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

Chapter One

GIMME HOPE JOANNA GIVE ME HOPE

Teamswallow from BraamFisherville, is right now, out for coffee with her Cousin, and her family guest from out in the African Diaspora, at their now workable rendezvous in ‘Free Slaves Acres ‘ at the City of Jo’Anna at a so- called Rosebank Coffee Place….

It is the beginning of March month and the air is beginning to be almost breezy; it now wafts from the street into the inner now umbra shaded side of the arcades.

The corner Place on whose outdoor wooden benches on which Team suggest in her language - plop their not so fleshy asses- and she intones - unfortunately not bequeathed them by their khoisan E-Ancestor and she quickly explains the prefix E

denoting the Feminine Gods in Ancient Kemet and in later centuries Sarah Baartman dubbed -The Hottentot Venus- by parody mealie -mouthed European racists and slave owners who put her up for the Leering Show for the sexually demented leeches.

She still celebrates her having inherited such glass full kinda bulky fella for a cousin from across the Waters that have evidently not washed the Indigenous dignity and mien off him. she further lets out that unfortunately relatives and quite a coach-ful cousins of hers from over hear had been so hard done by both apartheid and neo-apartheid to a point that they only meet at family traditional gatherings called ‘feasts’

only to just hi-five each other and take Whatsapp numbers for in case…

If ever you met one at the Mall,you made small talk like ‘Hey when are you returning that visit I paid you last…While one’s AI Robotic Shopping Assistant whispers on the side: “Have we checked and scanned this one yet, for DNA and general workable commonalities, to keep close by, enough? ”

Facing them from across the street is a big wall showing quite a Technicolor portrayal on its walls, of people enjoying a drink under shades of trees -a very typical depiction of the Indigenous story sharing place -now physically being transmigrated into the persons of Team and Less now plonked at Team’s favourite rendezvous and around other few people , who are also frequent visitors here, for a deep sharing of the past and present transference of knowledge, intellectual cross-pollination and healing of memories- some of which are clearly Post Traumatic Stress Disorders related as in the tradition of Khulumani portal of self-healing post apartheid including present afflictions ,notwithstanding the subliminal ones… ‘Oh the land is trickling back into its rightful shoes;’ the talkative Team added colour to the feeling

deep on the inside, for a majoritarian ebony presence here, where they were thirty years ago forbidden entrance. She then stiffened her spine on the mahogany stoel Then Less Uvalo coughed lightly ‘Team d e biblical King Solomon would have surely found anodder Makheda in you an completely lost his mind Cuz…An Ah pause t’ axe fer pardon fer applaudin de fish fer swimming expertly fer a mere human eye,or toddlers meetin on a side walk bof sumb-suckin an one tells emsef-hey nigger is suckin better dan me.

So what did our ancestors young an old, meet fer , in lieu of such a now so commercialised coffee corner?’

In my father’s day they would say: ‘ Oh baby shit no more…’ to applaud any girl for doing well.

‘Less,yes…’Team wiped the tiny almost flappy side of her Tsonga doek,almost too close to her eye.

‘There was always coffee on the peneplains, pediplains and mountain terrains of the Motherland now carrying the moniker - Continent -and worse licentiously christened Africa or Alkebulan . Yes right here ,in its primordial form, for societal leisure and even for the sipping up of communal - societal herbal drink and lapping up easy treats totally free for clansmen and women in the days of our ancestors and essentially home brewed.

But basically our Out Doors outings were for hunting and a swim or two in some river from which incidentally drew our drinking and cooking water .Our domestic animals also drank theirs there with none of us batting an eye lid -by us I mean our ancestors who continue to live with us in the present- predator wild animals also had

a jol sauntering here in the absence of us and our domestic animals , in the dark of the night …

There was outdoor eating at all for women , except for men and boys on their own out there, to hunt and for a roast of a bird or other prey ,for clear manly enjoyment and what they would bring home.

Most drinking for leisure and assortments of group thirst quenching , were done at personal own kraal or at the Kgosi’s folk’s entertainment place and outside eating Rondavels then called Lelapeng , or under the opulent shades of plenteous trees ...

Here drinks like Mageu were enjoyed among peers and kindred; as one kraal would have more members of common grand fatherhood , oft including also coteries of older and younger fathers in own or common ancestral households…

One’s father’s brothers older and younger- were called elder father and younger vicegerent father ,no uncle about it ,as this designation was reserved for mother’s brother or any familiar avuncular man in the vicinity…

While women and all nubile female folk were served and savoured relevant drinks to their nature and feminine grooming , under their own select and sacred shades of trees and other spots ; boys and girls had also kinds of drink assigned to them also with a cultural proviso especially for girls not to take in ,any food stuffs that would prematurely enhance their biological fertility faculties.

The male folk also had their own ,to drink directly from a common calabash, drinks like Mageu, Utjwala/Umqombothi and others of health and manly grooming ;sharing

even with passers-by clansmen and others as subject to one royal house; even more of them from outlying areas , at a time…

Believing always in a collective way of life , in working ,eating, dancing and even mourning together in song, when it comes the time and guided by the human philosophy that no one swallow ever makes a summer…

That in the Indigenous summer as in their Beija Flor cousins in Latin America ,they come to make Summer Festivals not even tasted of in Heaven...Heh, punning-ly , but true… Truism will also be that those who practiced Vodou and other Motherland Sciences had their own private assemblies to practice and relish on …

Eish Cuz ,by the way, this might be the last coffee we can afford here , as I learn the price of coffee will soon be sky rocketing as cocoa on the Motherland as it gets depleted; question of multi-faceted third - world genocides…

Reason could be the West of Motherland Coup belt having taken everything back from the colonisers including cocoa and thus-they the Almighty- now still struggling to deal even on the Sankofa day!

