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Sweet Bitter Disaster

A friend (once granted short-term benefits) has made me an offer I chose not to resist. I am indeed very grateful for it. It was a wonderful gesture for our friendship and, believe it or not, an affirmation to my worthiness.

It was also a test of sort, encapsulating a number of questions about my own personal beliefs and values. To be honest, some of the questions existed only because of the “once granted benefits”, which nearly costed us our friendship, alas indirectly. The actual cause was a single episode I term “la koloba”; taken from a Sesotho expression “a le nyaea la koloba”, which means to be lost for words.

Because of this episode, I nearly severed our entire relationship (not just the benefits). However, it wasn’t because I was blameless. I just couldn’t accept the convenience of words momentarily disappearing, given that I had continued to possess them in a situation that clearly called for my protection. In ghetto terms, the situation required for him specifically (as a friend or “benefactor”) to have my back! The details themselves were not at all relevant; it was about “seeing the forest for the trees” situation. Seeing that inaction, in whatever form, amounted to being rejected (not just at a conceptual level, but at the core of my existence).

With the above said, if I were to poetically describe the “la koloba” episode to capture the broad context of what had happened and what happened, I would put it as follows:

He was cowardly and I was feisty.
But this didn’t spell a disaster.
Our backgrounds or timing did.

We perhaps lacked the maturity to see this fact.
Or, we were untrue with ourselves to see the brewing disaster:
Gratifyingly sweet for the body and mind in the shared private moments;
Plainly and crudely bitter for the soul under the watchful eyes of the public.

Musical prelude, it is happening … there is no going back.
We have stepped in the abyss of the movie of our own making.
The cowardly soul yearns to be engulfed in a silky world filled with self.
The feisty soul yearns to be shielded without the silky frills of vanity.

A bruised butterfly in the abyss, seeking the protection of a cocooning soul,
What a truly sweet and bitter disaster!

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Words

Sometimes I express myself in silence and through observation.
Other times I express myself through laughter and dance.
And the rest of the time I express myself gladly in words.

Yet words have proven to be unreliable and unfaithful to thee:
They flatter and condemn even when my intentions are pure;
They delight and confuse even when my mind is filled with clarity;
They heal and injure even when I purposefully leave them unspoken in my heart.

Words, you are a double-edged sword that tantalises and taunts my existence.
You are a lifetime friend and foe that truly defines my essence.
So, I will never turn my back on you – the colourful ink of my soul.
For you give life and spirit to the (im)potency of my expression.

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If He Wrote a Letter

If he wrote a letter, it wouldn’t be to finalise a will.
It also wouldn’t be to justify an entry to heaven.

If he wrote a letter, it would only be to say: “I have lived and I am thankfully”!
And signed or unsigned, we would all know that in death his was the last word.
So death, listen and be not proud; for you remain a medium without expression.

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Heralding Spring

A season for springing into action to spruce things up (after a slumber) has arrived. Below is my tribute to this wonderful season of new beginnings:

Lumela selemo,
Selelekela sa lehlabula,
Kobo ea rona mafutsana!

Kapa ka leleme la moo bokholoa, u batla ke re:
Molo, abusheni, sanibona, avuwani?
Hore na u batlang,
Tseba hore ke tla phethisa;
Hoba u lehakoe la pelo ea ka.

Ha u fihla kea nyakalla.
U tla le mofuthu oa letsatsi.
U tla le meloli ea linonyana.
Ho feta moo, u tla le botle ba lithung-thung.

Selemo! U se u fihlile.
Ke thabo le monyaka feela ho ‘na.
Malume boo!

An in context translation of the above is as follows:

Greetings (in Sesotho) to you spring,
The prelude of summer,
The blanket for us the poor!

Or you prefer a greeting in the language of this land,
(which I have seemingly made home)? 1
Whatever your preference,
Know your wish is my command;
For you are a precious stone in my heart.

When you arrive I become blissful.
You come with the warmth of the sun.
You come with the melody of the birds.
Moreover, you come with blossoms of beauty.

Spring! You have arrived.
Joy and happiness reign supreme in me.
I triumphantly herald you!

  1. This implication is embedded in the use of the word bokholoa, which refers to a place where a long-term absentee from the motherland (lekholoa) resides in. ↩
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A Tribute to African Rocks

As you may know, today is women’s day. It is a day we remember and celebrate the courage and the role played by women in building the new South Africa. Specifically, it is a day we remember the birth of an inspiring song for all women: “wathint’ abafazi, wathint’imbokodo”! Translated in context: “you strike a woman, you strike a rock”!

This song is an apt reminder that women, like rocks, are impenetrable and cannot be moved easily once geared for action. Their intimate knowledge of oppression, pain and joy fuels their inner strength, creating a bond which enables them to be rooted in their action.

With the above said, allow me to specifically pay homage to the ordinary women of Africa. I believe they are absolutely amazing beings 😉

I salute you, ordinary women of Africa! You are the rocks, the heart and soul of our continent. When hope ceases to exist, you become the embodiment of hope. You dig deep within you to find the strength to overcome the challenges and struggles of life. Through your actions, I know that the extraordinary comes from the ordinary. And through you, I know the African dream is realisable. African women, you rock!

