have been accused of pursuing ‘a policy of the impossible’, But I cannot believe in the impossibility of achieving African union any more than I could ever have thought of the impossibility of attaining African freedom. When I came back to Ghana in 1947 to take a leading part in the anti-colonial struggle, I was dubbed an ‘irresponsible agitator’. Independence at that time looked a long way off. None of us really imagined that by 1962 most of the African countries would have thrown off political domination an embarked upon their own national existence as sovereign states. But that did not stop us from going forward with our efforts, buoyed by the certainty of ultimate victory. And it has come, as I said, much sooner than anticipated. This is how I feel about African union. “
Toay more than ever, Afrikan activists are agitating for the very ideas that Nkrumah and other pan-Afrikanists fought so hard for. The language of Regional Integration, Inter and Intra-Afrikan trade must now bear the requisite fruits. But How?
Someone once said that to be well adjusted to a sick or abnormal society is not a sign of sanity. Arthur Koestler in his book Ghost In The Machine writes: “Poets have always said that man is mad; and their audiences always nodded delightedly because they thought it was a cute metaphor. But if the statement were taken literally, there would seem to be little hope : for how can a madman diagnose his own madness? The answer is that he can, because he is not entirely mad the entire time.“
One of Afrika’s greatest and most inspirational leaders, Burkina Faso’s Thomas Sankara once said that socio-political change in Afrika will require a certain amount of ‘madness’. Did we fully grasp the meaning of this statement, after his untimely demise at the hands of betrayers, can we still find mad-ones today who can dare to invent a better future for Afrika? given the amount of problems that are mostly made worst by the non-abating grip of corporate and political corruption, it seems highly unlikely that a large movement of the mad-ones may arise anytime soon. But then again in Southern Afrika, there are organisations such as Black First Land First and to a certain rather dubious extent, there is also the Economic Freedom Fighters. One of them seems cut from Sankara’s cloth, while the other appears to be larger, but appears similar to an ordinary populist political party – nevertheless, the conversations that these two parties evoke is similar and it leads young Afrikans to boldly seek solutions that appear crazy to most liberal and mainstream observers.
In the daily course of living and aiming to have a purpose driven life, where conscious choices lead to relatively high levels of success in our endeavors, there is the challenge of knowing exactly when and when not to get involved in social causes. As an Afrikan living in an increasingly crisis prone and economically struggling country/region, one seeks to have a healthy balance between personal ambitions and social responsibility.
We are not well as Black people globally. We each have different battles to fight on personal levels, and there are many success stories and inspirational instances where people beat seemingly impossible odds to emerge victorious or successful in relative terms, but how do we measure that success in the midst of severe social degeneration, poverty and corruption? Can one truly be considered successful when that success exists next-door to squalor, violence and social chaos? Ghanaian writer Ayi Kwei Armah’s maddening eye opening book The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born was premised on such questions.
While we are striving to better ourselves we are also striving to transform our society’s, to instill the self confidence and cooperative economic ethos that many social activists have striven to establish in our communities.
Surely there are ways for Black Consciousness, the ideals of Kwanzaa and Pan Afrikanism to animate the peoples of the ghettos and the struggling masses of our people. Having many activists and various movements all pontificating and agitating for political powers is not enough – we have to find more ways to create sustainable changes in our communities.
Perhaps we are also overstimulated, there is too much information flowing in and out of our lives, the current affairs and crises in the world are a real distraction from the revolutionary mission that many of us believe must take place. We know that revolution and social change is not an event …there are processes that have to take place gradually but we need leadership at different levels, from the legislation/policies to the implementation stages to see to it that what we envision actually transpires.
Here in Zimbabwe, I am currently challenging traditional healers to become more involved in social revolution. I am urging them to create real solutions to the problems of hunger, ignorance and find alternative economies where more can benefit rather than the few elites. To identify the healers among a plethora of hopefuls is not an easy task, and one has to deal with a lot of deeply set attitudes, egos and preconceptions of what it means to be Spiritually gifted or being ‘possessed’ by Ancestral beings. There are risks and dangers at every side, but there are also infinite possibilities for fruitful collaborations. Perhaps this is where Afrika’s new breed of warrior-priests and priestesses will emerge.