Just as we were never allowed by the colonizers to deal in our Vodou and Spiritual Enterprises, which are simply Divinations , Thaumaturgy and a myriad of other healing ways of life...Though like to modern science itself there are many of the dark inherent.

I hope some coon government does ‘nt come to power or self puffer, despite just pilfer licence here and the holy herb’s street price goes hay wire, forcing all like sheep to only poisons like Nyaope and Tick. By the way not only by inoculation did we fight Covid 19 in our streets; Holy Herb was out there together with other Green Corvids

fighting like the Maroons and Cetwayo’s Amabuthos themselves, to defend home ground alongside other Gogo’s home grown herbs…such as Umhlonyane ,our human health and immune systems ,were so immensely strong, that we shared water in the rivers with animals, without a slight stomach ache or a trifling strain of influenza sneeze sign neither was there any cholera …

Less Uvalo comes on, ‘Come un ,Team , lets talk ‘bout holy herb -an long live de herba little later, but den what ’bout possible gambollin germs transference round de moufs, an palms of hands, through group lipped calabashes and Ah guess now given evolved post-slavery neo - apartheid wif rats lusciously feeding on steroids an of carcasses of both dog an especially Nyaope addicted man strewn in all our pafs,in a bellow sub-culture lon ingested by House-Slaves an now, in de expansive untended filth strewn on ghetto every fields an wound up injectin eben us , Slave Ancestors, wif dese steroids dat had gotten us t’ be bigger jus in volume dan de Biblical Giants demselves , yet ludicrously we still can’t take American Massa’s Power on…

In dis country dis also shows up no-viscerally as a most virulent Black Massa on Black

“rif-raff” darkie on darkie racism -it matters not how heft up is de pimps toyi-toyi, war dance fer sheer show, the racist metastasis is now so deep rooted in de psyche …De colonial racist selected his Black mind blastin seeds very well. Our nu putschs gainst de thousands years old haf t’ be real studied an executed wif nu sacrifices in de life after Cadjue, Nat Turner,Paul Boyle ,Nanny, Dingiswayo ,Shaka Zulu,Makhanda de left handed an Marcus Garvey…

An fer sure our curse is in our inability t’ reclaim our names dat are now but jus painted hideously incalculable ,unfathomable ,unexplainable names by means

including de lowest of scooped larceny of our Moddelan heritage roun from only hell knows where; unashamedly driven by de loutish house-slave after we are birthed, in a white jamboree ‘comfortably’ called de christenin an namin us Roosevelt, Marylyn ,Johnson etc etc …

Comin some more t’ names, by de way History tells me dere was a Great Ancient City in dis area now called Mozambique, den named Gaza alongside , anodder Great ‘n Strong Kindom called Gaza, in de Middle East now jus labelled - the Gaza Strip- t’ a global lachrymose equal t’ untold rivers equal of blood flow, outa its veins an soul-dat very City dat has derived its name from de Hebrew name Azzah …

Durin thu shuntin aroun of our people here in de den Lily- White South Africa into Slave Compounds also unabashedly called Reserves an Locashons , ditched out out far from de fatter an larger Country, dat de apartheid regime had called dese jus the euphemism -Homelands ; but a learned Prince of de Tsonga people , a Professor Ntswanizee brought back through de back door, de name Gaza ,calling it Gazankulu (The Great Gaza City) under de noses of de Boers.an dis is de form of resistance dat has not gone eben into Liberation His/Herstory literature…

Indeed our Holiest Names have been savagely raped ,from, Kinte, Takalane an now dey are tryin t’ finish off Gaza…

Muhammad Ali said de root cause of all de diseases dat now rides free in our bodies

,like sugar diabetic an blood pressure is in our ill-namin…

Unless we claim back our names, we will remain known as jus sick in de soul, huge bodied descendants of slaves… Unable though t’ fight de American might still…’

Teamswallow ,now Attempting to make light of this grave soul pulling minute-

‘And you said Cuz, Lazarus for rhinoceros heh Cuz, when I last mentioned it and you imagined ;the immigrant from earth then into Hell and who by some smart chance also gotten himself to heaven a little while later? Yeah…

I had meant the rhinoceros of whose skin, we were initially made , when our spears pieced the enemy than his bullets did us, at wars like Isandlwana and before we expired to just English speaking slave chattels, and our parents had gotten into fighting for the best sounding White name on the church shelf ,Cuz …’

Less Uvalo kind of got on this case , ‘More or less, I hear ya so well… but jus stop readin ya bible up sud down heh, Cuz…An stick t’ events o’ Power like dat e-Sundowns war , which Ah guess de mighty football club gits its name from …

In America today some Black Christians would lynch ya fer reading de Bible up sud down...Dey say de Book is as true as de Oceans an Mountains have fallen outa de hand of de Creator imsef …’

Team now laughing softly, ‘Well tis a Free Country nay,Flea Slave Plantation, even to be free to be high with bible reading...More so with Nyaope competing and going like lollipops that are getting outa fashion…And our sixties to eighties Liberation chewing gum ran out of sugar…

WE MISS YOU MANELO WHERE ARE YOU…

Even adapting Isandlwana to your ebonic tongue as e-Sundowns tis quite in order Cuz….Tis still legal in neo-apartheid S.A…’

‘At dat damn home, away from Modderland, we call dat tin’ chortled Less, ‘bout while tis still legal, still Free Cuntin , meanin like when ye are jus free t’ give de Cunt

on offer from some nearest hoe house … Xcuse me Cuz, Ah mean de word as per White design…Less further sedulously exhorted!’.

