African, black, Black power, Uncategorized

being! BLACK

Fifty shades of black. Light complexion, creamed perfection and Dark. Dark perceptions and bad expectations all leading to a bad black experience, no explanation for a forever damned nation – feels like a failed experiment.

Nappy hair from top to bottom, a struggle to comb – it’s been a struggle since we came out the womb. Ratchet hair matching my ratchet stare that sends the neighbours into hiding, behind tall white walls where police are waiting on speed-dial calls.

When he came with silky curtains covering what he truly had up his sleeve. We wondered while he pondered the best way to make away with everything he could reach with his perfect hands. “Tomatoes and carrots, I’ll take a bunch of that for this leather on my toes“.

We gave it to him, fair trade, next time he came he shot a few for game. It was the first Demonstration of the demon of our frustration. Here’s some candy, it’s a sweet gesture, I’ll need half of your sugar cane when I’ll return again to give you a bunch of these with which your very brothers lay slain.

It’s backward minded, the ways of your culture, here’s some infrastructure – you can thank me later. Have some cheese, shred it with a grater, I promise this life is greater – sail back with me you can be my waiter. The life of picking carrots is redundant like a parrot, give me some of your carats and I’ll return with a food that never rots.

It’s called school, it will save you from your life as a fool. You’ll starve to fund it but in the end you’ll get a job you will be full. Remember when I brought you that candy, you were living in that ragged place too sandy. But now You’re no longer like those others, the sight of them just bothers, and so too does you calling them your brothers.

The dark ones are just unbearable – They make fitting criminals, I feel less guilty beating The ugly. And why are they always so rowdy, I’m glad you’ve lost that savagery, you’re so much more ruly. But I must say truly, the women are rather creamy, curved so fully – I should have took one for when I’m lonely.

Take me back to my father’s garden where we picked tomatoes and carrots and feasted on a fattened beast. They took that from us with an infrastructure and a never rotting food which they manufacture. They took me with them, taught me their ways and their tongue and then told me to buy organic.

Why do you bother, you have grown softer and you no longer speak the tongue of your mother. Nice curtains you’ve got on there, we will try not to discomfot you with our stares just in case you also seek cover up in your stairs covered by white walls and a system that calls the police to keep us out.

Welcome to the new world brother, we sit in the middle, between creamy desserts and Dark. Our people have forsaken us, those people should never have taken us to those schools because now we are the fools, swimming in pools of blue paid for by the price of the red pools of the slain. Now my brain has been washed but somewhere inside there it still rain and thunder constantly as I ponder if there will ever be a way to return to Black

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African, apartheid, south africa, truth

Sounds of Africa

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of the African drum!

Mama and the ladies dance around the fire.

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of the mine!

Daddy and the Men shall go and dig for Diamonds.

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of a bomb!

Brother and the gents decided to exterminate the embassy.

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of the Baas.

If I don’t carry my pass I’ll be good as dead!

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African, south africa, Uncategorized

Beautiful Africa

Africa, the motherland, my motherland. My roots grow from deep in this land of dust and grass, trees and valleys – all made so beautiful under the African Sun.

If I had the hand of a Picasso I would glue my eyes into the distance, grab a paint brush and create something that your eyes could feast on. But I do not have such a luxury, instead I have these words with which I can prepare a snack for your mind.

It’s past midnight and I have come to sit outside hoping to catch a view of the stars but I find none – I guess there isn’t enough room to shine with the full moon ruling the sky. I Stare at a bright light on the horizon and I know there is somebody beautiful in that home, somebody the world wants to know nothing about in this internationally damned continent that I love.

Oh yes Africa you ugly piece of art, they do not know your beauty, you are far too unique for the simple minded. So many colours to see in Africa, your diverse people and cultures and the wild animals born into your care…how could I ever thank you Mama Africa, you accommodate so many in your humble hut.

Landscapes from the deep rivers to the high-flying mountains, Africa so uncontrollable, offering different talents only to the brave who are willing to try. Dried up old stubborn deserts that have never begged for a drink, fragile wetlands and tall forests to the large grasslands where our King lion reigns. Yes, the rightful King who has battled all his rivals into submission – great glory goes to he who has crowned himself victor in pride.

I breathe in your fresh air, forever shall you remain untamed. It comes as no surprise that the birds love to fly your way as they enjoy the precious view of beautiful dark skin from above. The moon loves this view too and even during the day he can be seen stealing a peep of this masterpiece as he awaits his turn patiently.

Apparently the whole world shares the same sun, but O’ Great light bringer, even you know who you love most. Here in Africa you shine brightest – endless celebrations of summer throughout the year for our son will never forsake his first love. With this love you offer us great protection, the trespassers cannot bear your heat so they rush to get out of the kitchen…yes we are wounded but you did not give them enough comfort to cook up their evil schemes.

Beautiful Africa, one day I will leave my children in your care, teach them the ways of our honey-badger, although he has covered his top with the flag of the snow, he remains grounded to his roots and never turns away from a fight. Show them the peacock as well – just for their pleasure, so they may learn to be proud of their unique beauty.

Beautiful Africa, my motherland, I thank you for offering your ears to hear my cries…remember me with a waterfall of tears that lead to a peaceful paradise where different tribes and beasts will come to drink away their thirst.

