Song of the solitary left eye tear drop by Paul Njabulo Vilakazi - HTML preview

Chapter four

With now the between up until now, Massa and another Abject Gentrification General Elections 2024 in the Slaves Acres done and dusted,

Teamswallos and Less Uvava chose to repose on 7TH June 2024,at Teamswallows’ paternal clan’s Grand-Pa, Motete Leeu’s home at Sharpeville since their last visit during Sharpeville Day - a paternal Grand Pa in the Indigenous tradition, and Teams’ favourite old relative, who is today home, would be one of the same branch as your direct Grand Pa- with which to Grandly celebrate what they have chosen to call the ‘S.A. Sankofa Day Is Ultimately Come Day’ , the visit to this established family griot ,is more than important, to begin to lay the foundation for Team and Less ,envisaged project going forward and to reflect on the longish journey, they have travelled to this Post Elections Day, through the angst preceding the elections, to this one day among a few politically most miasmic ones with a giant identity crisis , trying to find for themselves a Coalition or Government of National Unity, yet more politically closed to citizens ,since the open mammoth Nelson Mandela ,F.W De Klerk showdown ,broadcast world wide on Television screens ,as they had tussled onto a confidence breakdown and out of it later ; before almost finding each other in the initial Government Of National Unity.

Declaring the S.A. Sankofa Day, has come to not ever to duck out again, to reach out more to their past and wrench it out of the centuries old snare of colonisation; they had decided to ask Lizbet –Motete, Oupa- Grand Pa’s daughter to cook some Indigenous scrumptious meal, that is would be washed down with her home brewed Umqombothi, that is also primarily

allowable to be sipped before meals and significantly as visitors enter a designated home for Ancestral Celebrations to encounter and beat one, with any of the family , extended family members , friends and neighbours .

They right now savour this beer brewed and on ,for a few days before today, by Lizbet and is sipped first and foremost by Grand-Pa, from the same calabash that all thereafter take a sip from, they are sitting under tree shade reminiscent of the true Indigenous way of re-enacting this kind of celebration by their Ancestors to be merry and tell stories of both old and currency.

Teamswallows as her feisty wont allows her comes up to lead the conversation : ‘As I Stepped out and leaving you ,outside the voting station hall Cuz,I felt forlorn and wondering, as to why should it be real that you can’t cast a vote in your direct ancestral home as an African -American with a truer Slave Acres citizen mother of most hegemonic genes Paul Kruger descent and that of Ba-Hurutse ,you could not vote, except being left alone with a motley mixed ethnic citizens; who were keenly watching that you must not ever step into that hall be cause ‘clealy’ you were a ‘Nigerian’ as the most dumb lot of our people regard most hefty-dark-skinned English monolingual descendants of the Motherland in South Africa as nothing but ‘Nigerian’…

Out there I was reticent to sneak in, notice to yourself ,that some were actually making jokes about some Nigerians, who have not so long ago have evidently taken over the land as new Baas on our stoep ,who can even slap around our cops ,with guns in their holsters hanging like the balls of mange

sickly dog…And calling out to them, as ; “Yes Sir, Sorry Sir…” and how on this august day in the land this one day he will never even for an inch ,walk in there to rig all the bliksem se votes, as clearly suggested one ,he is uncle S.P’s plant, being brought here even by Takalane the President’s ‘favourite girl;’

that is after an old homie had spotted me in queue and excitedly jumped on me calling out my now defunct and obsolete name…Being with a foreigner who spoke only English though Black in colour, gave all credence to the

‘assured’ speculation.

So, to play it very safe, I kept all from you ,lest you panicked and begun to show it. So it was a mightiest relief to walk into the voting zone all alone and those who gave you some smiles ,especially realizing you are from out of the U.S., it gave a spat of a modicum of relief from the whirlwind that had begun to form.

I had walked in there armed with a Smart Threesome Selective vote assuring me, I would make a meaningful vote between those with whom I had discussed this Strategic Vote, to help us bring about the fruits of our Sankofa-Sharpeville moment-just remembering that and knowing we knew, that which we had thought ,we knew no more…

For me the most annoying Ballot Paper, was the one housing the Independents, I definitely had apportioned my vote for one and the name did not prop up; then a kind of nick name purporting some guts showed up and I made my cross against that one.

There was hardly no voter education even to alert us on this one list ,some would show up with nick names…Almost psychically working for me, one name appeared forth, sounding very close to Less Uvalo and I just thought: That’s the one, one who promises to dare the prevailing system right up-front; that is the least I Had fund appeasing and ta… Got my vote just because it sounded so close to the voice of 1976 whose sharp rhetoric my older folk always shared with me ; kind of young lions who sang : ‘U Vorster uya baleka…UVoster Uya baleka…’ And brazenly declared as if in refrain and with holy licence to declare- ‘Vorster shall never go to heaven…Vorster shall never, Vorster shall never go to heaven…’

Clearly this Independence was not by his name ,soliciting your vote, but grabbing it forcefully out of your doubtful hand…Suddenly and out of the blue, my voter climax was reached and I could stride out there sated to the brim …

Strangely by some encounter with a strange but boldest name ever, in my voting years.