Then Team with her eyes turned and strangely intensely fixated on a huge mural picture painted on the wall of a building facing her, than it did Less, mewed

‘Eish Cuz, your mix of strength and sweetness ; is right now, reminding me of my paternal cousin Tintswalo 84, and who is yours by extension, and you knew her so well yet briefly ; by the way the one ,who got wasted at the damn grimy forsaken pit for hospital to give birth in …The hospital whose tenderpreur henchmen Inkabi did a job to waste one Dr Babita Deokaran for daring to tell on their pilfering troughs spilling over the whole nation’s psyche and poisoning what ever is left of any moral cachet of - its motley crew…

A cup of tear

Baby Just a cuppa tear

Higher than High tea

Is it possible right now?..

No no, not right now…

Not now…

De !

The one ten years older than us, who tried to seduce ,nay just get fresh with you

,when you first came over for a visit last time and you jumped off , to her utter dismay that she had gone on to wonder loudly to me:

“Hey Cuz,Kanti he our American Cuz, I supposed to be real American ,but you should have seen him jump, after I had cozied myself up close to him and pegged my fully exposed thigh onto his athletic American leg on that darn sofa, only for him to almost full heave jump without be-slobbering me all over ; his eyes that I had mistaken to be by Creator’s choice romantic, pried out real big now ,and even as he is saying: it is wron an we ain’t married an I ain’t committed an worse ,could be incestuous…

I had felt dry in the mouth like an everlastingly water heisted Hammanskraal Slave Acre of copious Lamentations , and no tourniquet ever to its tears of parched wasted thirty-years, as mine own eyes went softly teary at this one bolt switch off, like in load shedding when the sky of an already sparse lit township zone, now cast in a thick ink blackness ;and ironically with an offish bent ,from the present Plantation officialdom , declared the Non-White area (First as in jest, but until the label stuck as it ‘normally’ does in Tin Town areas all around the Slave Acres set ups) sigillating all with a most awkwardly savage promise that its plight will only be revisited once the money still in the pockets of State Capture’s pockets is recovered …

Yet strange enough the Brother had held such breath of fresh air promise ,unlike just, a Minister of Electricity Promises releasing more sunshine, without explaining with a pragmatic provisory note: for as long as the BRICS Indaba in Jo’Anna Uptown shall last… How I wished that , this now Priestly American presence in my lounge, had an ear for the bundle of me; that I had sibilated just like an African greeting in winter, like thanks Almighty the Sun is out-by the way sister ,near orgasm hefts -don’t last forever ….

Yet miraculously deeper still, I had prayed in my heart that; Lord Bless the Come Home Chile - with well rounded African blubber lips , if ever indeed he is true to the

bone , than what could be at worst, just a mix of macho and religiously cosmeticized bristling mane in deep stunt…

Of a creature for which was wrought the most lazy marble ‘n sleepy crafted eyes fashioned so well for romance under an African moon light moonlight.

Those neatly sculpted ebony blubber lips meant to be chewed and savoured for an Angolan Siesta under the shade of a Morula Tree.

And my Mantsopa cave cake mouth, all but wet like the inside of a ripe mango still in jackets ; or I should in this instance of my precious holy mango , take licence to call it the venerate laced over a mango ,stirred with a highly venereal desire though , over a totally collapsing self …

And indeed so less innocent it was this mango that it begun to softly tjank, I mean; whine about the ‘ genteel playing ’ hunk pushing so easily against our almost incontinent appetite of the day.

As I hear tell, the ancestral name of holly hood was actually Horny hood. StilI, I was left feeling quiet dummy ,while I was not chagrined as such ,with this Lovely Big Fella ;smart ass that he is and we had shared quite a chunk of Ancient and Modern Wisdom over a glass of wine. We need more of these Jaw -jawing across the waters experience”

‘And eish, Cuz,was some Slave Acres bard and griot of the poet laureate note , even in these days of the surreptitiously banned protest poetry…Indeed a Poet Macon who died un-hailed , until you and I pick up her baton. Then Team pointed at the mural

That is Brenda Fassie a young very feisty goddess of song who’s album : ‘I am no Weekend Special’ was bursting the air waves among the youth like none other in Slave Acres before it and it , is around this time that Tintswalo 84 was born.

In this 1984,seeing renewed sparks of revolt in the Vaal ,against apartheid, her mom wanted to name her Brenda Fassie but her alleged ‘christian born again’ dad wouldn’t have it, as he pontificated that Brenda was Queen of Pop and not of Gospel Music and I wonder about his theological depth about Gospel.

Brenda had also a very rough side that she would gutsily hound out friends and those indebted to her from behind high walls of their homes and had their intercoms blasted off ,with a loud-hailer in hand to blow off their cottoned ears.

So this ‘christian dad’ had decided as a compromise she would be named Tinswalo84, as that would then sufficiently stand to remind her Mom of Brenda…And boy didn’t she become Brenda herself in her own very feisty way…

And died fighting the long morally rotting dead from out of our Plantation…’

Less Uvalo complemented Team again as he was quite profuse in doing it ‘ Yeah an yaself ain’t jus a rank reciter, ye are top creme de la creme ,I had also privately, hastily judged her as I do a lot of Slave Acres young for comfort ah guess ,goin out ya way t’ copy and learn all the American filth, Yes Ah almost couldn’t take it ,not dat she eben seemed some tart or hoe, as many girls of dis day are, dat -forwardly in ya face.. .