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African, city, dreams, God, Short Story, south africa, Uncategorized

The City & small towns

So I was taking a walk the other day, yes an actual walk – slow paced and with peaceful thoughts and maybe even a song (a calm song) – one that you would play even by the waterfall.

Suddenly it began to drizzle and I was taking a walk in the rain. Imagine that, an actual walk in the rain – this kind of stuff is unheard of in the City where I come from – it’s an experience we have reserved strictly for thoughts of retirement by the seaside.

That’s the beauty of a small town isn’t it? You are afforded so much space and you don’t have to rush to and fro’ in fear of being stumbled down in a sidewalk-stampede.

The clouds took a deep breath and the drizzle turned into a shower – paradise is over. I began taking larger steps to hurry back home – you can take the Boy out of the City but you cannot take the City out of Me. We have never loved the rain I tell you, our working-class uniforms and overpriced trends do not allow that.

So I increased my pace, put some springs into my steps – but you cannot pick and choose which part of the City you want, you have to take the whole package. And that’s when the bounce began to show, along with chest out and head in the clouds…that’s how we do it in the City.

Small-town folk always think we are just arrogant, but with the number of thieves our overpriced-ness attracts, it’s better to look like an aggressor than to look like a victim. That’s one aspect of city life I had no trouble mastering. You have to know the lingo for the tango, there’s too much wisdom to learn on the City streets.

To be honest I don’t know which lifestyle I prefer anymore. The City life is in my veins, I bleed cheeky and trust nobody – yes The City is who I am and and have always wanted to be. I always dreamt to build my empire, spend more time with Mandela and The other heroes and make an impact! And at least I just have to keep my eyes open because most devils there wear their horns proudly.

Small town folk are harder to see through – there are less demons here but the few are harder to spot. The small town-feller is who I want to become now, not to be one of the few, but to live a modest life and enjoy more time alone with God, I trust he makes the greatest impact.

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African, blogging, dreams, inspiration, life choices, money, Uncategorized

The Boys in Africa

I couldn’t believe in time travel until I realised it was simply being explained the wrong way. Numbers and fancy science sound smart but look around you it’s all in your face.

Heritage and culture are vital. It is shameful to forget these principles, if you do – you are lost and we won’t waste time letting you know. You’re African bro, you need to behave like It, sound like it and be proud of it.

There are no boys in Africa, only men. You need to provide bro, there’s no time to “find yourself”. Come to the city, up the street and downtown the gents hustle. Your friend might make a fortune and you cannot afford to fail. One way or another, you need that money bro.

BOOM! It’s Globalization all up in your face bro. Hollywood and Wall Street have taken over. “While I had no money I still had Sauce. If you ain’t got no sauce then you Lost”. So we run up to the College to get these degrees – but we can’t even afford these fees.

It’s no use writing these truths, or even having the consciousness to see it…because as along as I cannot get the rhythm and beat, I’ll never afford something to eat. The Boys are into Fashion these days mama, success is measured by Instagram Likes.

I’m beginning to feel out of place and unwelcome, because I started treating women with respect and they started calling me weak. I tried to help prevent the same fate for the next generation and then my grades fell…but for some reason it came with no regrets because I don’t want to gain the world while losing my soul.

O’ mama, maybe if Daddy never left us the boys in Africa would have had a back-bone, a role model to hold onto, a prototype to imitate. But I guess he too was lured by the changing times, the freedom to follow his dreams, practice his Constitutional rights and “Find himself”. And then you had to work overtime to school us and win-some-bread.

You left us home with a gift though, entertainment on television to keep us happy. That’s when Lil-Wayne became a father figure and Facebook my playground where I downloaded so many friends who wished me happy birthday – none was there to share my cake…but that’s nothing new, it’s just the life of The Boys in Africa, “Thank you Tata Mandela”.

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African, heartbeat, inspiration, life choices

Catch your heartbeat

I’m trying to write something to catch your heartbeat but you prefer crude lines on a trap beat.

What could I say to remind you of the time when you used to believe in love? Which cords in your heart do I need to tap into to get you feeling again?

Can I be honest? It hurts me that you’re a savage and you’re so good at it. You used to believe in fairytales and maybe that’s where it went wrong…when you grew older and realised that you weren’t the only girl who wore a size five, then Prince Charming stopped looking and went to the Club instead.

I wish there wasn’t such great distance between us – you’ll tell me you’re next door but that’s nothing compared to where you really see yourself – lost in a metropolis, missing the turn, caught in the crowd but you’re afraid to cry for help because tears ruin your make up.

Oh sister you lost your spirit when you stopped trusting in God don’t lose your soul too…that’s all we ever had in Africa – For every dollar that we didn’t have we had one another and another had the one.

Look at your history, dreamers and believers who lost theirs so that you can have yours. Your parents were there when the gates opened for us and they built their house for you, paid their taxes so that you no longer walk the gravel and it pains me to see you forgetting, or maybe just not caring while allowing the good times to get the better of you.

Wait, what good times? It’s just sad times – so much blood shed so that you can own your body then you went and sold it for a bottle of Henny. Victoria’s Secrets to reveal your prized assets, they’re calling you dumb and you’re nodding

But I’m trying to catch your heartbeat because Oh woman – you with such connection to the mystical – your body chosen to carry life from the Heavens to the Earth, your children are crying out. Your sons need to respect you…you need to take up your Queen status and sit up your Throne.

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