We always had known what we thought we had not known; our S.A.Sankofa moment is alive a kicking before us; we overlook it to our greatest peril

.Whether Izo Zala Some Government Of National Unity or Of Foolish Dis-Utilities , our S.A. Sankofa moment Is come…We now know what we always had known…’

Less Uvalo marvels as always, ‘Wow, what anodder dissertation moment Cuz,yet now so real an palpable as I had directly experienced an some of de folk mixed deir lingo wif a bit of English, Ah knew ,Ah wuz a real sores-thumb unwelcome an in many ways seen as a sewer rat ‘snitch’ in da language of da honkie town, an in da language of ma homies- nark rat fink , t’ watch thru dis episode of elecshions; it brought back smack in mah face ya young days growin up at So- sure ’n Grove, Team and Pardon Gran-Pa fer a dash of impolite language…’

Oupa Motete almost laughing but smiling juts in ,in response :I am in fact thrilled by both your informative dialogue ,including what Takalane then and I once together savoured the Duma Khumalo story, as we sat together in his monologue theatre sitting on an old Gogo’s chair , when she had last visited; though I don’t remember her staying in some White Suburbia ,with Grove at the tale, since I have known her as baby including her now American sounding name Teamswallows is only made beknown to myself as you used it Less…No harm meant, just my inquisitive self noting the so far unknowns…

And also Less Uvalo ,I will only be begrudgingly calling you the unfortunate half of your name Less monikered Less ,to Prefix your real full Indigenous name ,I was on the request of this meeting I was Whatsapped it in its full and rightful sense - AkanaUvalo- a name of the Gods indeed…

As Team laughs out loudly at her Grand Pa, humility and Less smiling softly

,and adding Ok Gran Pa as there is nothing American about you,be at home to spell out my full name ,in its rightful Indigenous form.

Team explains that by So Sure ‘n Grove ,Less means - Soshanguve- and they all laugh- while there is also nothing American about Teamswallos ,as it is just about the reconfiguring of her besmirched name, since the President of Slave Acres trashed it in a most grotesque political caricaturing speech, thus ending up opening all and sundry’s eyes now as they hear the mention of name,Takalane - a thing that was never there in the past, as every citizen understood it, as just another home name and sure as my name is ,but it was really my direct own name, as he was once close to my family and thus tweaked between his first hand knowledge of my family-which he was very close to- rise from ashes of poverty to reasonable family stability; if I had had called the whole extended family, to explain my change of name, I would get a slew of turgid gas-lighting proses, defenestration, from- gal you need to slaughter some animal to notify the ancestors about that damn change of name - some, no big deal gal for sure, there are too many Tintswalo’s across the country, to make a mountain out of a mole hill about it and about the President you will fail to sue successfully ,as he will tell you, you ain’t got no trade mark on that name…

So my dearest Oupa,to avoid this traditional name, now wrapped in barbed wire tirades fired at me ,also in a family meeting where perhaps only you

would comprehend my nascent hurt ,I gotten to save you from being tarnished with a common brush with myself and took all into my own hands.

Oupa Motete Stoically coughs a mix of cough and soft laughter: Well Team,in your remade form, you are not the first one in this family to name themselves; I was named after my own Grand-Pa ,Joshua and only learned late in my growing teen days ,that his Indigenous name was Motete and for perhaps Wesleyan Preacher that he became in life, the name Motete was never used lest it perhaps rattled the on the ground local church Markets…Of a subtler township religious brand of laissez-faire : pretending to be far less than hard nosed driven Markets all the way, as they instituted most swifter missionary subterranean ethnographers to find ways of imbuing of Total Strategy Religious Pogroms into the unsuspecting put to sleep human mind…

Another touchstone spark on Joshua’s civilly mien, was fact that he a Motaung yet second and third generation of a mix of the Hollanders and the Abantu’ and Motete chortles, ‘I guess, causing him always to read from the Vintage Hollander Version of the bible an only to exegete from it , in Sesotho- the chip on his shoulder, I suppose would have been clearly torpedoed by the banding about of his name Motete, which other Bataung had gleefully had even as a Surname. And now he laughs out more loudly joined in the mirth evidently by Teams’ muffled laughter …

I guess Akana Uvalo, is wondering as to what’s all the fuss about the name Motete, had it suffered the same scourge like those Indigenous names I know woefully and gratuitously get derided in the U.S?

