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This is one of my heroes and inspirations to be a better person and a better African. Patrice Lumumba. His birthday would have been on July 2nd, and he would have been 85. He was a man of vision, and his vision was one of a united, powerful Africa. It can happen. I know this because he would have never been murdered if it was impossible. They know how a powerful Africa could level the playing field, that's why they continue to have a go at our Achilles. We can still do it.
In the memory of our fathers and mothers, we have no choice but to rise, or face a future where those who have had no hand in our liberation victoriously walk over fields of our skulls.
Without dignity there is no liberty, without justice there is no dignity, and without independence there are no free men. - Patrice Lumumba '60
If you know me, you know that I *heart* kicks for real. You also know that I prefer small boutique stores and I certainly don't enjoy looking like everyone else. This Sneaker Freaker article really interested me and I feel compelled to share with the 3 1/2 people that read my blog.
In South Africa, the market is as small as a pin head, it's not easy to run an independent store that does more than break even. I think too many store owners adopt methods from overseas that can't fully work in S.A. We have to think of ourselves as 1000 steps back in terms of streetwear culture (that goes beyond chucks, dickies pants and spotties) in S.A. We are not a developed market in terms of individuality etc. and Joburg and Cape Town and Durban (where applicable) are easy enough to penetrate into when you're dealing with a handful of people, but when you're trying to get mass reach, that's when you walk into a brick wall.
For the first six years of my life, my family was very close knit, and made up of very few people. Well, compared to a lot of people, I guess my family was still very big. It was made of my parents, three siblings, my mother's four siblings, three of my cousins and two of my father's siblings. There were names that floated around during conversations about abuti such and such in exile or ausi mang mang ko Zambia but it never really registered what these people were doing in exile. I thought exile was a country and these people that my family kept referring to were living amazing lives and didn't have to worry about hippos, stay aways and such on a daily basis. I thought "the struggle" was in South Africa. In Soweto. Not in Pietersburg, because my coloured family lived the life there: nice houses that were made up of more than three rooms and bathrooms in the house and nice schools. And they never seemed to be concerned about stay aways, staying out of the way of marching IFP mobs, wondering where missing family and friends are, or any of that stuff that seemed to form my environment back home in Soweto.
1991 arrived. Mandela had been released and freedom was on the horizon. Lots of MK soldiers that we never thought we would ever see again were beginning to return home, and we sensed hope in the adults' voices when eavesdropping on their conversations. I remember the first time I heard Letta Mbulu's Not Yet Uhuru. My mother's eldest sister- whose name was just a figment of conversation between family members and never really a real part of our family- had finally arrived. She who they called Sesi. They didn't even call her by her real name. I couldn't understand why until I finally met her. She pulled everyone together, and spontaneously, there was a huge party right there in the yard. Struggle songs could be heard from the corners as neighbours came out to greet and party with the returning soldiers and people who had snuck out of the country decades earlier. This was the moment of the formation of my family as I know it now.
This was my first time. The drums combined Mme Letta's powerful commanding voice implored you to listen to her message. Not Yet Uhuru. Immediately, perhaps because I had become a product of my environment, I knew exactly what the song meant. That freedom will never be here until it is accessible to everyone in every corner in all of its manifestations. But, we stlil celebreated. We celebreated because we were alive, that we were together, that we had all found our way back to each other again. That our family had been reunited. Surely, better days were to come.
Tonight, driving through the leafy yet badly potholed streets of Bryanston en route to one of the poshest surburbs of Johannesburg- the wealthiest African city, almost eerily, the disk changer switched to Letta's CD. Of course I pumped up the volume and sang along. Four times. Then I found ened up in the middle of a conversation with myself about what it is that Africa needs in order to reach its full potential. This is a conversation I often have with myself, and it often leaves me back at square one. Without political will, meaningful public participation in governance and lawmaking, solid economic-educational-health policies, we are done for. We will never rise in the way that we can.
Phew. This is a long post. And it's late. It shall continue. Not Yet Uhuru.
As seen on the feet of my fav rappers that I like to hear rapping sexy and romantic vibes to a girl - Fabolous, Juelz and Pharrell (is Skateboard P a rapper? iono lol). I could def buy these for a boy. And for myself too.
Unfortunately, Gucci Mane has also been spotted rocking them. I wish he'd stuck to wearing those tasteless Gucci kicks I've seen him in.
I'm all alone in this world, she said, Aint for nobody to share my bed, Aint got nobody to hold my hand- The truth of the matter's I ain't got no man.
Big Boy opened his mouth and said, Trouble with you is you ain't got no head! If you had a head and used your mind You could have me with you All the time.
Man, Camp Lo just brings back memories! It was 1996, I was young and had already been culturally socialised (thanks to my brother) to understand hip hop and to love it. Even though I was an annoying 11 year old, my brother still kicked it with me and even taught me what a "bar" is and I was proud to be the one that schooled so many boys on such basic knowledge. My brother, who was in matric at the time, had previously tried to make me less boyish by buying me a Mariah Carey Fantasy single- and my favourite version was the one with ODB in it. There was just no hope for me.