Jus like de word Cunt itself was once clean on de Modderlan where it had meant Kinte, as our ancestors used t’ refer to our grand-mas as ma Old Kinte- Root Modder of herbs an grace -Den da old dirty Massa begun t’ thrust emselves on dat holiness t’

call her jus Old Cunt , as Dey also distorted an defiled all what was lef of our ancestral language…

Some of our old lick-spittle niggers, den followed de Massa and called her Old Cunt

,jus as well , like yo following everythin ‘bout American Massa ,an all his below human base, fer gain or favor …

Now wif all dis ill-social media de Modderlan gals, are also completely hooked .

And aint jus not dat Jesus comin back, hopeful dope…

Ah mean jus becomin a Movement t’ reclaim our cultural norms an sef respectin so dat adders can view us, as mighty awesome an eben fear t’ influence and infec us through weapons of humanen mass destrukshon…

Ah was jus playin part in rescuin a sister, a cousin fer dat matter’s soul . A million hilarious laughter dat she was , Ah had also noted on dis short call on her… ‘

Teamswallow added ‘ You so right and lest I forgot, she on one hand did admire you, for what she had called the ionization of an African soul that is rare these days though she had expected you to just succumb -as True to American jingoistic sexualizing of everything they think less of; especially women - she told me how she had wished you could at least have put your big African American paw on her sweating knee - now their lackey niggers drawn into even their political sexualization of Tintswalo as they reckoned it would sound more even sensually appealing if it were about a girl character ,played out in this filthiest caricaturing of a young woman ever -

for what it is at its base and to perhaps draw her into the ‘powerful’ male imperial chauvinist sexual political snares and thus rake in votes for the damn party... And I

wonder why they call themselves parties - just a frolic of behemoth honchos out to grab a pussy?

I guess uncle’s crony script writers on my holy name ,were so sacrilegious to it ,by being chump mad with a trillion orgasms of the mightiest Voortrekker Hoogtes they ever could deal with …

MONICA LYWENSKYING ME-

This by turning their imaginary person of me inside out ,as if I were at some stage their Mafioso Don’s Internally always open legs and freely open to their vulture’s jaundiced ogles all the way to their own Machiavellian make believe hell holes…’

Less Uvalo ‘An what is a foot tackle hooty, eh Cuz?..’

Teamswallow shooting out a shrill laughter ‘That I leave to another lesson another day ,with you having to stay longer in our most linguistically mongrelized part of the Motherland where we sommer put all the dialects in one patoi - mengelmoes sentence…

A far most unique , more than any Creole, Pidgin and Ebonics in the whole wide world; and by the way ,it is growing and developing by day ,month and year as the socio-political and poverty vocabulary cross breeds, faster than any Artificial Intelligence lingo construct outside of cockroaches in the globe ever shall be …

Our soon to be Tower of Babel and own Gobbledegook that will soon be even social-media carcass for the vultures , to even have global espionage operatives reduced to just guessing us out ,at all material times…’

Less Uvalo awed by Team’s clear laissez -faire to not being keen to teaching her what words like in his own diction foot-trackers- booty ‘Ah am sure learnin at ma own pace da lingo nuanced wif ancient traits ,like foot-trackers-booty manglin da moose etc…up till yo are ready t’ fire up t’ untangle de muse an sacredness fer dat Ah can settle but if taboo at all Am all grown up Baby… an been growin some more in ya holy presence…’

Teamswallow,Once again close to titters ‘Oh ,Pree Thee Comrade Cuz ,please forgive me -My Leader- as so snuggles up, a crony and leech in all opportune political spaces and even jols, my mind that is presently, so trapped in this kick- ass mode, I end up totally language off-ramping short left…Off -ramping short left is another S.A. for say, drifting ’

Less Uvalo psyches himself up, despite a slight let down -in Team ‘Like almos now ignorin some bumps, incidentally Cuz, wif de name Tintswalo, meanin Grace, Glory and Roots, Ah foun such a connecshon t’ our Old Kinte- Gogo’s organic knowledge of Roots dat ye call herbs, by ancient practitioners dat dey emselves ,were called Root Modders an Healers of our people in slavery…Only fer Slave Massas to jus nigger it all out ,jus as - de Old Cunt… Dats some sacred stuff indeed And what in real life is Mansooper cave cake mouf Cuz ?Ah been takin sharp mental notes eben from ah past conversashons … So what de hell is de fuss bout Foot-tracker-hooty…’

‘Now ,you really got me,’ Team acceded, ‘It is all about hiding what is not really worthy of keeping it all ,away from you in my satchel bag, and I can fathom why the hell I did.

First the Voortrekker Hoogte is a symbol of the past military prowess of the apartheid regime, now the Young Lions of the Liberation Struggle day ,turned it around to mean Boer masturbatory jaunts, they had receded to…after taking all days long in the townships after enjoying the ogle on Black Nubiles…Voortrekker means pulling a trek meaning looking for juicy pastures .And Hoogte means the ejaculation that ensues from all the pulling of their manhood nay, former raw cannibal-hood…

Now I am a Sunday School bred damsel -dude, so from that Christian School background you just dart out to discuss masturbations with men, even after apartheid is gone but neo - apartheid has been entrenched for now thirty years, unless the oncoming Ballot Box becomes some kind of Bullet Box ,from which we now retrieve new ammunitions.

Teamswallow continues ‘Oh,yeah, Cuz,now for a real story of Indigenous Nakedness on this side of the Waters and Original Real McCoy Eden of Life, that I assert was stolen like jewels of our Story plundered blind.