So for his sake and perhaps for your re-conscientization Team, let me cut straight to the chase. Ordinarily my dearest nephew Motete means Asshole and while I am not sure how, Grand-Pa came to earn it …Such names showed up when a baby was born in succession of others who preceded them dying in infancy, so do to let this one to survive, they had to distract the ogres of darkness and jealousies in the realm of ancestral abodes by naming this one child ,as though it were a useless thing that has just arrived to the family, such that if it were a girl, they would be earn a name such as Matlakala-Dirt, Ntja-a Dog and even Motete-Asshole and indeed these named such survived to leave into old age… So if by her daring action Team has decided to name herself to confuse and distract the now a deranged humour attention to herself, as a result of the most Powerful person in the land by arrangement than default soiling her ancestral name… Helping the enemy ogres to our ancestors beyond the ether ,would be feasting in all bawdy mirth all the way to their next hell…I for one was not given the name Motete at birth or the christening ,when I got the name Joshua to please and appease the missionary Markets , but I later in years brought in Motete for newer assertions of myself and spite darkness as my Indigenous name ,had more than humoured them, the ghoulish head-hunters of infants ,who by some

stroke of destiny had missed Teamswallow and myself ,only for Team to be only later targeted for political expediency by some loony either purposefully or by default in cahoots with those in deeper darkness.

Yes, these are some of our chess plays at the time that Motherland was still Virgin, we were on our own and no missionary stilts and charms to keep us from some spirit called Satan and firming the Markets positions ,which we were deluded to believe where only the game of the menacing Business World, my nephew from the Diaspora whose Markets were for centuries bolstered by slavery colonialism and apartheid now Genocides such as in Palestines’ Gaza…

The author of the concept :the Markets such as Philip Kotler, even in days of yore was really some smart geezer, convincing the would be Master and Missus way back before they were to become slave holders and establishing the art of colonizing the mind and holding it in slavery without the gun to its head ,that after you slaughter cattle, sheep and pigs and you lay them out on dishes as a meal ,you have in order to make your meat palatable and to befit the appetites and supposed upper tastes of the so-called nobles,as you have to call them ,beef, mutton and pork.

And today right under your nose, to slaughter a contraption animal of Coalition Convenience and then to call it the animal GNU- an African GNU

perfectly garnished with the ANC sweet ‘n sour souse; is laid out on the table

of the rich ,who gleefully still promise you the only crumbs from the table , they may possibly dish-out as they feast on the scrumptious venison .

So that art had to be translated to the slave, to ‘civilize’ them for Master’s comfort and later when they were freed ,you still kept them in camps of control called Sunday Schools and transfer a supposed ‘superior’ form of religion taught to both their Master and themselves ,that the Power From On High, is actually a man like the Master is ,he is God a derivation from the word good, meaning he is a Good Creator and controller of all life and went on to caricature one of the Smartest Teacher that their world understood to be the long awaited Messiah, had in fact come from out of His loins and the womb of a Virgin, all in competition with all other religious Markets some of the freed slaves, were the Sunday School Duma Khumalo had attended

,despite it having even taught rudimentary Black Theology to the young ones.

Thus I was quite amused when I sat in the same hall with Teamswallow when Duma Khumalo had unleashed his Sunday School story, which denuded the urgency to firm the foundations of the Foreign Markets through the Missionary Enterprise, despite even a touch of Black/Liberation Theology that church offered, without either him or his enterprising Mom knowing about it…

You can imagine had Duma and the five then sentenced to death for a doctrine of common purpose crime, that on their release came to earn us the

Duma story -we did not get that story because his generation and mine went to Sunday Schools, Bands of Hope, Mother Pearls,Allen Stars and Young People’s Departments, run in townships big enough replicas of White Only Europen Cathedrals ,boasting Menacing Towers, to fly above us Bantoe earthlings - the well covered covet side Religious Markets virility.

In some instances punctuated by a Rooster patched on the cross-spiral ,just to show off the French clout over us, to subjugate us especially Indigenous people unbeknown talismanic powers, of the barbaric Western magic under the veneer of Christian Religion .

In these ‘Bantoe’ often highly spiritualised churches most go for healing both physical and emotional . The physical as a result of smoking and eating less quality food than from Missus’ stable, lack of enough sleep and for emotions torn to shreds for missing their own kids, husbands and Indigenous societal camaraderie…

Meanwhile today ,some Missus Gogozille , a Chief Apostle of the Omnipotent fangs of the Foreign Markets permanently on our throats ,to keep ‘law and order’ who often dispatches her sons as modern day colonial missionaries to run down townships ,to keep the Markets afloat by continuing tutoring kids