When we receive information from whatever source, when does it become knowledge and when does that knowledge transform to wisdom and by what processes does wisdom become enlightenment?
These are the interrelated questions that we shall tackle under this title. There are also some concerns regarding a subject we have covered before, which is the necessity of Guides, Guru’s and Master-teachers – those individuals and even institutions that purport to represent Source.
Someone writes in the Financial Mail, August 15 – August 21, 2019; “SA is sliding inexorably into a debt trap, with the government unable to make the hard political choices necessary to spark growth, or to prevent a steady rise in the country’s debt ratio. Though finance minister Tito Mboweni has warned that “we really and truly cannot go on like this”, there is every indication that this is exactly what will happen.”
Afrika is committing an acquired form of assisted-suicide at an unprecedented scale. This is happening at every level of society from the individual, the social to the economic as well as, most disturbingly, on a spiritual level.
There are more ways to die than there are ways of living. Paradoxically, Afrika has a lot of intellectuals. The continent boasts thousands if not millions of individuals as well as institutions specializing in various disciplines ranging from cutting edge-science, engineering, architecture, applied mathematics and a myriad of technological fields of endeavor. Afrika is also most revered for its Creative economy, an ungovernable and wholly innovative and lucrative sector.
Needless to mention that we have been known to produce artistic and entrepreneurial geniuses in vast numbers too. Afrikan genius has enriched the whole world since the dawn of recorded history. We are not short of human or intellectual capital.
The recent death of former Zimbabwean founding ‘Father’ Robert Gabriel Mugabe has brought this fact so sharply into our collective psyche. How can a highly educated, revolutionary and industrious people fare so poorly in the development spheres? To put it bluntly, how can such a rich people remain so impoverished? What is it that we, our former liberation heroes and general leadership have been doing so wrong that we fail so dismally to thrive and beat the usual threats to ours and future generations wellbeing?
Many Afrocentric scholars have offered that Afrika has to create its own path to economic and social development. Yes, we can an should play our part in this world of capitalist /neoliberal competition, but that part should be clearlly defined by Afrikans, united in purpose with definitive collective goals.
We have harped on and on about the practical value of Afrikan and Black people’s unity, but perhaps our voices are not audible enough to the powers that purport to be. Our voices are hoarse and our minds and hearts often grow weary, yet there are still so many untried avenues. Perhaps we have been going about it the wrong way. In the words of S.M.E. Bengu, we have been ‘Chasing Gods Not Our Own’. Is it not high-time we strive towards making Indigenous Knowledge Systems part of our training/education in the formal education circles? It is not enough to host numerous conferences and write thick volumes and actively pontificate on pulpits and social media.
Yes, Afrika must wake up, but the awakening must not be towards contributing so gallantly to economies or systems that have not improved our wellbeing. Even the institutions that monitor and claim to promote our progress must be re-evaluated from an Afrikological perspective. We cannot continue to be appendages in a dying capitalist system.
Former President R.G. Mugabe and the incumbent President E.D. Mnangagwa are clear examples of how power and opportunity are not enough to turn peoples lives around. Praise them or reject them, the point is not really about their individuality, it is about the fact that they represent a breed of Afrikans who are Christians and clones of their European foes. How can one honestly defeat the plans of an enemy they secretly admire and seek to become? There are so many examples of how many Afrikan leaders simply mimic the ways of their former masters in their daily living. They may speak their Mother-tongue and pay lip service to their respect for Afrikan traditions, but their general outlook is Eurocentric and verging on superstitious. It is power that is scared to dare to be different. Afrikan economies and the underdevelopment of the lives of Black folks are the direct result of detached and visionless leaders.
We may react emotionally to the passing of these leaders, but until we question their roles or culpability in our mired existence, we shall repeat their costly mistakes. The institutions that our leaders depend on and preside over, are not our own creation, so are the borders and the monetary systems that we are fighting to control. They are out of control in-spite of us and our contributions.