We had a wondrously outstanding legendary Gogo, called Nkhono Mantsopa; a healer of such magnanimity coming very close to Moses’s Power and Yeshua’s Msiracles in the Book ; but was known primarily for the healing of women ailments and their other gynaecological issues , with herbs and portions that she would retrieve out of a cave called Lehaha la Makhakha ,located between the Free State of the modern Slave Acres and Lesotho; whose opening passage right into its interior was shaped literarily like a virginal mouth and its outer walls a carbon copy of the most aesthetically carved out - vulva…

Only she the Supernatural Mother and a specially the elect of Gogo’s anointed and initiated could enter the Holiest Cave, only for this to be brutally broken by brazen

lascivious male White Missionary Priests ,who had violated the Cave by forcing themselves on it; in an act of sheer most Brutal Rape, just akin to the S.A.’s Plantations Head Honcho has seen fit to just brutalise the Primordially Holly of my Tintswalo name and equally , American Slave Masters coming snarling to just outrage our Old Kinte and to moniker her the Old Cunt ;then going on to more shamefully more vulgarise its meaning…

They broke our every secret power foot-holds, as they kept their witch covens in tact in Europe ; meanwhile all power had to be taken away from us, and we would be broken beyond repair- with their greatest hoodoo portion and weapon ,being religion…turned into hoosh for European Slave -ship worse than hell, voyages tables.

Now back to use and abuse of words , names and personhoods…Once our uptown elite school ,went on an excursion ,to some resort and there was a pool on the ground

,and we were only nine years olds.

A DEEP KAK STORY…

A Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin’s Real Pit -Toilet Story

And a dear friend of mine who could not swim drowned and died, while our teachers had left from tending after us, to go for their best times of a life, at the bar to sip wine and malts and whatever liqueurs. This drowning of kids has incidentally just graduated from drowns in rural pit toilets faeces to the urban swimming pools that in nascent political language are called fire-pools and taverns of their uncles where township teenagers drown in liquor are with a swagger called salons…

When an inquiry was called to question their absence from the pool side ,one said another had gotten sick and they were tending for her in her room.

Then I lost it and screamed ; ‘’ you lying jou moer!...’’

Despite my deepest loss of a friend Rethabile ,Its all mostly a Black Girl child that gets raped at home ,in shack and now raped even in suburbia school amidst its comforts , glossy accoutrements and all...

The governing body wanted to expel me and when I confessed all this to my Mom

,though also sharing my pain ,she just laughed and brought me to school on the following day, to then tell the governing board that the word ‘’Jou moer’’ is not vulgar at all, and all it means is: Get Yourself down to your dregs… which expression was also used by our Abbaqua ,Khoi and San Ancestors ,when cautioning a wrong doer not to slip seamlessly to their dregs levels...

Most of our straight forward Indigenous expressions were suppressed for the so called

‘civil language…’

I once at the Grahamstown Art Festival met a huge very dark Black Busker from Cape Town ,who spoke in a mix of Kaapkaans and affordable English -one Zebulan Dread -

who in one of his stilts had said: ‘’They took everything from us and even language to control us - A coloured woman can’t say in public my -poes tjank - but a White Women MD, can in an Official Meeting in a Board-room say , Ah, my virgina itches…’’

I was more than gobsmacked by such language myself in public nogal…We need the guts to redefine our language and not some European parakeet and its leak-spittle to lead us…

It’s like us forming a Movement across the Plantations to call for a - ‘Hands Off The Tintswalo Name…’

Unless we urgently mobilise for this Mission Clean Up, for this Ancestral name of our eternal Glory ,it will remain only in sheer paroldy and be forever muddied in every Plantation nook and cranny, as the buffoon who started it all, is left scot-free to go retire or most dreadfully return to have the ‘worst of times ’ without -even an under cover ,cadre ghost writer deployed ,to still shape out many fake imaginary Takalane Barbies ...

The other pain of my life was when Takalane 84 died in the worst child labour agony in a hospital labour ward ,ironically called the Tembisa Hospital ;the supposed midwives had been over heard, saying; ‘’they ain’t not remember a Big Mouth township girl not dying while pushing on her own ;cause she’s cheeky…”

These human women - eaters had come out of her own Black neighbourhood , where in our culture we had called all of them ‘Ousie’ Big Sister ,at home and the title ‘ Sister

‘ at the Hospital .

I had held back my saltiest tear ,when you told me about the Black slave women who were not just expected to survive child birth the other day…

Less Uvalo: Come un Cuz, though very excruciatingly painful, dat sounds too typological to be true, yo mus have read dis somewhere or plagiarised mah story…

Oh , jus real teasin ya, despite de horror of de pain…But Ah tink dis time round de slave butchers were an are still Black…An truism is we never run short of em,in any Plantashon’s ghetto ,kasie an eben where dey live in gated compleksies where dey can’t be Black no more

And yes on slave ships bringin our ancestors t’ de Americas ,dose in de female human cargo ship, discovered to be expectant wif child ,were simply thrown out over board .

For it would have been riskin huge scandals for Massa back at home, t’ brin women with Mulatto babies around t’ Missus; eben fer dose who had de guts t’ save our grannies lives, dere were still no mid wives on board.