,with sue do- augmenting education to the real thing; while kids whose own mothers are kept from directly raising their own, in favour of Missus’ kids in Suburbia, where they are more busy on their Day - Offs aping Missus’ habits like smoking Gold Dollar cigarettes, in public spaces and on pavements

where they have the ‘mercy ‘ of being allowed into White Parks and monitoring White kids’ play grounds .free from the scorn and chide they would be offered in townships, by labelling them Tikkie -lines whose face skins would also be blotched to the have the paler shade of Missus’s complexion …Suffering the double whammy hell catching of being despised in the townships, while their children’s hunger also keeps them from raising them. Also allowing no access to them even on their ‘universal domestic’

day off dubbed Sheila’s Day…On this day the more religionized and seen as civil and proper enough for the for the Markets ,file themselves out to catch the Second Class bus or taxi, in their starched colourful uniforms ,cut in the image of their domestic servant’s uniforms designed by accompany of seamstresses owned and run by White Missus’s Conglomerates lest the penny slips out to the townships, where the culture of even the local Markets ,is unheard of let alone being dreamt of…

The time away from the huis is meant to give Missus space to smoke more, do her hair , nails even masturbate and oft to sneak in the ‘garden boy’ into the huis to offer her physical pleasures that would render her sanity and huis peace from the Baas of the huis who in time less romantically refers to her as just -Die Vrou…

On one hand when Missus is not home and Baas’ vrekrampt Calvinist kerks-raad member if not chairman’s grey Shoes are rested for their occasional Sabbath, ancient Boere - Sport ,of the Cape Wine farms relish ,that also

produced hordes of mixed blood labour force a la the American Thomas Jefferson’s tradition ,that not only bequeathed us also the likes of above the cut brood like Simon Van Der Stel and also ‘blessed’ Jeffersons’ Slave Plantation with hordes of mixed blood Slave Labour and would be celebrated and buffeted on some days ,with a whack of juvenile like Black breasts on Baas ‘s chest, that Missus never ever dreamt of, between Baas and Maid, the gold dollar aroma of the maid aping that of Missus, caressed Baas’ red chest hair also with a ticklish singeing of his hairy nostrils ,to a dizzy point of him beguiling his mind that it ain’t adultery after all if ,so romantically replacing Missus despite the brown breasts whupping him out of his otherwise ,would be oft lazy stallion streak.

So ‘Boitjie’ and ‘Maid’ also without knowing also mightily helps the local Colonial -Apartheid Markets vibrant and joyful ,as die huis comfy is served restored and maintained …

Apartheid Minister of Communications Dr Albert Hertzog, who might have earned the PHD, from the then centre of Apartheid scholarships –the Stellenbosch University learning about ‘ Bantoe thinking and habits ’ had long known about it all and in his mind, that the introduction of television in S.A

,would have exacerbated the Missus ‘Boitjie’ frolics ,as he in avoidance to call it just that rather exaggerated it by declaring that if television would be introduced then on these shores, the screen would flash images of half-naked

White Women, as ‘garden boy’ works close to the living room’s window, resulting in him, dashing into the huis to rape Missus…

Meanwhile ,on one hand Nelson Mandela as a practicing lawyer before his incarceration on Robben Island had defended a few Black men in Court

,accused of raping White women ,a crime that then most time carried a death penalty.

The Guerrilla Lawyer Mandela would always ask the Missus: ‘Did he really enter you ?’

Some crying and seated next to their husbands who cry and say:’ ‘ No ,No...’

Others would then just say; ‘ He tried, he tried…’

In most of those Mandela handled cases the accused either got no death sentence, some stiffer sentences and other far less stiffer , just because

‘Missus would not lie…’

These are softer versions of the service some of which Executive Nuptial Service Surrogates used to ditch out ,without deserved extra pay and allow me licence as a Woke young adult to offer you and I am avoiding the word regale : The harder core story of the above Executive as told by one time Nanny-Maid-wordsmith and she advised me that the word Nanny,meaning baby care giver, is quite a Matronly term or even Title.

She told me that as she worked as a nanny for a White Magistrate’s family, there came a time when his baby rearing wife, got ill and she could no more

breast feed her baby: “ I had to step in ,in surrogacy wiping out my big black breast even in the living room ,that the couple had to monitor my execution of a just oft communal motherly duty in the Indigenous community, now turned an extraction of extra service without nary a yearly bonus;” she had continued. “I used to extra pay myself with own brewed humour as I rolled in my outside-room with tears and laughter about my private relationship with Your Honour my Baas. As I was already well read and had a Matriculation Certificate,I ones surprised Meneer by mentioning my proper title to him, in its jaw-breaker kinda Americanised True Value after serving him the personal extra-nuptial treat ,in my room and of cause in Missus’s absence; I for the very very first time after sating his wild desire for an amper-dominee, that I had in fact Matriculated.