Let us no longer squander our gifts. Afrika must and can define itself. We can escape the double edged sword of contradictory economic growth figures. We can start by being clear that economic growth as well as technological advancement does not benefit Afrikans in any significant scale.
We can also note that mineral resources have not benefited us neither. Then we can start answering the questions such as, when exactly will we rid ourselves of the parasitic corporations that make billions from the rest of the continent yet have not helped us to lead better lives? Again the onus is on our leaders, from the political, the business as well as the traditional levels. Afrikan leaders have failed dismally to protect its inhabitants from extractive and exploitative commercial farmers, minders and other speculators. Our intellectuals are merely playing musical chairs, writing about an economy in industries that WE DO NOT OWN.
Here is a brief look at some recent statistics from the African Development Bank:
This year’s African Economic Outlook from the African Development Bank shows that the continent’s general economic performance continues to improve. Gross domestic product reached an estimated 3.5 percent in 2018, about the same as in 2017 and up from 2.1 percent in 2016. Africa’s GDP growth is projected to accelerate to 4.0 percent in 2019 and 4.1 percent in 2020.
But even that growth is not fast enough to address persistent fiscal and current account deficits and unsustainable debt. Indeed, countries have to move to a higher growth path and increase the efficiency of growth in generating decent jobs. The 2019 Outlook shows that macroeconomic and employment outcomes are better when industry leads growth.
The special theme this year is regional integration for Africa’s economic prosperity—integration not just for trade and economic cooperation but also for the delivery of regional public goods.
New research for this Outlook shows that five trade policy actions could bring Africa’s total gains to 4.5 percent of its GDP, or $134 billion a year. First is eliminating all of today’s applied bilateral tariffs in Africa. Second is keeping rules of origin simple, flexible, and transparent.
Third is removing all non-tariff barriers on goods and services trade on a most-favored-nation basis. Fourth is implementing the World Trade Organization’s Trade Facilitation Agreement to reduce the time it takes to cross borders and the transaction costs tied to non-tariff measures. Fifth is negotiating with other developing countries to reduce by half their tariffs and nontariff barriers on a most-favored-nation basis.”
Lastly, David Manang, former Mines Minister and Second In Charge at the Exchequer in Botswana, had this to say in his book, Delusions of Grandeur: Paradoxies and Ambivalence in Botswana’s Macroeconomic Firmament:
“Botswana’s territory is a 582, 000 km affair. The population therein is a sparsely distributed 2 million. The proportion of unused land is practically infinite. Yet land acquisition both for citizens and investors is one hell of a headache. The hurdles in land acquisition are in fact one of the most commonly cited impediments to investment besides immigration permits. —Government, as the primary provider of serviced land, is guilty of failing investors big time. Puzzlingly, it is not aware that it is its own road-block to inward investment traffic in this regard.”
That sums it up.
As we say Rest in Peace to Robert Gabriel Mugabe aka Gushungo, let us make sure as younger Afrikans, to not repeat the gullible and arrogant mistakes of our ancestors. Afrika can still create its own path to prosperity and we do not have to do it in any one’s terms. Who ever seeks to do business with us can do it in our own way. But We Must Find The Way.
“The well based resistance to change which is usually for the worse, explains the obvious reticence of officialdom to release information, because the silent approach offers the greatest prospect of getting the obviously unacceptable accepted, if at all possible.” – John Page in Protest at Urban Environment from Protest and Discontent (The Nature and Causes of Student Unrest)
Harare is about to enter into another period of unrest, and I am reasonably nervous and skeptical about the outcomes. The protest planned by the opposition party the Movement for Democratic Change with a few other affected partners such as members of civil society and workers unions does not seem as well planned or articulated as it should, given the track record and results of such uprisings in this country. What is the value of a protest in a country where many people are ruled by fear? What happens when the uprising fails and who compensates for the loss of lives?
