General

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Coveted — A Frank Biography

I am not much of a biography reader, but today I realised that I had been holding my breath to read one about Frank Leepa, as a birthday gift.

I had hoped that 2013, being the 10th year anniversary of his death, will be a good time to finally have his biography published, as once promised in the now non-functional Frank Leepa revival website. Actually, beyond being hopeful, I prayed about the matter to God the Almighty—Qhobosheane ea rona bakupi, Seokamela sa maholimo le lefats’e.

I was inspired into prayer, in part, because I tend to also suffer from the others-must-do-it-because-I-simply-have-no-time-or-some-other-resource-to-make-it-happen syndrome. Yes, I know this is a horrible syndrome; but assuming I could overcome it and convince myself that I am competent enough for the task, where would I even start?

I suppose I could start by making efforts to interview men like ntate Letele (aka G-man) who I hear played with Frank Leepa before the days of Uhuru in a band called Anti-antics. I remain unclear about why little is ever said about the Anti-antics. However, I do have an inkling why the name had to change.

Ntate Peete, a man with a flair for storytelling, tells this wonderful story where Frank was full of antics; he glided back and forth on stage–not in Michael Jackson style–and got very near to playing the guitar with his teeth, all in the interest of keeping the show going because one band member got too drunk to perform.

I can’t remember the year cited by ntate Peete, but it was certainly pre-80s. What I vividly remember is the passion conveyed about Frank Leepa’s love for music. For the love of music, he was willing to break a neck through some antics on stage in order to preserve the quality of each musical piece, while, of course, entertaining the audiences.

Now, back to my inkling. My working theory is that when Frank Leepa set or became part of a new band, it was with profound self-awareness. He understood that the lengths he was willing to go to in his performances would make it impossible for many to grasp that music was his weapon to fighting the shenanigans in our society–or rather, taking a stand against the antics of some members of our society.

I know I have just been grossly speculative, but what can a woman do? I have been waiting somewhat patiently for my most coveted biography. Waiting to confirm my anecdotes and to gain some insights that may allow me to fully understand Frank Leepa’s compositions—for in each, I believe he left a gem or two to be mined by listener’s own reflection.

I will not hold my breath, but wait I shall. Unabashedly, I will lustfully wait for a Frank biography!

 

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Independence—Meandering questions

NUL-grad

It is a long independence weekend in Lesotho. We are three years shy from celebrating 50 years of independence, but given that we are far from experiencing “nala” (prosperity) as a nation, I am not sure whether this is something to delight in or cry for.

Actually, I lie! If it were to help in any way I would most certainly cry for my beloved country, Lesotho fats’e la bo-ntat’a rona.

Despite conferring degrees by the masses—like we did last weekend—our education system is plummeting.

Education, the cornerstone of development, is now largely regarded as a matter of personal achievement, or, to put it more bluntly, a means to upward mobility. We use the likes of Michael Schumacher as crowning examples to cement this idea. And, of course, to inadvertently reinforce this growing outward-looking culture, where anything good can only come from the outside and necessarily imbues a Western (capitalist/neoliberal) feel of success to it.

Fundamentally, we seem to forget that education is deemed a right because it is a venture of social justice and a means to creating a society of equals. I would argue based on last Saturday’s graduation speeches that this view to education is only partially remembered because of some unspoken agreement that a hearty speech should, at a minimum, be peppered with “public service” rhetoric.

But what if we had gained independence from the bonds of political correctness and unspoken accords of what qualifiers as a hearty speech? What would be our truth when it came to education and the general state of affairs? Would we see ourselves as plummeting into a failed state or a nation on a prosperous track?

Truthfully, I am not sure of the answers, but I think it is time that we revisited the three core questions of the 1960s when we were a nation in search of its identity:

  1. Re bo mang? —who are we?
  2. Re tsoa kae?—where do we come from?
  3. Re ea kae?—where are we heading?

Otherwise, how do we ever hope to be self-sufficient again? Or rekindle that industrious spirit that made us breed our own sure-footed ponies at a time when horses were a mere novelty?

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Scream of Life

The wall across my lounge chair is adorned with a beautiful Meshu piece. This is not a typical Meshu creation. It is Meshu in the abstract–his interpretation or contortion of “the scream“!

Meshu's Scream

Meshu’s Scream

I fell in love with the piece from the moment I laid my eyes on it. I had never before heard or seen “the scream”, which is apparently one of the most recognisable works of art from the 19th century. But when I looked at Meshu’s piece, the scream I saw—a scream of life. A scream for clean green living. A scream of a woman (or man) overwhelmed, yet still determined to make sense of the world and the everyday struggles. It was indeed a scream of radical hope for a life of peace and prosperity.