He was gobsmacked and fortunately thereafter begun to get me a job in the Magistrate’s court as an orderly; but with a proviso suggested by Missus and herself ,I still stay in my domestic allotted room ,to earn more money still cooking and preparing super for them ,as they now also got what they called a ‘Day Girl’…who commuted between her township home and die huis…

One day whilst working as an orderly in my Baas’ Court ,a Black woman had responded to her baby’s nature by wiping out her breast to breast -feed her.Baas Magistrate would not have it in his Court, he had ordered me as an orderly to escort the woman out, not calling her the honour normative

‘lady’,as this was public indecency…As I ordered Black Sista out, I fainted at

her feet, as my mind was catapulted into a rheumy kaleidoscopic vision flash back to on my back-room bed with Baas, with my Black Nanny’s breasts smooching the Baas’ heart –beat and his chest in a show of sated state gave a mild up and down motion,as his Baas ego was smothered ,to that of a mouse in a clasp of a silly cat still playing it up ,before he ultimate gobble…In my fainted state I was mad that Baas cannot suddenly take his suffocation by one distant Black breast,kept out of reaching him by a Court rail guaranteeing his fortress High Bench , that he was abusing even in Post-Apartheid times, in the glare of us all in that Court .

Waking up on that day from my faint I vowed to discuss this in my private class -where I was now studying law-as to whether this is not a matter for the Equality Court and how train all else working in Courts to be alert to such incidences and act upon them, without their fear of being prejudiced and even losing their jobs.While also losing their dignity at home in the township, where I would not dare go wearing trousers like my Missus ,as in my trousers my dad would never take a cup of tea from let alone a meal.”

Now both Team and Less’s eyes were reddish with mild drops of tears. And to soften the moment Oupa drifted as he continued…

‘If we all knew dressing up most of us in black school short pants and snow white shirts, that my mother sewed out of retained Mealie Meal bags and cleaned them out of all dye ,these even winning my brothers and I Cleanliness Prizes at school, was all about steading the Colonial Apartheid

Markets,Duma’s mother would not have bothered dressing up her kids on Sunday Morning in illicitly borrowed White children’s clothes and would have rather let them do and practice some Indigenous Ndlamu and Mehobelo dances ,that helped a well known family in nearby Evaton to produce football stars and maestros…My own Mother whose dearest love was boxing

,would have let us after doing house chore to go hit the boxing training bag, hanging in our garage the more and we would have produced the more Cassius Clays as my eldest brother Bulldog had called me and as the champ dumped that name, I had also followed him ,to call myself-Muhammad Ali, for my dancing out of fistic trouble , left hookin and punchin like a World Champion out of trouble even in street fights…

The concept of Markets was not only a far world to the Indigenous people but an unknown animal at all.

So when the Sharpeville Massacre had happened ,not even the ‘1 cent World’

Newspaper could advice as to what were the reactions of the Markets to all this blood-letting; not even whether the Head of the Common Wealth then the Queen had worn a scowl or a grimace at it all…When our people were mowed down at MariKana, not even the Sowetan came to advice us ,asto the Markets reaction to it all…Worse still, the racist Markets would just see itall, as Black on Black violence, not worthy on any of their shares blink.

Meanwhile the local Bantoe Manucipality of Sharpeville had swung into action for whatever they knew about the Markets confounding art.

My dad Moses Leeu , was a member of the Sharpeville Bantoe Advisory Board Minority Coloured side and two or three of them were hardly known as much as the ones nomenclature as the Bantoe lot then and as was his wont to oft share with the family developments from out of Township Superintendant Labuschagne’s office,he had duelly shared with thefamily that a resolution was taken at the Board meeting that Sharpeville should be renamed Dlomoville-obviously to distract the Markets’s attention from the now ugly his/hertory of Sharpeville even if it had to forfeit its earlier ‘grandeur’

naming after a certain Mr Sharpe who had as Mayor of Vereeniging not only promulgated the for the removal of its residents from the Top-Location, too close for Apartheid comfort ,to the Vereeniging town, but also earned the

‘honour’ of it carrying his name. Just as others like Attridgeville,Seeisoville and Bothaville had…

Die Pa, Ntate, my old man told us that the first inhabitant on the borders of Sharpeville who did subsistence farming near its dam was a Dlomo was now to earn honour equal to that afforded Afrikaner luminaries anda Basotho King

.By some unexpected fate , the new naming never took off ,as the White Bases at ha - Lappies/Labuschagne caught wind that Dlomo is actually,the number One ‘Terorrist ‘ Nelson Mandela’s clan name and they had to grumpily retort to the ‘honourable’ Baas Sharpe’s name, while wagging their finger at the Advisory Board’s Bantoe members had failed to alert them

about the faux pas of coming to nearly naming this township a bête noire among the worst ‘rascals’ in the then Union of South Africa - only a miracle saved the Natives from being all totally cleared off the deck…Risking the continued close to rocking of the Markets ,I suppose and the sooner when a member of parliament Blaar Coetzee was made leader of the Vereeniging White Parliamentary Constituency in 1961, were a week day declared a holiday and all Black school kids like the proper ‘young chattel slaves’ headed to Lappies Office to be drowned in some Seven Up and Pepsi-Cola and expected to wear our young coon smiles after we were made to listen to Afrikaans speeches that ninety-five per cent of us did not understand - on the halcyon day of Blaar’s inauguration just a few months after the Sharpeville Massacre - where my dad and others like their Black chairman ,sat on stage opposite the White ‘dignitaries’ but in the order of the kleurling/so called coloured lot closer to Whites first … And seeing my father up there gave a boost to my young nigger ego as much as I surmise the Markets especially Internationally , were hoodwinked by this show of ‘peace’ that was supposed to have returned full blast into Sharpeville, to prove it was only the