So anyway, come 1996 and my brother was banging Camp Lo around the house and of course the big tune was Luchini. Well, hip hop just wouldn't be without a sample and in this particular instance, the legendary Ski (shame on you if you don't know who that is) sampled Dynasty's Adentures In Music. I still listen to Geechi and Sonny every now and then and it always leaves me smiling and yearning a little for the good ol days when talent was all that mattered. As with all of hip hop, beats are recycled- sometimes cleverly and sometimes really badly. Have a listen to Camp Lo's Luchini aka This Is It and decide for yourself whether it was a good sample and think about whether you've heard any subsequent samples from this.
If you have never heard of Camp Lo, kill yourself. (I know, that's real mature of me, hey?)
I love this exhibition. Invite 100 artists to go wild with Darth Vader's helmet, and they'll give you some amazing work. Mocoloco say that the exhibition has been travelling for four years and will exhibit in L.A before heading to Philly for auction. Too bad it didn't make it to Joburg City because I love this and so does my inner geek.
When I saw Solange post a link to this video, I ignored it- until a few seconds later when I realise that Solange herself had written the track. See, I'm more of a fan of Solange than Beyonce. I generally don't give Beyonce two glances; especially since I don't watch music television anymore, and I'm not a big music radio station person. Except on Sundaze. On Metro. Anywho, the other reason I paid attention to this video was because Melina directed the video, and I can't deny myself some Melina.
Why Don't You Love Me
Looking at it, the art direction is really fun, the wardrobe cool in that Beyonce way. Except, Bey wishes she was housewife material-she can't even cook to save her life. But ja, I love the song-you can tell that it's Solange's work - even though there's a credit for her sister (we know that story lol).
The song resonates so much with situations that so many women find themselves in, when they feel insignificant, like they are not good enough, and are not worthy of their partner's affection, even when they actually are. The worst thing about being in that situation is that it borders on emotional abuse. You find yourself wondering why such and such a person needs to stray to validate themselves when you- his wife (sexy, smart and all) are there waiting for him every night.
Why don't you love me? Tell me, baby, why don't you love me When I make me so damn easy to love? And why don't you need me? Tell me, baby, why don't you need me When I make me so damn easy to need?
I got beauty, I got class I got style, and I got ass And you don't even care to care Looka here I even put money in the bank account Don't have to ask no one to help me out You don't even notice that
But maybe he doesn't love her because- as she says; she's got beauty and she's got class. She never mentions intelligence. But it's Beyonce. lol
This is one of my favourite things to look out for on the TIME website. You have to go through the Pictures of the Week for a bit but some of the ones I enjoy follow.
I love all the volcano images- I don't know why, but I do love the glow and intensity of fire. At the same time, I also enjoy water images (hello, I'm a pisces). I also love the image of the vendor in Port-au-Prince (makes me think of Andrew). The image of the illegal weapons being set on fire in Nai...are those all the illegal weapons there? If so, I think I'll be moving the the East much sooner than I thought LOL. Another favourite definitely HAS got to be the image titled "13 Billion Year-Old Baby"- if that isn't beauty and testament to how amazing the cycle of life is...then I don't know what is. The image of the students looking at the Einstein manuscript gave me goosebumps...I know quite a few people who would be very interested in seeing that upfront. This is just so crass that I can't talk about it.
Above: 13 Billion Year-Old Baby
I love the picture of the waves crashing into the streets of Havana. Also love the overturned cars in Chile post 'quake. Lesson learnt: Nature rules. Man doesn't. The giraffes! A beautiful image and it pulled at my maternal heartstrings! I love nature in all its manifestations man. That shit with the Siberian tigers...then they wonder why the tiger went tiger and ate a trainer. I would also be pissed off if you trained me to do that; if man is so amazing, why can't it teach tigers to speak? At least the tiger would be able to warn you that it's getting annoyed with your condescending training. Tigers have pride too.
Friends that visit my house are always asking me why I have a porcelain model of an anteater in my house. It's my totem. If they are white, I have to explain away. Black people get it. But the story is kinda cool. My uncle has a big ant eater at the entrance of his drive way, and another uncle has named his farm Tlokwe. I was the apple of my grandfather's eye, and his nickname for me was Thakadu, so it's always with love when someone in my family calls me an ant eater (aardvark).
Here's the short of the story behind Thakadu.
Ke mo tlokwa Long ago, our totem used to be nkwe before we adopted Thakadu (ant eater) as our totem. This was after our people were preserved by the water found in wells dug out by diThakadu while we were in the wilderness after being defeated by Basotho.
LEBOKO LA BOTLOKWA
Re Mafifatswana a go rekwa ka kgomo,
Mafetakgomo a je motho,
Magadimana ntweng a a ja, ga a gadime,
Ba ha Mmakana a Mosima!
