Inspirational Prose

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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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Mother tongue delight

To speak a language is to take on a world, a culture.- Frantz Fanon

Today, as proclaimed by UNESCO, is International Mother Language Day. This is the day that each one of us is to delight in their mother tongue language: “to promote awareness of linguistic and cultural diversity and multilingualism”.

I shall delight myself by exploring the potency of naming in Sesotho. As we all know, names are intended to convey a message. The question is why would anyone, for example, name a road curve “moqato khaola”? Moqato, if I grant myself permission to be reductionist, is akin to that string in g-string. In the past, when men used to wear that ‘loin garment’ called ts’eea, we referred to the string holding the garment together moqato. So, translated in context, moqato khaola simply communicates how dangerous that particular curve is. It is so dangerous that it can break (khaola) that vital string, which when broken can shame a man. Notwithstanding the dangerousness of this curve, what delights me, particularly as a feminist that I am, is that this confirms to me that indeed women are the best drivers! Otherwise why are they not told to heed the danger?!

Moving right along. If my point is truly to demonstrate the potency of naming, then I think it is fitting to explore names given to some alcoholic beverages in Lesotho. I hope through this exploration, it would be evident why I find the subject of naming delightful. Below is a table with a few of my favourite names given to locally brewed “beer”.

NameLiteral translationInterpretation to the translation
Hata-butle-nchanyanaStep slowly my boy.Drink this but remember to take it easy ... nice and easy my boy or fall you shall.
Ithoballe-nchanyanaGo to sleep my boy.Drink this, it's lights out my boy... the question of home or not becomes mute.
Lebitla-le-ahlameThe grave is open.To drink too much of this beverage is but to make an appointment with death.
Qhoma-o-checheJump and take a step back.Drink this and you might just feel light on your feet: you will walk with a bounce but it might just be a case of "moving two steps forward and one step backward".
Sekipa-se-ntekaneT-shirt is enough for me.Drink this and suddenly it gets so hot ...you might just start stripping and possibly leave your blanket behind; blankets are expensive so this is not desirable at all.

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Birding: An Inspiration for Courtship

What do I know about birding? Very little, indeed! Still, since I have already entered the realm of birders in my last posting, I thought one additional flight wouldn’t possibly hurt.

However, to ensure that I don’t overstep on any boundaries, I will confine my flight to the courtship zone. This zone appeals to me for a number of reasons, but mostly because it gives me a rare insight into the minds of the men from my part of the world.

I come from a world where birding is an activity that is generally enjoyed by members of the opposite sex, especially those who have herded and cared for livestock as young boys. I suppose this can be explained by the fact that herding typically happens in the wild where mother nature happily provides her lessons while inspiring most of the entertainment for the lads. Naturally, I could be wrong to assume there is a connection between spending time in the wild and having an affinity for birding. But frankly, my experience as a “supposed bird” suggests otherwise.

During courtship, I have been enthralled by prose filled with awareness of nature (the environment including the birds) from those with herding experience. They have proven to have an ability to spin a mundane expression like “nonyana e ts’oaroa ka menoto”, which suggests that a bird is ‘captured’ by its legs, to flatter a star like Tina Turner and mortal like me.

Of course, given the magnificent legs of Tina (that apparently go on forever), the prose used would liken her to a mystical secretary bird — yet to be seen, even by twitchers of note. This mysticism, in my opinion, is possibly conveyed by a spirit of another bird that can satisfy a deep yearning for reciprocity. My guess would be a bird in the sparrow hawk family. Apparently if you ask really nicely, “seotsanyana, nkopele” 1 (sparrow hawk, flap your wings for me), it spreads its wings and hovers in the air as though to say: “happy to delight you”.

Unlike with Tina, for me attention would be on something else, perhaps the colour of my feathers (personality). The legs wouldn’t play much of a factor. The legs would be mere instruments for grabbing hold of me — or to be precise, my attention, so I don’t escape before considering the prospects of nestling the would-be beautiful babies that my suitor and I could have.

On this ‘nestling’ note, let me gracefully land and/or end my flight. I hope the view has been spectacular. And to a degree, I hope through my courtship experience(s) I have managed to provide a small insight into some aspects in my language and/or culture that I am yet to find the words to fully articulate ;-)!

  1. This comes from a traditional (folk) song, which was perhaps popularised by the late Sefatela at the turn of this century. ↩
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Tears of Gratitude for a Rare Bird

[I] say not in grief ‘he is no more’ but in thankfulness that he was.- Hebrew Proverb

For over a decade, on this day I have a private sobbing session. This morning was no different! I woke up and allowed myself to succumb to overwhelming feelings of fondness from simply remembering memories of a life that is no more.