‘terrorists’ who had caused the Sharpeville shootings; still the concept of the Markets was unknowable to us ,just as the concept of the Creator among the amaZulu is called -The Uknowable-Umvelinqange…

With none of our Seers ,not Credo Mutwa and not Siena van Rensberg foretelling us that sixty one years later ,the Unknowable will return ,with all

Power to totally change the course of Governance is it will soon be and breathing in the winds of change prophesied sixty four years ago in the Boere Parliament by Harold McMillan that the wind of change are blowing Our Way…

That even as Sanusi Zungu of Soweto in after 1994,had declared in a tit a tat meeting of the Peace Accord Trust headed by CEO Maggie Seiler an American, that while is well with the new dispensation ushered in, that Parliament styled after the Westminster System ,will need to be physically cleansed off the spectre of Hendrik Frensch Verwoed who was assassinated in the there by Dimtrio Tsafenda sixty years ago and come to think of it, not so long ago it was burnt down,to indicate its Time Up just before the Unknowable-the Markets breathed down on us to more directly enforce the change, while Politicians still clung to the imaginary levers of ‘Power’…

I cannot say how the Markets then unknowable had reacted to the gruesome death of Verwoerd ,who had just usurped this country’s apron strings from the grip of the ‘Common Wealth’ to declare it a Republic…Whether the Markets had gloated with glee at the Tsafendas act ,so soon after Sharpeville, with the Rand also finding a sprightly trajectory ,my guess is Yes; for how the hell was the Market were to frown at the death of the betrayer of the Great Britain Trust and the Motherhood of the Queen ? Yes history will show as to how the Markets continued to laugh as they imbued stability into our shores up until the Soweto June the16th - when Power was suddenly transferred to

those who wielded the stone against he gun and were winning…So the Market is indeed just a huge Cannibal who always helps the one who wields the Bigger Jaws of the Day and does not as much as to flail their wings flying around.

Now, you guess what : When Verwoerd had died sixty four years ago ,Just as it was church tradition for all clergy in their churches on Sunday to sing a Pastoral Prayer that more importantly beseech God to protect and preserve the Government, without fail, as some of the members were paid Apartheid spies or operatives, Superintendent Lappies gave out an order to Sharpeville churches ,through the Chairman of the Black Official Board , to solemnly chime their Tower Bells in honour of Prime Minister Verwoerd ,when this had without fail been done ,despite bitter mournful tears of the Sharpeville Massacre still dripping and now I know that The Apartheid Markets had smiled broadly even amidst their mourning ,you saw then this Labuschagne order as a Sharpeville dweller not for you and to your own peril and an open invite to open Special Branch Police watch and scrutiny.’

‘Wif us now being so pregnant wif informashon ,Oopa’ Less took over to intone ‘an de day almos gone, Oopa you have wif your frank and tough stories especially on sexuality ,brought me t’ mah threshold of openin eben wifout mah families permishon,the sexuality turmoil in mah own family Less Uvalo intoned: Dis tin is not jus bout Blacken White colors…We have deep wounds in mah hoods back home very stron amon Black families .tis not an

identity crisis as ya call it here out dere tis more dan identity turmoil ,tis an identity hurricane. Mah African-American dad is quite big on what he calls his African-ness ,hence my naming as Akana Uvalo an of my younger brother Bulala USimba, us in the Kenyan version of lion for Killin a lion ; he had read as a child eider a true story or jus a codicil heft t’ de collective Boer yarn, dat Paul Kruger one of ah direct ancestors had killed a lion ,all alone -by de way dis was also attributed t’Shaka Zulu an as anodder accoutrement en Zulu chip on de shoulder stories …so Kruger’s version could very possibly be jus a canard fed us t’ compete wif de Shaka story…

En Team has only met Simba who has incidentally also renamed hisef Tame de Simba as a young chile but he is grown up now en clearly knows his choices in life .He id of softest of natures en was teased at school from chilehood as ‘What Simba Killer?’ An smart en brave as he is ,he had t’tell his tormentors dat he is the Lion dat sleeps wif de sheep en he would one day tell de whole Nation’s swords into ploughshares…