The flippant response from the deputy leader of the national defence forces is both predictable and worrying. By simply dismissing the intentions of the people behind the protest and stating that it will not happen, he is simply playimg to the gallery and stoking the fires for more aggression from both ends. It would have been wiser to simply tow the legal or constitutional line and even pretend to be allowing the democratic process to unfold. I personally have been concerned about the lack of coherent revolutionary strategies and ideological incoherence from the opposition party, even though I had not expected much from the liberal and populist leader, I have been hoping that there is a radical youth or intellectual element within the party or countrywide, to at least formulate some semblance of revutionary direction. I am hoping to hear what happens beyond the protests and “legal uprisings”.
We all aware of the States propensity to unleash violence on its citizens but the silence of the president of the country in the face violations of the law by his subordinates clearly shows that he too has no capacity to lead beyond rhetoric and power mongering. He has to fight external and internal battles and pay lip service to economic fundamentals, while his finance ministers spew incomprehensible nonsense at every gala or gathering. Meanwhile there will be many protests in Zimbabwe yet no one has yet mentioned just what will happen to the economy once the rulers are deposed. The crucial question is How Will Zimbabwe rise from the mire of state sponsored debauchery, steering its society from Fear to Creative and Proactive action ….
Some trust in the Ancestors guidance while others trust in Jesus Christ ….I trust in thw people’s Will to get Free and Create a New Zimbabwe, learning from the Ancient, the present and daring to invent and invest in the Future.
“Magic consists of KNOWING the correct, exact gesture, word, pronunciation, all at the correct time; if these are not so, the system will not work. Those who go against nature may do so for a short time, but will undergo the correction of nature at their own peril.” – Ancient Kemetic (Egyptian) Proverbs, On Right Action
“Ain’t no rules ain’t no vows / we can do it anyhow / neither can be bought or sold / Cause everyday we pay the price with the rebels sacrifice / Life is worth much more than gold.” – Bob Marley and The Wailers, Jammin’
Being an artist in the ‘modern’ capitalist society is no joke. Being an artist who is not business minded in a capitalist society is a recipe for tragedy. But then again what is Art for, and in how many ways can it be appreciated without succumbing to preconditions of the market or the “Faka Imali Uzobona” ( Put it money you shall see ) paradigm?
In searching for the Essence of the Arts, I am seeking to figure out how Arts can exist and flourish independent of commercial interests. But then again, perhaps financial gain and commercial success is a veritable motivator for many modern Artists, especially those in the entertainment field or industries.
I am trying to find out whether true Arts could or should be bought and sold, but I am fully aware as an artist myself, that I cannot toil on my work only to give it away to people who may or may not value it. How else can we measure value and appreciation outside of the commercial or financial markets?
The essence of the Arts is not really to always pursue commercial interests, yet in a society where sustenance means one must sell what is most precious to them including one’s “Soul”, the spiritual or ritual significance of Art becomes contentious. Where does one draw the line between true personal expression and doing it to survive, to make a living or even to be a commercial success?
Let us not assume that the commercialization or commodification of Art is a new thing. Throughout history and in many varying societies, Artists have held different leadership and hierarchical positions. While some were porters, artisans, trained and skilled craftsmen and women, others were entertainers for aristocrats, the noble and the affluent, there have always been those Artists who are simply born to do it. Others were trained to imagine and/or build the images of State and affluence. Only the Creators know why some are predisposed to fashion something of aesthetically interest out of base materials while others are simply there to enjoy and benefit from such creations.
The question of what is ethically sell-able and what should not be bought or sold, is an old one. But for our interest as Afrikan people whose Arts and Crafts often holds sacred value, we need to look at commercialization for what it is. The corruption or profanation of the naturally sacred – leading to the undervaluing of divine objects and divine actions or creations. But if I do not buy a Charles Mingus, Joe Henderson, Zim Ngqawana or Winston Mankunku Ngozi album, how else can I get a chance to appreciate the work and contribute to the wellbeing of the Artist?