In the financial realm, the scream was also an apt representation of my finances. The painting was far from my price reach. I couldn’t afford it; yet there was no denying the fact that I strongly related to the painting in an unimaginable way, at least in the eyes of Meshu. I became a worthy custodian because Meshu in his generosity decided to apply the logic of ancestral kinship and not that of capitalism; the ancestors wouldn’t have it any other way– balimo ba taung ba ne ba se ba laotse! The painting needed to move from the hands of one motaung to the next; otherwise one of us (not me) would stand to interfere with what was divined by the ancestors.

It really is with a deep sense of gratitude that each morning, as I have my cup of tea, I also make an effort to enjoy the version of “the scream” that adorns my wall. A passionate scream for a life of regal dignity, where many of us can walk with our heads held up high, in part, because we are able to use our various rich talents to create a just and green world.

This new morning ritual of mine may seem a tad depressing, but it is not. To paraphrase John Holloway from his book, Changing the world without taking power, it is a reminder that everything essentially starts with a scream and not with the word. As he elaborately explains, it is the scream and the rage behind it, that spurs us into possible action to want to change the world. He makes a point that we need to act to reject the world which we feel is wrong, even if we are uncertain about how impactful our efforts will be– for ultimately every small effort counts to building “a true world”.

To the question: “What would a true world look like? “, ergo why should we reject our current one through willingness to act and make the small or big changes?, this is how Holloway responds:

We may have a vague idea: it would be world of justice, a world in which people could relate to each other as people and not as things, a world in which people would shape their own lives. But we do not need to have a picture of what a true world would be like in order to feel that there is something radically wrong with the world that exists. Feeling that the world is wrong does not necessarily mean that we have a picture of a utopia to put in its place. Nor does is necessarily mean a romantic, some-day-my-prince-will-come idea that, although things are wrong now, one day we shall come to a true world, a promised land, a happy ending. We need no promise of a happy ending to justify our rejection of a world we feel to be wrong.

Basically, we need to act in hope that eventually we might get the world that we and our children deserve. But we must remember that it all starts with the scream!

 

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Questioning Privilege

Once in a while I am forced to accept that one of my superpowers is that of creating comfortable spaces for people to be. To laugh, cry, vent and/or just pour their hearts out. Of course I do consider this a privilege bestowed on me.

However, there are days when this privilege weighs on me. This happens on days when all I have to offer the world is a strong exterior to shield my ever soft interior. Officially these are the days, which the best decision to make would be to stay in bed, and if I really must be optimist, hope to cry into my company a loved one to just hold me.

Recently I had one such day. Against all odds I got out of bed and went to work, where later in the day I also had to avail my superpowers. I felt like crap because I had to acknowledge there was a reason for not staying in bed, but also because I didn’t feel entitled to the sombre feelings that made it difficult to get out of bed.

In part, because of the conversation I had while availing my superpowers, I felt exactly how I felt when my mother was in hospital and I was called to question my love for her. I saw no problems with her being in a public hospital, despite its poor reputation of care. One of the reasons was that I trusted with all my being that she will have the best care—given she was part of the health sector and also a health professional in the very hospital in question. So unabashedly, I held on to that trust despite everything else and in full knowledge that some other families had no such trust. For me, it was the latter that was more problematic to my being. It really was battling with privilege at a whole new level: privilege only by extreme comparison.

In what world should one have to feel comfortable by the idea that their own loved one will receive the best care on the basis of who they are? Is this really a fair and a just world?

The above questions asked from a vantage point of privilege can be tormenting. More so, on the dark days when one shouldn’t be dealing with the complexities of life. And it is simply not kosher to ask: do I, as a being, have the right to want to feel, just for a day, vulnerable? That is, suspend the long term view on life and simply focus on the short term needs that make me human…why does a sense of privilege make this a tall order to ask?

Hopefully, one day I will have the answers to my questions. Today, I shall simply take comfort in knowing that my ability to question privilege may just be what I need to live a properly examined life, where each day the battle becomes one of being while also letting others to be.

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Translation Woes …

Recently I was engaged in a brief translation task aimed, in part, at promoting multilingualism in our society. On the surface—despite the embedded politics, which I shall attempt to avoid—the task seemed easy. There was but a single expression to translate: “a proud service co-creator”!

The expression in question is the new tag line for the project I research under: Siyakhula Living Lab project. Living Labs operate under the philosophy that to create (or build) meaningful services or products, end-users have to be involved actively as innovators together with those who will provide or develop the services or products. To highlight this partnership between users and providers, words like “co-creator” and “co-innovator” are typically used.