En he had premised his story t’ mah dad when he was fourteen en came out dat he is bisexual …Mah dad had to be hospitalized wif shock on hearin dat,his Afican-Simba killer is bisexual,en it took more of Tamed Simba to help nurse dad back t’ sanity an healf; by counsellin him through wisdoms an neurodiversity insights like; look dad ,we yo kids are from Paul Kruger’s loins but we are black male ,female and the third sex, dat has always been dere from Creation an he gave him historical records eben from de bible; he also

said : when yo are born wif one or three eyes, yo are not forbidden from church ,because de church is fer all manner of folk ; but because de church is now de sharpest tool especially lately to commodify, commercialize the third sex by a special means of a demeanin re-coonin LGBTI society an putting em on a modern auction block where dey would have t’ expend deir energies defendin demselves against so-called mainstream society. Its like de creashon of Black on Black conflicts created by de White gains Black apartheid days in South Africa.

He quoted Paulo Freire describin de concept an pedagogy of bankin : ‘A person is merely in de world,not wif de world or wif odders; de individual is spectator not re-creator…’

BEYOD ALCHEMY

He touched on John Newton an Anglican (Evangelical) Priest who as he emerged full blown on his neurodiversity capacities had built a water clock an den built a lantern an tied it to a kite an t’ fly it at night near his home,folk were frightened an called im one vodou practishioner of deism, til de supposed more enlightened call im an alchemist an not be slubbered im jus because he was White an a church Priest – If he wuz a Negro,he would have been lynched fer bein a most dangerous African wizard aroun…

Racists are not only constructed be de modalities of own myopic educashon an world view, dey also fear Negro and Indigenous Modderlan educashon.

John Newton’s antics less equalled then Negro education an neurodiversity dat dey decided t’wuz more safer t’call Alchemy an art developed in Kemet

,take t’ Arabia and den t’ Europe de word al-kimia refers to preparation of Stone or Elixir in Kemet,out of voduo/alchemy we get the present technology an ultimately Artficial Interligence, an all comin outa Modderlan Indigenous Voduo an de rare species whose neurodiversity is more pronounced, now in ah day as de sciences whose roots posterity will grasp fer its origins in Modderlan Indigenous voduo…An when dat happens John Newton’s genius fer a European compared to days when de real Vodou Academy of Spirituality and Healing Indigenous Knowledge systems will pale to what Mark Twain in good English said -an Ah try t’ say it in his good English tongue- ‘a nebulous puff of star dust lost in the blaze of the Milky Way’- a far grandeur Vodou Milky Way…

Imagine oh imagine as t’ how Emperor Constastine’s Firs Conference of Nicaea bewitched t’ dis day half of de world,havin worked hard to compete wif Modderlan most elixir ways of Vodou t’ produce a Spiritual product.

When alchemy took off in de Greco-Roman world from de Ist century t’ de 8f century an de West only got in de 8f century, while Voduo had been born wif de firs woman an man an got popularised in Kemet whilst t’ wuz wide spread across de Modderlan…

All dis written in Bulala USimba head an heart at age fifteen…We mus soon vote fer him t’ be U.S of A President an you Cuz, as S.A.President de one who would have de guts t’ take it back t’ its roots name an ultimately cancel its Slave Plantashon mentality.

“If at all Ah am comin out right now,” he had taken dad on “do come out dad an confess dat when yo grew up ,no one had frowned at or spit at de third sex folk, like many would at a voduo-ist ? It was an aspect of human nature dat was jus dere , like some have a deeper voice dan anodder, some men walk wif a homie swagger but some cant naturally do, dey walk wif knees rubbin or de out an out knock-kneed-as if dey were White Professors an Judges in some uptown Court of law…

In Souf Africa,in de eighties dere was a student activist leader called Simon

.T.N’kodi,he was not denied his leadership position and its expression through a effeminate voice, he was later arrested and put in cells with twenty-one accused liberation preeminent bein the de twenty second and none eber once frowned at him an he was not put in special cell.

Eminent persons like de Amrican Ambassador, British Queen an de Bishop of Canterbury Emissaries visited de Delmas Treason Trial ,while not helpin de media t’make issue of Simon T N’kodi’s distinguished sexuality presence in it

,jus cause it was not yet fashionable to an not yet found useful fer de Monstrously Cannibaslist Foreign Capitalist Markets…

All odders had come of communities dat had fair percentages of LGBTI folk an not one person questioned deir sex, because already fer eon years dese had existed in communities. Dis was now in de eighties an no newspaper or publication eber menshioned Simon ‘s gender jus because de Markets had not yet found de ‘value’ an usefulness of abusin de third sex religio-logically…

Up until de fashionable American church an its surrogates in Africa, were lately taught t’ put em in compartments of less status dan mainstream gentrification dat would also work fer de Markets dat fer instance t’ brin down de Rand in Souf Africa create an machinate atmosphere of hostility dat a lot of de LGBTI get killed an de Markets frownin can be justified cause LGBTI is refashioned t’ be an elitist entity with enough money in deir pockects an inbred good Intelligence Quotient t’ keep de Markets Smilin… .