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Heart’s Desire

August being women’s month in South Africa, I decided to (re)engage with the question: am I a woman? In the biologically sense, I am a woman; there is no doubt about the matter! However, from the cultural perspective this is debatable. In my mind, it seems marriage and/or motherhood are the only determinants of womanhood. And since I am neither, I am making the most of my situation with a healthy degree of disdain (to bring just an ounce of envy into my life 🙂 ). This is indeed what inspired the poem below:

Ba re: ke lefetoa,
Ke lehana puso.
Ha ke tsoa ka lehlafi,
Ha ke arabe lipotso.
Ke ea ha pelo-ea-rata.
Ha ke khutla,
Ha ke tenoe ka lipotso.
Hoba moo ke tsoang,
Ke ha pelo-ea-rata!

‘Na ke re: ebang balekane,
Eseng ba salang!
Hoba ha pelo-ea-rata,
‘Musi ke pelo;
‘Moloki oa thabo le khotso!

A close to literal ranslation of the above is as follows:

They say: I am one passed over 1
For I refuse governance.
When I walk out of the door,
I answer no questions,
I go to where my heart desires.
When I come back,
I am bothered by no questions.
Because where I come from,
Is where my heart desires!

My response is: be partners,
As opposed to those left behind!2
Because where the heart desires,
The governor is the heart;
The protector of hapiness and peace!

  1. As in: I have been passed over for marriage ↩
  2. To unpack this statement, one needs to briefly explain the construction of the words ‘molekane’ (partner) and ‘mosali’ (woman) in Sesotho. Molekane is derived from the word ‘lekana’, which means equal. ‘Mosali’, controversial as this may be, is derived from the word ‘sala’, which means remain (or be left). I know some may argue why ‘mosali’ as opposed to ‘mosala’? For this, my response is: Sesotho is a language that operates in the subtle and overt modes. In the former mode, guided by reasons that range from respect to diplomacy, construction of words is based on the art of distortion. Of course, there are instances where the distortion might have been purely motivated by a sense of economics (i.e. to shorten things a bit); for example, it is much more economical to refer to maja-a-ikana (those who plead their allegiance as/before they eat i.e. “pray”) as majakane just to quickly convey a message. This said, the simple point I am trying to make is that the word ‘mosali’ embodies a degree of distortion but one that was intended to show respect for the role of the traditional woman in staying behind to look after the children. ↩
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My Swan Experience

The annual Grahamstown National Arts Festival is over. I hope the event delivered on its promise and offered an “amazing” experience to all patrons of the arts. Personally, I remained amazed at all times. Mostly at the good quality and variety on offer; but on few occasions, by the ‘no value for money’ type of performances, which paled in comparison to what one would expect!

Now that the festival fun has ended, it is time to move on with life as we know it :-(. Before I proceed with mine, I would love to share with you my swan experience. I watched the Swan Lake for the first time ever and I thoroughly enjoyed it! A few days later, I watched Three is a Crowd, a contemporary dance performance with a piece on the swan. This piece, similar to the ballet performance, was beautiful and graceful.

However, despite this seemingly satisfying experience, I was left with this nagging question: what makes a swan a fascinating creature? Upon reflection, I realised that through my pursuit of (Western) cultural capital, I had somehow learnt to see (and perhaps define) a swan as a seriously wonderful and numinous creature. As a result, it was easy to be wowed by the performances without connecting emotionally to what was being expressed through dance. In fact, I think as soon as I saw the white tutus, my mind was in autopilot and this simply made my swan experience a mind over heart experience. In some ways I guess this was expected. I grew up not knowing anything about the swan; I grew up knowing a peacock as the only graceful and beautiful bird.

Growing up, I continuously heard “pikoko e khaba ka masiba”, an expression that alludes to the beauty and grace of the peacock as imbued by its feathers. For this reason, as a young girl all I ever wanted was to be decorated like a peacock so that I could walk with my head held high. Here I am talking about that gentle and confident walk better described in Sesotho as “ho tebuka o ba o khethela leoto sebaka”. Basically, in this walk, one appears as though they are gracefully contemplating placement of each foot before moving. It is like they are communicating a sense of worthiness that is symbolic of love in its purest forms. So you can’t but help to see beauty permeating from the walker just as you see beauty of the peacock.

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String me up

Yesterday I went to a jazz performance by Selaelo Selota and (ntate) Ngwako Manamela. Lets just say because of the vibes, it was indeed a hot night in Grahamstown 🙂 .

At one point of the show, I really wished I were a guitar to be played. I had this sense that through it, I could go on this journey of an untold destination, which I felt as I listened to the music. I guess whoever said that music was the food to the soul was correct because what I felt transcended my physical being. Hence this feeling I had of wanting to go to an untold destination. (And of course, by subtle implication with Selaelo as my companion because ntate Ngwako simply invoked an image of my own father!)

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