I snorted and cried like an inconsolable child, especially when I realised my own selfishness/foolishness. Until today, it never quite dawned on me that my loss wasn’t just mine. There are loved ones out there, who might have understood all this time, that I have this sobbing session to simply acknowledge that indeed I have experienced love in my life time. A love from an imperfect but caring uncle, who was very protective of his family. A man who convinced me, among many other things, that it is not blasphemous to declare Bob Marley a saint (and in my opinion, “a true heritage icon for the world” )!

My all-rounded uncle, malome-rangoane Sammy, graces us no more with his wings in the air, but I am sure glad that I remember with great fondness his flight. To me, he remains a rare bird that I am thankful to have seen fly and grace the skies of my existence, even if only for a fleeting moment.

So, with unabashed gratitude, today (and in the future) I will allow myself to sob and/or weep for this rare bird, for its flight (including the gliding away flight) remains memorable to me. In part, because a certain realisation of its glorious purpose (at least to my life) deepened in death, much like a thorn bird reaches its potential in death. (Arguably, this may sound warped, but I do believe in the idea of death bringing out the most glorious sound from a thorn bird.) For this reason, I cannot curse death; I can but cleanse my soul with tears of gratitude and let the words “memento mori” propel me forward!

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Vuka and Spruce up the Language!

Vuka, awake! A season of rebirth or new beginnings has arrived. For many people, including myself, it is a season for de-cluttering our emotional, intellectual and physical environment. A season in which we are inspired by nature itself to create space for new ideas, people and things.

As we de-clutter, we ask ourselves a number of critical and reflective questions to rid ourselves and our environment of certain things, while we keep or protect those things that we cherish. The question is: do we ever remember to ask questions that may allow us to value language in the context of our environment? I don’t just mean in terms of using language to send positive vibes in our environment; I mean in terms of truly reclaiming ourselves, and connecting deeply to our environment and heritage!

Indeed, I am well aware of the increasing and commendable efforts by many countries and individuals to protect their environment and heritage. But when it comes to dealing with language, I feel the spirit of lumping together the protection of the environment and heritage is lost.

Otherwise put, although language is central to heritage, I think we have done a poor job in framing its importance within the context of the environment and its protection. As such, I think people still have difficultly in seeing the extend of the overlap between issues of the environment and that of heritage (cultural or otherwise). They fail to see the embeddedness of issues of heritage within the broad set of issues of the environment. Mathematically speaking, they fail to conceptualise heritage issues as but a proper subset of environment issues.

In my mind, without this conceptualisation, being connected to the broad vision of the country, continent or planet would remain a challenge. At the moment, though saving the rhino is as important as saving my Sesotho language, I sometimes forget this truth. While this is an embarrassing admission to make, with the arrival of spring, I hope to wake up permanently from a slumber that sometimes denies me of this truth.

Happy spring to all. May the beauty brought by the season inspire us to spruce up our views on language … to see beyond its functional use … and be moved to find ways in which we (re)enchant its use to (re)connect to the richness of our heritage and the environment as whole!

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Richness Symbolised

Below is the work of a (relatively) young artist, Michael Selekane, which I acquired in 2009 during the Grahamstown Arts Festival.

When I was rich by Michael Selekane

When I was rich

To this day, I remain very grateful that I made the acquisition. I didn’t have the 850 ZAR that it cost, but like a vulture I circled the piece for a few days until I could no longer resist the temptation to sink a little bit deeper in the abyss of credit card debt. I was beyond certain that I had to have it: I was completely smitten and besotted by the piece that the mere thought of it gracing someone else’s wall brought sinful imagery in my mind, heart and soul.

Looking at it, and reading through the title itself, “when I was rich”, I understood like never before that richness has so many dimensions to it. I understood why the voice of nkhono ‘Machale –the granny that took care of my two sisters when they were babies– had so much affection when she referred to her home as leqhofa; a Sesotho word for a deteriorating house left by a deceased loved one –typically male because of the (customary) laws of ownership.

For nkhono ‘Machale, her house, which was smaller but akin to the one captured by Selekane was a home because it represented the richness of her life. It is perhaps unfortunate that it took Selekane’s work to truly appreciate this fact. In my mind, she was poor to the day she died. I neglected all the other possible dimensions to richness. The contentment, joy, and gratitude that nearly celebrates everything, from the sunrise, the birds to having something to eat, a roof over your head, and a neighbour that is sincerely interested in knowing how you are in greeting you.

I am yet to attain such richness of life but I am nonetheless fortunate to have a symbolic reminder on my wall of what I aspire for. An honest and simple life with many dimensions to it that quantify its richness!

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Planter, Seed and Faith

He planted his seed. Neither the climate or the season were appropriate. But still, he held onto the belief that one day the seed shall become a magnificent tree. A tree that will blossom and bear fruits to humanity.