Fer our Ancestral Gogos as ye call em, deir lot was an early grave at sea thrown in dere by dose who daily an nightly had flogged em wif de damn savage pink pizzles bedraggling deir pants fronts right down eben wif suspenders force o’ gravity pullin em real down , t’ deir knees…

By de way, most of dose women ,were packed an raped in cabins of a ship called:

’De Virgin Mary’ yes, abuse of helpless female names and eben when dey were said t’

have been dat holy as dat of Modder of God ,comes a long way in dis White history indeed…I don really tink dey cared fer Modder Mary t; start wif, an regarded her jus anodder Palestinian wench when drikin in de ship bar…’

An on de plantation as our Ancestral Modders died, all reports to Missus was , ‘Ain’t seen no nigger girl goes on labor and don’t die…’ ‘An de Baby?’ If ever Missus asked :

‘Oh collateral damage still-born gone wif nigger woman t’ Jesus…dat dey all sin ‘bout in deir prayer meetins an dey tink we ain’t aware ‘bout it and don see em singin :

‘Swin low Swin low coming fer t’ carry me home…When dey are all well but gone home t’ nigger heaben-which was imagined as in de Modderlan in coded negro spiritual lyrics t’ hide in deir hearts a mission dey had always in de grandest plan of escape eben beyond de Sojourner Truth /Black Moses’s under groun train t’ de Free Norf an Harriet Tubman’s revolushonary missions- aboard Jesus de very slave ship dat brought em here ; what a genius eben in dreams an gran plans did mah Modder Ancestors have…’

And if Missus wondered “why didn’t ye at leas call me t’ deliver dat one baby?”

Massa would roar “No way, I was goin to allow ya , t’ dabble in nigger hoe ’s blood an come home t’ touch me wif de same hands…” What wily scoundrel…

But den reality is dis, was jus bout aborting deir own Mulatto blood…De women an babies dat miraculously survived are dose whose concepshon was by a clear cut Blackman on Black women’s stolen moments of love ‘n copulashon an some of de women had been allowed den t’ serve as midwives…

In rare occashons some feisty Missus would retort: “ain’t put t’ genocide ,nuf mixed blood babies from ya slave ship?” Den dis feisty one would know to sure get a gud whuppin fer hersef still…

So can’t understan how come here in a supposed Free Plantation, Black midwives would allow Black modders t’ die wif their Black babies an yo all know dis ,an could not order ya uncle in de great House of Plantation makin t’ act even if he had t’

postpone some business trip , jus before shuttin up ’bout some make believe Tintswalo ?...’

Then Teamswallow shrieked ‘And Yes indeed that was about me, when I had passed my matric with seven distinction a rare feat then for a Township chocolate babe just ten years ago ,he was all over the phone, wanting to come to the house and very especially that it is in former White Suburbia to celebrate with the family, but hell no, I had stopped him in his Big Political boots tracks…

Or lets hazard , he was in fact narrating the story of another True life Takalane, who has confessed after a probe into her heading many a department, some of which she did not qualify for ,but by some stroke of cadre deployment ‘ luck,’ or fuck , had her well connected conniving or glued up to the very topmost neighbour, asking for Curriculum Vitae and next , Wala…she was catapulted into the heading of highly

lucrative position ,into a job with the cushiest billion budget just waiting to be looted down to its billion worth fleshy bone…

And by the way, it was at his hospital , that has wantonly and gleefully claimed lives of many helpless and hapless Black people, who were taken out, just because colonially and apartheid brainwashed and lazy bullies , could just waste em because they can,while gobbling massive saliva soaked salaries …

Why did he not have the guts to also ask for forgiveness to Takalane 84 even out there in her grave , just but to mention one decimation of many of our people as a Takalane lot , under his watch and in the Slave Acre’s Commander -in-Chief shoes?

Also what many a Gogo Takalane in the nation had to endure is that of the just wiping out of the lives of uncles and aunts of ours ,with a Life Isidimeni huge swipe of death, just because they were in no state of physical self-help and they could just be left to rot die and then swept to the dumps…

There was also, the Marikana massacre, incited the more by that jaw breaker- a concomitant action - word attributed to a Deputy Head of slave Acres then , though he has not one has been pointed with guilt by the Justice Commission, that sat through the Marikana slaughter and therefore no one has found it fitting to apologise for it…

If uncle had the guts-and uncle as just a supposed avuncular man in the hood ,who is in your dad’s age group or even acquaintance or friends with one’s dad -we also gave the private designations such as uncle S.P taking from his initials to let this time stand for Snobbish and Pathetic - and there would also be such as uncle Sucking Snob - and I know of no Non-Black man knowingly and willingly answering to this, without us risking to being given real raw lashes on our backs…Even by being ‘smart ass’

politically sorted out, surreptitiously from any Social or Civic glare…

So uncle S.P . comes out to state that the number One corruption culprit is his party or punty ,why did he now indirectly expect Takalane to find it in her heart to embrace their caricaturing of her name ; as one thing , he knows very well is and how this now much educated and out of a so to say, good family and out of the down right poverty slum

Takalane ,has not been a tad snobbish and smarmy to be blind, despite the attempt to get her gentrified above all the rot in our Plantations, smelling to high heavens…

So choosing to parody her as this Vanilla Barbie Doll, out of Black Massa’s thick coconut tongue - is real Skande …

Just as the name Takalane is equal to holiness as the others like Kinte, Akante in mine and your Mother tongue both meaning in its origins roots , grace is now wrenched to be what a pathetic Slave Driver ! Uncle S.P. McBuffoon is ….

One of his fat wench lieutenants in a lower region of Plantations, went to a funeral of a boy who had drowned in faeces at a rural school pit toilet and in her uncouth tongue, offered incontinent commiserations ,to the effect that this was - an Act of God- in an effort to cover her departmental rotten ass…

The sooner this God takes a Sabbatical far away from these niggers, the better for us all; His abuse now, has no known comparison…

I was more surprised that none out there spat in the face of this lazy and crafty cow as it moo-ed -pardon me in sickly cow tongue and pardon to cow world - I mean some plastic coconut cow- right into such mournfully heavy laden folk, to spew this raw machinated filthy cud out of her now long falsified jaws ….