Art is work and to some people who are not even considered Artists, their own work or even their sporting activity is considered an Art by themselves or even their admirers. To many people, a sportsman like Lionel Merci is an Artist. When I was younger, watching Maradona, Pele or Jomo Sono was like watching an Artist weaving his magic on the theatre of dreams.
When we were young and innocent, it never dawned on us that these Artists were involved in business transactions worth millions in cash and other lucrative benefits. In short, someone is always making money or profiting from someone else’s talent. How that advances or negatively affects the Art and the Artists him or herself is another longer debate that requires deeper analysis on various levels. Such as what are the motivating factors that compel an Artist to do what they do, and how much coercion is involved in the transaction from pure artistry to the market for talent. Malcolm Gladwell’s observations in his books The Tipping Point and Outliers offers great insights into these questions and provides answers to questions such as how the Best or the most successful competitors and players are selected.
Perhaps the question we should ask is, when exactly did we start buying and selling our Arts? Perhaps the simple answer would be, whenever we started setting up communities that were defined and fixed in the varying traditions of increasing and competitive people. In other words, we started trading in artifacts around the same time we began identifying ourselves as different from each other in terms of clans and different identities and professions. It was distance, variation of talents and environmental factors that compelled us to seek out what we did not have or did not know how to create or fashion for ourselves. I do not want to speculate on which Age or Era, but the moment we each discovered that certain specific communities specialized in whichever Arts, that is when the trading and bartering began.
We each possess something that the other does not. The moment we identify that something and figure out that we want it for ourselves, that is when the deal begins. Whatever price is put on it that is the price we will pay if we can afford it. The market provides a space for availability and choice, but the problem with the capitalist market is that it allows for unfair competition where advantage is given to those who can produce more rather than those who specialize in quality rather than quantify. This is how commercialism and materialism becomes corrosive and destructive in society.
This kind of unfair competition exists in all forms of Art, including literature. While writers and song-makers from all nations have the capability to produce Fine Art, it is the ones from the recognized and hegemonic commercial hubs who get to monopolize the markets and flood the whole world with their own ideas of what is true, beautiful and valuable. But they also never shy away from stealing directly from the rest of the world.
But then again what does it mean to be Afrikan in a world that has become so globalized and an Afrika which operates on Western value-systems?
Let’s see what one of Afrika’s greatest philosophers and writers had to say:
“I am an Ibo writer, because this is my basic culture; Nigerian, African and a writer …no, black first, then a writer. Each of these identities does call for a certain kind of commitment on my part. I must see what it is to be black – and this means being sufficiently intelligent to know how the world is moving and how the black people fare in the world. This is what it means to be black. Or an African – the same: What does Africa mean to the world? When you see an African what does it mean to a white man?” – Chinua Achebe.
I know a lot of Artists who have sold more of their visual Arts work to Europeans than to other black people. They have even begun to believe that Black people simply do not value Art in general. Is this part of the modern culture or is it something to do with how we view Art in general?
My simple answer is that, We Art. Art is everything to the Afrikan psyche. There are many among us who believe that everyone is an Artist or at least a potential one. This is where the expression, “if you can talk you can sing and if you can walk you can dance” comes from. But can everyone draw, paint or do what Bheki Mseleku does with the piano, or what Shaluza Max Mtambo does with his voice?
How much should Artists be paid to attend a Festival such as the one happening now, the essence Festival. There are so many questions demanding real answers as to how exhibitors and Artists were chosen. Where does the money go and does it sufficiently support local talents …
Some will say very much so, but others whould strongly disagree … Who is selling what to who and who is fooling who?
Love and Light, Thokoza, Hutuapo or Hotep …
These are some of the words that we usually use to greet each other whenever we chat with my Spiritual brothers, either Eugene Skeef, Nduduzo Makhathini, Madoda Mditshwa, Zwelibanzi Dlamini and a few others. We do not use typical greetings because we are not typical. There is nothing predictable about us besides the Love we exude for Life, People, the Motherland and the Omniverse. Hold that thought, we will return to those words and their meaning to us later and in other essays too, as the Spirit leads.