When that day arrived, all he ultimately hoped for — perhaps as a true test of his faith or seed — was for the tree to understand the thinking of the planter. And through that understanding, to become one with the aspirations, hopes and dreams that lay dormant in the infused seed.

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Frankly in Awe

When I desire a downtime with some hint of enjoyable intellectual stimulation I listen to Sankomota. I started this ritual not so long ago while feeling a bit homesick. And I continue with it because I am on a very private quest to truly appreciate and/or understand Frank Leepa.

Baholoane (elders) have always declared that he was a (musical) genius, but the ‘ageist’ in me took the declaration with a pinch of salt. I believed he was good but thought the use of genius was a stretch; precisely because baholoane, true to their nature, weren’t keen to explain/justify/defend their declaration.

Now, here I am; ready to read from the same page as baholoane – or rather, sing the same tune with them! How and when did I get to this place? This is rhetorical; destiny has beckoned me to where I am. The question is: can I differentiate myself from baholoane and provide an explanation, however flawed, of why I think Frank Leepa is a genius?

For me, his genius lies in how he imbues latent messages into his (or more accurately Sankomota’s) songs. I think it is absolutely awe-inspiring. Listening to a song like Obe you find melody and lyrical depth encapsulated by humour, wit, sarcasm, irony and whatever else you can think of. Of course, this all depends on interpretation!

Obe: Ode of note

Obe for those who may not know is based partly on J.P. Mohapeloa’s literary works. Obe is a beast that a girl meets for the first time after entering married life. The first part of the song is about describing this beast from the girl’s perspective. It is also about her reaction and the response of the knowing adults. The second part of the song is a plea to humanity, requesting a change for the better. This plea is very powerful, in part because of the wonderfully heavy voice making it: Tšepo Tšola’s voice!

Distinguishing the parts is trivial: the first part is in Sesotho while the second is in English. The triviality, in a small way, contributes to Frank’s genius. What spells it for me (in a big way) is how he fused the two parts together. I personally give him credit on two main counts:

  1. For the instrumentals that transition the listener from one part to the next. For me, these instrumentals create an exceptional bridge that allows me to pause and soak in the sounds from different musical instruments, float with each note, but still remain grounded in the harmony of sounds created in concert of each other.

  2. For the crafting of the overall message, which can simply and elegantly be reduced to: “Make love not war”! Once you understand what each part is about, the clue for making the reduction (or rather deduction) lies in the second part of the song. Specifically, it is embedded in the following words (or at least based on my interpretation): “You are robbing each other. You are killing each other. […]. There must be some way to bring this change. Why don’t you reach out and touch somebody’s hand?“

Malala Pipe: Dream of hope

In Obe, Frank is a force in the background. To appreciate his genius/talent both in the background and foreground, I believe no song does it better than Malala Pipe. Beyond writing and working on the arrangement of the song, in its performance he leads in every sense of the word. The guitar, his instrument of choice, dominates and he, not Tšepo Tšola, leads the vocals.

What makes Malala Pipe an absolute work of art is its simplicity. The message of the song is simple yet profound. Hearing the unmistakable voice of Tšepo trail behind gently and powerfully in the background enhances the message even further. Conviction as a word and emotion get personified through Frank’s voice. In my mind, this allows one to see Frank Mooki Leepa in a whole new light that also cements his calling in life.

Apart from getting to enjoy the authentic voice of Frank in Malala Pipe, there is a layer of depth for those of us who expect a little hidden treasure from his songs. For me, the treasure is buried in the chorus: “Umalala, Malala pipe; Umalala, Malala pipe no more”. This roughly translates to “you sleep in the trenches; you sleep in the trenches no more”. An in-context translation yields an interpretation suitable to satisfy two kinds of people: those whose luck has run out entirely and those with lady luck still on their side but have not yet self-actualised.

I certainly admit that for those in the latter group, to get an appropriate interpretation, the chorus may need to be unpacked a bit. Mainly in that every individual has to be connected to a pipe laid down as a conduit to channel God’s love and purpose for each one of us. But unlike ordinary pipes, we need to self-actualise, hence the statement “Malala Pipe no more“. I could attempt to justify how I got to this interpretation, but I think the lyrics of the song say it all – and perhaps, in a small way, also reflect why I am frankly in awe of the late Frank Mooki Leepa:

I believe
you were born for greatness
the light in your eyes
is a spark of God
I believe oh, oh,
a child is born with a heart of gold

Umalala, Malala pipe
Umalala, Malala pipe no more

I believe
man was born for greatness
and the light in his eye is a spark of God
I believe oh, oh,
Oh oh, a child is born,
with a heart,
a heart of gold

Umalala, Malala pipe
Umalala, Malala pipe no more

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