I had written to uncle S.P. as one who co-raised us, in the community about Takalane 84 ‘s brutal murder at the hands of one of his hospital’s supposed to be labour ward and he gave an excuse that he ain’t coming anywhere near there and sorry that he ain’t coming to the funeral ,for other commitments…

But in reality also could not dare to face the glare of the Black Consciousness Movement ,in attendance to the funeral in hundreds…

Takalane 84 ‘s mother was a BC member and had fought physically with many a stone throw at apartheid police in 1976.

The pot-holes also around that ghetto had formed into swampy squelchy almost swimming pools nay, fire pools for local dogs and toddlers to dip themselves in there while untended to - in innocent foul glee, risking to drown in the damn pot-holes…

To this day Uncle S.P. ain’t seeing eye to eye with my family and now he is so desperate to appease the family at the expense of my former Takalane 94 self , about whom if he had hindsight of the newest information - that she is now known as Teamswallow , he would have just shut up ,while looking for an alternative porcelain Barbie Doll, before the sad aftermath of just abusing her regal name on the Slave Acres Head Plantation, platform and also hoping to appease our ancestors by using this elixir name ; a name that runs deep in the family and to Gerrymander the whole Plantations by his licentious abuse of it , just in order to secure another umpteenth term for a party that as a matter of fact ,is on screaming notice to close down…

If not at the behest of his puppet masters probably promising him cushier

‘continental’ or even international jobs - he would want to yelp for …

If the First nay, Foist Citizen has even by default has muddied the mountains and valleys of this country he has the more, bloodied our family and ethnic heritage - to an extent that such a most Beautiful name in the land, becomes such a huge curiosity and an effigy that will even be bandied and burned at party masturbations and the real thing orgies, by his equal political opportunists and even oppositions for many years to come…Herstory will never forgive his huge gaffe of the century if ever he thought a Tsonga ancestral name could be sold on a dingy political market place His having no guts to come out to appease the ancestors with a national apology to this name ,not just our nickname ,but the name of our roots and of our Kinte;remains scandalised unto eternity …More for skunk that he is, not savant and any close to Intellectual in such a Motherland rich with knowledge and wisdom.

Eish, to have your daily walk talk and sneeze , while being ruled by cold hearted and flat-footed scoundrels…

Now the name Takalane hangs on the sacrificial cross and may our nation be forgiven ,especially through a deeply hoped for repentant vote in 2024 and beyond of the ruling All Nefas ever congregated for...

And Cuz,by the way , in our way of life as a people ,we don’t have the brush-offish

‘Whats in a Name?’ mentality.

So I would even die to protect a name ,than throw it to political mongrels-pardon again to thee dog families - our clans , seers and royalties for frailty earned in millions of years of our cultural quashing ,herstory corrosion and I guess if ever we cursed lions in a language they would grasp, they would catch wind of it and come out in full force to avenge their honour…I just put out a rat poison outside my door ,as I came here, not even to commission a decent Black Maria to collect its aftermath carcass;

but would pray a hugely penitent prayer to God and the Rat Kingdom should I also call anybody a rat, however measly they would have looked…

My country might be free and for sale, but my Kinte was never on sale even in the throes of hundreds of rapes; neither is my own Cunt- should I call it that in the language of the low down rotten Western ears .That it is not on Tsotsi-preneur’s Tender offer, in party political orgies, that aid many to go up the Government nay, Goumert ladder in the slave plantation…

The story told in that colonial house of half let loosed slaves and not at all liberated; will go down the sorriest trash annals of our history, as in fact the elite TINSEL House Nigger Girl’s story curtly monikered Tintswalo; such that our people’s including generation’s to come, will have to reclaim the dignity of this name even if by using a national cultural his/herstorical enough bile, mobilizer against the Head Honcho Slave Driver ,if ever this name would be cleansed… And thank you Cuz, for suffering tortuously my Dissertation…

Go back to the U.S of A to ask especially all the Black Live Matters Marchers for Justice, to equally give their thoughts to the genocide in Gaza as they note our Plantations Slave Drivers ‘diplomatically’ rushing the world with own purse out of the tax payer; whilst they give nary ,just a glance at some Usindiso Building death traps

,finally annihilating desperate shelter seeking folk, in the Jo’anna down town ‘high rise’ hovels.’

Then Less Uvalo breathed ‘Tanks Team, dat a young woman, from de Modderland has finally discovered her strengf an sheer guts t’ a point of conscientizin an African American wifout holding back any qualms an wifout fear of bein contradicted eben about de queerest notions on animals demsefs…

Yet yo’s is ordinarily jus anodder Mafioso State eben worse dan de U.S., hearin ya tell me ’bout de Tenebrous Hospital , ‘bout de Life As Demeaned incident ,where de infirm an old rotted an were allowed t’ jus die , an to add salt t’ injury de Amerikano Massacre in a supposed post-apartheid era? Oh man too much own shit hittin de damn fan…

An now recently people burnin t’ death in an Ucyanide Saw building lon declared a mass deaf trap an now de S. A . Millions of Rand now thrown at de ICJ court for Gaza genocide? Can dese truly an really be de same people Black people ?In truf defendin de right of Palestenians t’ live Heh,Team,when here the cadavers of Black sons an daughters are strewn in ebery street alonside rat carcasses an now rat, as yo taught me already dat rodents oft habe more dignity dan humans ?...’