Using the above as context for translating the tag-line into Sesotho, I crossly underestimated the dynamics of the language. I attempted to create a more or less direct translation: “moetsi-mmoho ea motlotlo oa lits’ebeletso”. This translation is not flawed, but from what I gathered, “moetsi” as a representative word for creator, brought a degree of confusion. Of course, I found this a bit surprising given we do have idioms in the day-to-day Sesotho that suggest “moetsi” is a familiar word that can be understood in context; the most popular idiom being “moetsuoa ha a lebale” (the victim never forgets) and by implication “moetsi oa lebala” (the perpetrator forgets).

As always, I took the criticism in my stride. And through the help of those who speak the language, I began to interrogate how the simple idea of working in partnership is communicated in Sesotho, particularly in a context of trying to emphasise the individual. As I re-engaged myself to the task, one thing was clear: anything with “ts’oarana ka matsoho” (holding hands) would be a lazy translation—precisely because the expression is popularly used and I didn’t want to take part in reinforcing a prevailing and very misguided idea that our African languages lack the capacity to serve the knowledge society.

Driven by my ‘politics’ and, of course, the desire to see the task to completion, I generated a number of translations. Ironically, many of these translations stemmed from attempting to run away from the holding hands metaphor. Some were literally centred on how the word ‘hold’ is used to convey different kinds of participation in collaborative work.

As an individual, I can communicate, in at least three ways, my role in collaborative work: 1) “ke a ts’oarisa”, 2) “ke a ts’oarisana” or 3) “ke a ts’oarisoa”. The first two expressions are similar in that I would (supposedly) be defining my role as one of helping (lending a hand), but in a manner that may suggest differing levels of commitment. In the third expression while the idea of teamwork is not lost, I am not necessarily being coy about my role and that of others in performing the task at hand: I am the lead and others are the supporting act. If you detect a hint of militancy, then it means you grasp the depth of the language; you appreciate that such an assertion is occasioned by circumstances that deviate from the norm—circumstances that warrant clarity on whether we are all in this (work) together as equals—“re Makaota, mmoho ts’ebetsong na?”

Again, I should stress that Living Labs operate under the ethos of ‘perfect’ partnership. That some animals may be more equal than others is a taboo.

With the above in mind, the following translation won hands down (or should I say hands out of the picture): “Tjaka ea tlama-thata kahong ea lits’ebeletso”!

In my (not very humble) opinion, this translation brings some oomph to the tag-line. “Tjaka” (used often as a synonym for “seithati”) embeds pride at a level that is dependent on how one chooses to interpret the word: epitome, role model, heroine or hero are a few possible candidates. The translation then becomes: A role model for building services in tight-unison!

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An intersection of mathematics and politics

The past Saturdays I have been volunteering as a Maths tutor for the Upstart Youth Development Project. As far as many of my beloved learners were concerned, Maths wouldn’t reside in a planet designated for languages. Maths would reside in a different and very distant planet with a hard to pronounce name— I would imagine, to banish it properly from the memories of people.

I found this disappointing but not entirely unexpected. So, in a slightly determined fashion, I decided one of my key priorities will be to help the learners locate Maths within the language planet. And, of course, allow them to gradually come to terms with the fact that another planet for Maths is as non-existent as Pluto.

In pursuit of this priority, I found myself in an unusually happy space where my politics intersected with Maths. We were discussing functions, which naturally one can’t discuss without establishing an understanding of relations: for a function is but a special relation. Different examples were given to describe multiple everyday relations. Most of these examples were not very exciting until we explored a relationship between Dr. Jacob Zuma and Mr. Mbogeni Ngema. Both men are polygamists and whether or not they have gone on record as pro-patriarchy is detail we suspend. I asked my beloved learners whether a polygamous relationship qualified as a function.

First, there was a reasonable pause in the classroom, as the learners work out whether such a relation qualified as a one-to-many or many-to-one relation. Then, we proceeded to do the obvious, represent the relation on the board, like as shown below:

polygamy_non_functional

Almost feverish with excitement, I realised that we had proven mathematically that polygamous relationships are not functional. And, of course, I used the moment productively. I brought into the discussion the idea of “contexts” as sensitively as I could, to explain why the two relational sets may not be swapped around. I argued (without using the term patriarchy) that the instinct to put the male set before the female set defines a very particular context to understanding polygamy as a cultural practice; a context in which a man is defined, for example, as the head of the family—ergo not an equal partner to a woman. I stressed that their instinct was tied to that context, as such, swapping of the sets will lead to a contradiction.