Nature en Power From On High has wrought many tins beyon ah understandin an yet we are prepared t’ go t’ a special hell of knuckle heads fer our denials eben distortin de bible verse en context, as if de were no Ruf an Naomi story an David an Jonathan story in dere….”

‘Oh really that Big Boy as yourself is bisexual ,”Team teasingly quibbled “I am glad at least I know now Less, -what a waste… oh I am seriously really kidding and embrace right now on this spot, Bulala in absentia for who he is and for that God given organ between his legs that works in multifaceted ways… For my lack of the proper language used by his like ,for their sexual orientation and I acknowledge how modern day has lack of language and

vocab for it all,while deep in my soul I know that our Indigenous Ancestors lacked not even protocols designed for such.

Now we all have to have the guts to announce our truer identities and change our names accordingly yeah Oupa; change even the name of the World and its bigger Cousin Heaven…’

At this Less dropped a soft tear for a short while and continued: ‘We have been seemingly innocuously fed de featrical canard dat allege dat our ancestors neber tolerated de fird sex –be it eider human or animal - t’ now construct a so - called Human Rights lie,as if Ubuntu nebe sufficed for dis human nature an machinatin a new frilly hybridity t’ han em up in de parade fer persecution ,dat feeds back into deir sick pockets…’

Motete jutted in : ‘At the time I decided to adopt my Grand-Pa’s other almost muffled down and hidden Motete name-‘ he stretched his arm to hug Less, ‘ I was a child among the Sharpeville residents monikered -the Coloured People-Who were to for some unknown nefarious reason being forced removed from Sharpeville to another separate out of Vereeniging town outskirts called Rusterval; and then my dad who had quietly harboured follow-ship of the Pan Africanist Congress had rather then suddenly and openly chosen to call himself a Baster -half caste and identity the Namibian so-called Coloureds use for themselves had refused to be removed ,went to the Coloured Affairs Office to recant the coloured Identity, in order to stay on at Sharpeville,claiming he fell on both Bantoe and Coloured and was thus

honoured to remained at Sharpeville and was removed from the Coloured wing of the Native Advisory Board forthwith … As I celebrated this by renaming myself Motete -and he joked- I learn during this Fourth Industrial Revolution, you can change your name several times ,depending on the weather climate change and other Dispensations of governance and over-lording Circumstances…

Incidentally in other parts of the Motherland, where new born children are named after Major Occurrences on the Motherland ,right now newly born babies are named even after events I bet in Kenya names such as - Raised New Taxes wa Ruto,Mkhonto We Sizwe wa Kenyata , Burn Colonial Parliament wa Kimati etc,etc …’

‘Eish Oupa,’ Team hissed, ‘thank you for all of the most scholarly and most contextual lessons of today Oupa ,including amazing Less ‘s inputs, insights and useful bombshells not withstanding my tear here and there…This is my brief vote of thanks as it will be real late to catch taxis that will land us at BraamFischerville…Adios see you next half…’

Team officially concluded the day, as all three hugged together tight and Oupa Motete muttering:

‘Never ever leave for ever ,our task is huge and Less, Bon Voyage as you depart for home; America is only a distance as the bird flies...’

‘Yes indeed’ intoned Less with a mildly hefte voice ‘ De day I saw Team drop a solitary tear from her left eye after Ah had interrogated de Slaves Acre government’s honesty in fightin fer de Palestinians if it were not jus a pre-electioshons suddenly stuntily a now ,now discovered an contrived hefted conscience despite indeed yo cant ignore cadavers of N’yaopee drugs strewn across de lan’s side-walks an jus cause deir actual graves are not yet orderly dug, dey den show up t’ de whole world flyin wif billions of Rand t’

go an try t’ stop Palestinian genocide what eber it means t’all of us…

IT’S LIKE WEARIN YA BES SUNDAY SUIT T’ GO STAVE SEWER SPILLAGE.

Ah was shocked as Ah had neber seen one eye drop before an Ah have up till now neber told her of mah observashon an subsequent research on dis phenomenon ;only t’ find dat such a tear is highly prophetic in Modderlan Indigenous beliefs…

I had spared dat experience on de Modderlan all de while, fer dis moment.

De mystique of dat solitary left eye tear drop is like right now, a song buried in me, jus as Ah all de while buried Bulala USimba’ runes of corpus spelt out , at fiefteen, in mah chest eben as ancestors uneafed knowledge hidden eben before some mountains were born; fer me t’ sin it out , fer a moment such as dis.

Our task indeed is larger dan de oceans ;as big as dat left eye solitary tear; so it will jus glide on de waters t’ reach everywhere it is destined to…’

Team dropped a few tears this time from both eyes because her Gods had not this time around sanctioned the mystic left eye solitary tear drop…