Earlier this evening I was dropping off some fliers at my second home, the Ethio-Eritrean Habesha Cafe’ and also still deciding whether I should attend the Poetry/Musical event hosted by my team the Nowadays Poets just across the road at One Two Seven Restaurant – but lo and behold, Mama Nomusa Xaba comes walking up the road and so after we greet the owner of Habesha Cafe’ and also passing some greetings to the Poets/Artists – I had decided to drive her home.
When we got in the car I had to change the music. I had been listening to the Australian avant garde Soul band Haitus Kaiyote, but since I was in the presence of an Elder, I decided something gentler would be better… yet I was now torn between playing Nina Simone or Jay Electronica featuring Kendrick Lemar, surely Mama Nomusa could dig that, after all she is from the USA and her Lifelong partner is the one and only premier Avant Gardist Baba Ndikho Xaba.
Anyway while I was fiddling with the music and driving up to her house, we got to talking about work relationships and how it is difficult to work with people who have not defeated their sense of self-importance, people who are either diva’s or egotists.
Mama gave me such simple yet sage advise, I found myself letting go of so much pain and confusion that had settled in my heart like a some immovable mystical heavy object. But our subject matter shifted to something more beautiful and even though it was related to the first issue of what causes relationships to break down, she was showing me how the opposite is possible if peoples hearts are Open to the Spirit of Love, Light and Godness…
Mama Nomusa being the consummate storyteller, begun telling me the story her last experience of watching and listening to Nduduzo Makhathini at the legendary Rainbow Restaurant this past weekend. Mama was simply awed by the sheer amount of Love and Healing that Makhathini brought to the music.
“He silenced the typically loud place with his big heart Menzi.”
Said Mama Nomusa, spreading her arms around us like a great white headed Eagle. “There is the music itself, but then there is the face and purity of intention, the Heart of Love of the young man … he became an Elder on the stage, as if he was evoking all the wise old men who he can easily summon from the broadness of his Love.”
As Mama Nomusa spoke, I couldn’t help remembering that Nduduzo Makhathini’s music is the daily fix at my home. Hardly a day passes in which I do not play Icilongo for my babies, or Matunda Ya Kwanza or my favourite Inner Dimensions just to cleanse the house of any bad vibes or heaviness that may settle in and hide and fester in corners that we cnnot reach by either prayer or incense. It is only Ingoma that can permeate the very crevices and sinews of the heart and the space we call home.
Ingoma YalesiSangoma iyaselapha. OkaMakhathini wazi kahle kamhlophe ukuthi uzalelweni noma umsebenzi wakhe ngqangi yimuphi emhlabeni. Njengezinye Izithunywa ZikaMvelingqangi namaThongo KaMenzi, uzokwelapha isizwe esimqondo udungekile.
It takes a heart full of ecstatic musical Love to usher in the Age of the Divine Mother. It is not by coincidence that the coming of Makhathini was preceded by two or three other great Healers who happened to be pianists, the tormented genius and Tarot-like Hanging Man – Taiwa Moses Molelekwa and the Krishna-centric Drowning Man – Bhekumuzi Hyacinth Mseleku. These two trailblazing phenomena were to music what Jesus Christ was to the Gentiles – a gate, or a door towards Higher Consciousness.
As human beings they are or were as flawed as any of us, but as Artists, whose work sets them apart as Avatars of the Universal/the Omniversal Spirit or God, they were divine beings, messengers whose sound was poured on our heads to christen or edify those who have the gift of hearing. The music or Ingoma that they do is so expansive and powerfully evocative that it exist as a strong elixir against egotism. If we can listen with a clear conscience, perhaps we can find ourselves bathing in Umsunduzi River or finally heed the message of Mseleku’s Sun Race Arise.