These are high school learners who are familiar with topics like ratios; so it really wasn’t difficult to leverage on this familiarity to cement my point. I simply reminded them that in ratios, the ratio of males to females in the classroom is different from that of females to males —a fact that has been drilled into them by their teachers and one I may need to revisit later with them.

With my learners reasonably convinced that the sets could not be swapped, the conclusion stood: polygamy, expressed in English, is not functional despite what the patriarchs may think!

I remain delighted by the conclusion. In entering what I regard as my political space, I managed to communicate, in subtle ways, how concepts are incrementally developed in Maths such that it eventually becomes possible to bring the idea of contexts to answering questions. I also found the language to communicate the embedded ethics in Maths. As a result, I was even able to dutifully explain the rationale I (and many other beautifully minded Mathematicians) use in marking:

You present me with just an answer and no work (or context to appreciate your thought process)…I will give partial marks on paper but I will certainly give full marks in my heart. Not in my (beautiful) mind but in my heart because that will be a loving act of instilling the value of labouring for your rewards.

This Saturday I will be playing around with the idea of restricting the domain of functions, I hope the idea of contexts will become even much more clearer. In the meantime, I am just looking forward to finding more “inspired” examples that may be useful in concretising concepts and the view of Maths as a language of variables, sets, functions, etc.

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Demystification and captured moment(s)

shift happensLast week wasn’t very amazing for me. Still, I had a few pure moments of feeling like I am not insane nor am I alone. The purity of these moments made it feel like peace as it ought to feel. And everything to combined into one glorious moment of feeling understood. A moment of forgotting why Soren Kierkegaard ever resonated with me, when he wrote “People understand me so poorly that they don’t even understand my complaint about them not understanding me”.

Upon reflection, it was also a moment of awaking to my own lack of appreciation: it seems to me that in my struggle for recognition I easily take for granted the core people that form my support system. What does this say about me? Not quite sure but I will trouble this shortly.

First let me put it on the record that I am grateful for all the support I have. I forget on many occasions to overtly express my gratitude but it doesn’t mean I am unappreciative. I know exactly who to count on for support. Just as I know that aside from my family and friends, I have people like Alfredo, my supervisor, who support me and accept my view of the world as sane.

I called out Alfredo by name for one reason: his presentation this past Wednesday was the source of my dear moments of being and awakening. The presentation was titled “How blue is the blue sky? A reflection on a research and (social) engagement”. It was a basic demystification of what is qualified as true and (by implication) false research.

Before I go any further about the presentation, let me make a disclaimer. I strongly believe that my research embeds my own biography in very nuanced and non nuanced ways. As a consequence, the slightest of things said in the academic arena, especially those that make me feel understood, tend to matter a lot to me. I put emphasis on a lot because I also view the academic space as one of my few areas of success; I am actually at that point in my life where it is no longer absurd that I can be married to the life of the mind – a life which with hard work, I can possibly flourish.

My disclaimer noted, I will proceed with the presentation details. Then, I will reflect on my precious moment(s) of awakening.

Salient points of Alfredo’s presentation

In my mind, there were two main points to the presentation. These points were weaved together by a number of examples that ensured you see them as strongly intertwined.

The first point spoke directly to the title. It’s all a fallacy that a dichotomy exists between “blue sky” and “ grass-roots” research. Blue sky research, as he qualified it, is believed to be “basic, fundamental and curiosity driven” while grass-roots research is “applied, directed and (possibly) community engaged”. According to Alfredo, the fallacy has been perpetuated by many claims left implicit about innovation; claims that unfortunately have a strong influence on how funding is channelled. He reminds us that we are society that loves hierarchies. That we assume blue sky research is “up there”, therefore it is much more innovative and deserving of funds comes as no surprise. What comes perhaps as a surprise, is that we fail to recognise that innovation doesn’t happen in vacuum. What may seem as fundamental and curiosity driven endeavour may in actual fact be a product of several well directed endeavours, which, without doubt, were curiosity driven. Curiosity, as he reminds us, drives everyone. To embellish a bit, curiosity is not a commodified resource, which some lucky few can afford while others cannot. Sayings like “necessity is a mother of invention” exist for a reason and, indeed, speak directly to a drive that is akin to how curiosity is used in blue sky research.