Bag a Musi! Mmolaa-moapei Moapeelwana a sale alla
Bag a Nkwenyana, a Nkwe o apareng?
KE APERE TAU!
I think being named for the anteater is a great honour. It means that like the anteater did for my people so long ago, I am more aware of my ability to preserve people when they are at their most vulnerable. If you ask any of my real friends, they'll tell you that this is definitely one of my more positive traits.
The song was originally sung by migrant workers who toiled in the bowels of Apartheid South Africa. In addition to facing oppression as black people, they experienced alienation from their families when they were forced to live away from their families in single sex hostels close to the mines of Apartheid South Africa.
The legacy of this element of the migrant labour system is the systematic and eventual break down of the African family unit: fathers, husbands and brothers left the reserves where black people had been banished to (let's not forget the Southern African migrant labourers whose sweat, blood and lives helped build the white economy), leaving mothers to fulfil both the role of mother and father in the home. Children grew up without fathers and the men working in the cities would eventually form new families in the city.
When these men sang Shosholoza, they weren't singing to celebrate that they had jobs, nor were they celebrating a victory. They were coping with trying to eke out a living in a system that was designed to break them, a system that controlled all of their movements at all times.
That is a small part of why I cringe everytime I hear the song being sung at sports games or in expression of some kind of South African pride. That and people sound like douche bags when they can't be bothered to pronounce the words when singing the song at rugby games while waving the old flag.
If you've received an email from me, chances are, you might have peeped my signature. Below is the full text of the poem, titled Desiderata, which is latin for "things desired". I was introduced to the poem by a friend who was in my life for just a brief period, and this was one of the greatest and most powerful gifts that he left me with. He was definately a value adder. LOL
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.
I'm currently reading a book by a really intelligent African woman, Dambisa Moyo-who, I might add, I really look up to. The book focuses on why aid is not the right way to go about stimulating and developing the African continent. In the book, Dambisa looks at how aid has developed in the past few decades, and she also unpacks the "industry" of aid. I call it an industry because that's the way i perceive the business of aid. I have had the aid conversation with friends from around the world, including those that work in the aid industry. I have always wondered how aid could be so gladly given to obviously intensely corrupt African governments. I've also just felt like aid only stimulates and strengthens the vicious circle of poverty in Africa. Governments who refuse to be accountable are often loaned money that they cannot conceivably and realistically pay back, and then more loans to pay off the other loans! See the circle already?
For Africans, corruption and underdevelopment is part of life, part of the routine. I once shocked myself when, in a conversation on the state of ruin that Lagos is in, I said that people in charge can skim a bit off the top, but could they please just get things done (craters in the road, infrastructure, clean water, sanitation). It's such a resigned attitude, and I really try not to be the person with that kind of attitude but sometimes it's really hard not to be that way. Anyway, back to the topic of aid.
So I haven't finished reading the book, but I just feel like some of what Dambisa says is just what I have been struggling to put across in certain arguments. This morning, I decided to read some reviews on her book and found some really intersting points of view. A review by Michael Gerson in the Washington Post is very defensive. I mean, I don't blame him because I'd also be defensive if someone told me all my efforts to save the world were actually self serving and weren't actually helping the people I actually meant to help- he feels like some aid does help; like the US Government's PEPFAR program that has helped many people, while shutting out those who advocate abortion and other ideals on reproduction and the female body which are contrary to the conservative ideas of the Republican Party of America (in other words, using aid as some kind of neo-. While obviously offended that Moyo has effectively rubbished the PEPFAR program, he doesn't give any other solid example of why Dead Aid is a waste of space in the aid discourse. He also dismisses Moyo's hopefulness for an Africa that doesn't rely on aid to function and to develop, and that, I think was the point where Michael Gerson proved himself to be a Counter-Revolutionary Tjatjarag Agent with White Tendencies. *har har i kill myself*
She doesn't tweet a lot-which is great because there are less brainfarts that way (I only have space for mine), but you can follow her on twitter or check out her website.
Female music video directors are scarce across the world and in any music genre, and it’s always great to find out that a great video was directed by a female. Melina is possibly the biggest female music video director on the scene right now- her showreel features names like Snoop, Lady GaGa, Beyonce, Solange, Ludacris, Mario, Kylie Minogue, Keri Hilson and a host of other A-List artists. Being of Greek/Jamaican/Cuban American decent, her heritage screams passion and art; which definitely translates into her art. A graduate of the American Film Institute and New York University, her videos normally scream colour, or crisp visuals (think Bey’s Upgrade U).
Her breakout video that got her really noticed in the American industry was Ludacris’ Money Maker, and in 2008 she had her African debut when she worked with MTV Base on their Making The Video project in Kenya, where she mentored a group of directors and producers as they shot the music video to Wahu’s banging track Little Things You Do that featured Bobi Wine of Uganda.
Watch the Wahu ft Bobi Wine below- it's one of my favourite tracks! Really, it is.