Of course there are many musicians in South Africa or in the world today who exude a similar aura of Shamanism or UbuNgoma. But in an age where the sheer amount of information that comes through is dazzling, where does one go or what can one do to simply soak in the vastness of the gifts of Ingoma – Ingoma ka-Omar Sosa, Ingoma ka-Christian Atunde Adjuah Scott, nengoma ka Kendrick Lemar, The Soil, The Brother Moves On, Existing Consciousness nabanye abelaphi …?
As we do not see each other as much as we would wish to, Mama Nomusa and I spoke about other influential Leaders we both have known. One of them being Shekem ur Shekem aka Ra Un Nefer Amen. I was carrying three Divination cards from the Ausar Auset Society in the car and I had asked her to try and find me a complete pack as these belonged to my partner Yaa Ashantewaa Ngidi who kept them on her desk at our Institute of Afrikology office. I was returning them today, but I seriously need my own and also to learn to use them.
Mama explained in her characteristic lightness of speech, how some of the smartest and most connected people are simply enslaved by their ego and the best way to deal with them is to Love them and leave them. “For the sake of your own journey, my son, the best thing is to leave with Love.”
I did not fully understand what she meant until I put on Joshua Redman’s Timeless Tales for Changing Times – and the song that really brought home the message, was Visions.
It is the kind of music that invokes the past while affirming the significance of the present yet treads firmly as a walking bassline towards an envisioned future. . .
I am trying to put into words, how music / Ingoma helps me to figure out stuff that is supposedly not related to sounds or even to emotional matters. It is as if music is an intelligent lifeform in its own right. The players may be participating in its production but only the music /Ingoma itself knows which direction to go and if we are receptive enough, we can be carried on the wings of its Loving Kindness and perhaps only then would we appreciate the meaning of Hutuapo/Hetepu/Hotep/ Thokoza (Be Joyful) and all the words we choose to use when we see each other as Kindred Spirits.
They call it jazz but this music is much bigger and broader than any definitions.
Miles Davis called it Social Music, Nicholas Payton calls it BAM (black american music) but the closest description has to be Wayne Shorter’s “I Dare You” music.
Call It what we may, this phenomenon known as jazz is fun, intricate, witty and full of whimsical freedom and wisdom; It is music at its most sincere, although often highly enigmatic.
As Amiri Baraka poetically stated “jazz listen to it at your own risk”.
It can literally either heal your soul or blow your freakin’ mind .
Here is a taste of the gloriously visionary maestro Sun Ra and is Solar Arkestra. Its from a record titled God Is More Than Love Can Ever Be.
Just click on the link and enjoy:
Dear friends I am sharing a video clip of an interview with the great eNCA TV News anchor Shahan Ramkisson on Friday March 18, 2021 in the afternoon at 3pm.
The interview was part of tribute to the great Zulu King Zwelithini kaBhekuzulu who transitioned from the terrestrial space to the spiritual realm of the ancestors on Friday morning March 12, 2021 in Azania (South Africa). May his royal spirit rest in peace knowing that we shall pick up his fallen spear to continue the great indefatigable struggle to shake off the vestigial chains of the ECC (Euro-Christian Colonial) system.
The interview was very much about how does succession work in an indigenous African royalty. Watch the view as I describe the Lekgotla system and the methods of succession. Please comment and share the video with friends and family. Siyathokoza Makhosi! Mocholoko.
eNCA TV News Briadcast on Youtube
The Second session of the Geb season, Sunday Healing session will be a continuation of a conversation we have been having with Dr Baba Buntu of Ebukhosini Solutions. This time we shall focus on Men’s health and the rituals required for Afrikan men to obtain/attain their fullest potential as Divine beings.
“…the presence of the Neteru (Divine principles/Natural forces), indeed, imparts to us health of body, virtue of soul, purity of intellect and in one word, elevates everything in us to its proper principle. The dispositions of the soul of those that invoke the Gods to appear receive, when they become visible, a liberation from the passions, a transcendent perfection, and an energy entirely more excellent, and participate of divine love and an immense joy.” – Iamblichus in the 4th century C.E. describing the philosophy of Alexandrian sages as they studied Hermetic philosophy ( The teachings of Djehuty/Tehuti/Thoth)