Now moving on to the second point, which is linked to the first, but stands by itself because it problematises funding and we all know that money matters can be tricky to deal with. Anyway, the point made –putting it as delicately as I can — is money doesn’t constrain a person to the point where we can imagine it adds/removes the possibility to innovate; money or no money, what remains fundamental is for the person to apply themselves (wholeheartedly) to the task at hand. To unpack this point, I will use one of the examples he made, but frame its interpretation on what he said as well as in what I believe he meant based on my own understanding of who he is. The example was, while it remains true that Michelangelo was paid to paint the ceiling of St. Peter’s Basilica, he applied himself and the result was ‘pure work of art’. Many researchers, especially those doing blue sky research, tend to be funded for their work. Like Michelangelo, they have a brief with all expectations outlined, but, as Alfredo reminds us, it doesn’t mean there is absolutely no room to innovate for the masses. That is, produce something “on the side” that may potentially be appreciated by the masses. The key however lies in how one applies themselves to the task. To truly grasp what I think he really means, one has to understand the following:

At heart, Alfredo believes while one may not receive a Nobel prize for their work, no contribution is invaluable. He believes creating hierarchies that suggest that some fields, area of expertise or any form of work is superior than others, is a fallacy. To him, any work done honestly and with the necessary effort that it deserves is worthy of recognition.

 

Back to my moments: what was the trigger?

Again, let me put yet another disclaimer. It’s almost always about me when I choose to pen anything down in this platform. To me, this a meditative platform that I can ‘trouble’ questions like ‘how do I easily forget that I have an awesome support system?’ And, of course, the question at hand, ‘what was the trigger for my precious moment(s)?’

My answer is simple yet difficult to articulate. I fail on many occasions to accept that while all people matter as human beings, not all matter within my small space of existence. This said, my moment put in context was also a moment of rejection. A rejection of those who think my work doesn’t matter. And a rejection of those who maintain hierarchies at all cost.

In my moment, I had the language given to me and I knew it was absolutely imperative to stop concerning myself with those in my outer circle, because, by so doing, I lose the plot and end up thinking that I am not understood. Worse still, I end up taking for granted people in my inner circle; the very people that cheer me on, fight with/for me and generally provide me with plenty of space to be me.

Only through rejection I realised that I had the opportunity to reclaim myself as a unique being. With my strong support system and warped sense of humour (that cracks me up but also lands me in trouble) I can never be alone nor feel misunderstood. Understood even in those moments when I am the only one laughing because those are the “I am, I am, I am!” moments. Moments, I repeat, of reclaiming myself and remembering that it takes me to understand who I am, before expecting that understanding from others.

I am, I am, I am! Grounded in self and being; a being that also includes engaging with what lies below the blue sky. This is who I am. And I am because I believe once each of us begins to be, then in our collective being, we can all contribute to something significant. Who knows? That something could be a world without hierarchies. Just imagine that, and for a moment, meditate on being by considering, for example, Ghandi’s words: “Be the change that you wish to see in the world”.

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Yet another reflection in appreciation of the truth

In December when I wrote my end of year reflection for Bokamoso Leadership Forum, I embraced the 30s as a defining period of one’s character – assuming, of course, there’s any ounce of truth to the saying, “life begins at 40”. I wasn’t at all trying to be defeatist about being in the 30s. I was merely trying to communicate how I was making sense of my own agency.

Unlike in my 20s, I don’t feel like I have the luxury of time. In many ways, I feel this urgency to have my affairs in order so that I can make a proper transition to adulthood (whatever this means).

I certainly appreciate it would take some work on my part to make the transition. But why does it have to feel like I am in a rocking boat?

For reasons unbeknown to me, I feel more and more convinced that I deluded myself in my 20s when I thought I was fortified to make decisions that I could account for. I second guess myself regularly, like it is a sport of sort. As a consequence, I often find myself caught in the horns of the ‘to be or not to be’ dilemmas. Just recently, my dilemma was: to be or not to be the woman who wears her heart on her sleeve? After much thought, I decided being that woman is who I am.

The result, however, was not what I expected. The storm of emotions rocked my boat. A journey stopped before it began. Sniffling and tears streaming down my face, I still managed to squeeze a laugh or two. I realised that, more than ever, the truth in my 30s carries more weight and value. And, what would have been a humiliating truth became but a humbling truth.

For me, this shift is very significant. Precisely because I think I would always want to be that woman, who wears her heart on sleeve. For I now realise that, that woman can be vulnerable, yet strong enough to form a positive relationship with the truth. Another thing, because of the clumsiness that often accompanies the truth, she can have a laugh or two at the expense of this clumsiness – for storms eventually pass and crying stops, irrespective of whether the tears were caused by the winds of the storm or raw emotions rooted in fear.