Teamswallow Choking back a tear that dropped from her left eye . ’You will be so surprised as to how has your ear begun to understand the shameful names; Thembisa ,Life Esidimeni ,Marikana and now Usindiso Building ;to nevertheless still so brilliantly help elucidate and dig out the deeper evil ,that these have come to evince , in reality and represent while linguistically capturing in their right Motherland diction and understanding that have in time, come to misrepresent what they were meant to purport …

How your inadvertent Americanising of them ,by splashing on them unintentional but colourfully suitable monikers ,that equally so effortlessly denude the schizophrenia that was noted first ,when I was gas-lighted as some wannabe typical Slave Acre’s child who made ironically despite their their sharper whip lash than that of apartheid, though being prototypical to apartheid ,first setting their own badly skewed assertion of my image even against the lived agonies represented by Tintswalo 84

and all others who were young and cruelly disadvantaged by and under their rule and right now, most of whom dropped out of school with pregnancies and Nyaope addictions at age twelve and permanently crushed to filthiest pulp on our side walks, by Mafioso rule that run what you so aptly call the Tenebrous Hospital ,Life As Demeaned the Amerikano Massacre and the Ucyanide Saw mass death trap Building.

May these more aptly reframed names find more than ample space in the Alternative Dictionary and even into my most psychopathic Mafia uncle’s lexicon bereft of any humaneness at all …

Soon movies will be made just for purposes of raking in dollars and all the litany of these our miseries and our glories defiled in neo-apartheid …

Time to right now make own movies about say Nkhono Mantsopa a female Sanusi above all and adding to her mystery , her connection to the natural virgina, that who knows ,might have been the very Holy of Holies, of the birthing of all humanity?

Come un bring that Eden story over here ,even if screaming and kicking to the Original Conceiving and Birthing Organ.

If we can invest even five per cent of our earnings across the board and these films are made, our nation would be the richer mentally, spiritually and materially -

especially should we create a share holding platform for all in these more than just materially, to replenish and recover our torn to shreds psyche…

When at the Academy Awards of 2006, in the U.S .A, where the Slave Acre movie brazenly named the oafish name Tsotsi, won the Foreign Language Award alongside Denzel Washington and Washington just walked past the S.A. ‘Stars’ now completely won over to the supreme -ist racist’s vulgar tastes ,leaving the Awards Academy

without congratulating the rookie coons in the making, whose minds were just starting to rot, as they were already spiritually mediocre to the superlative degree, to reflect a kind of a ‘New Slave Acres’ that badly needed Cultural and Spiritual counsel , after cinematically stereotyping us, after the Mighty U.S. shit…

I had earlier thought of him as being very mean to just, waft past the fellow Black

‘Achievers’ ; until I was enlightened to the fact that Denzel Washington was making a Statement - and a sharpest stab to and deliberately sink deeper at the conscience of these almost young buffoons ,coming straight out of even backwater Slave Plantations -and I imagine his deep inward thoughts about it all : That maybe they might learn from his gargantuan snub and then repent…

“ You just misrepresented our whole Black World and come to celebrate with this Award , the trash that Steve Biko’s country has just become?

If you think movie making is all about parading and celebrating your shame, I ain’t gonna be part of it.

Movie making aint not just about making a shit movie about your people to make money for the racists and your pitiful selves back pockets, even if it takes you such self defacing…

That’s ain’t about rising for you and your people, it is about becoming and rising for the worst pimps in the world, like putting your sister’s body out for the worst of the ravenous…” These must have been Denzil’s thoughts…

Yes Less ,it is no better than putting a beautiful family name like Tintswalo out like it were just, a nigger’s Cunt on the Auction Block…When fact is, some coconut Slave Acre Head Honcho should have chosen from among his ilk, a name sufficiently

incongruous with our elixir culture that of Daisy ,Beauty, Chrysanthemum or even Valentine - about a date so close to the ‘mirthful’ day of his dreamy myth - oft aptly called slave or coconut names coming out , of the mink and manure belt wannabe nouveau riche once upon a time, ’Black’ parents of the present All Nefus Congregated wrought Vanilla Barbie Dolls…

These young actors are actually the prototype of the mix of my uncle and the above, who spiritually rejected Black and African Consciousness to be the Nouveau American film copy cat stars, even to follow earnestly on footsteps of their present plantations ruler vultures…

Uncle S.P.and ourselves all come out of a Township called Soshanguve - an abbreviation of Sotho , Shangaan and Venda and was designated for mainly these three larger ethnic groupings - settled in match box slums north of Pretoria by the apartheid government, that literally achieved the tailored effect when the persons in these groups generally reciprocally thrived and gloried on looking down upon each other and never once up to any…

Oh Lord ,how did I ever now become a nigger, a kaffir and just a poo-mutation of all represented in the .S.A Head Honcho speech ,one who has missed Black Consciousness just by inches , at the point he was catapulted into the arms of the super-rich, would be his permanent handlers and artful gnats into his life unto eternity….

YEAH LIFE AS DEMEANED INDEED

Some young people who grew up here, grew up feeling dejected and angry. One of the resultant outcomes of this sense of shame, has just come out with an effort to glorify

this dejectedness by unfortunately using the most hallowed name Takalane ;and to say : “ Even out of us the - no count people- winners emerged and are the Takalane…”

Very un-philosophical in this context as it is nothing but a most cowardly copout of the valid continuing Struggle for the Liberation of the Mind, Oh, my Kinte foot…

The Takalane most lasciviously libertine abuse treat for the impressionable, is like being suddenly Free to have somebody garnish your Skhambana/Sphatlo-township bunny chow, with more Mangolas-pork livers sausage the damn daily and everlasting Santa Clause in the absence of Tsie-Tsie is a flying of insect family that was edible in the days of our Great -Grand Gogo -

but was made extinct by the White farmers who called it the number one enemy of their crop-yet the Indigenous folk had for centuries munched them as well as sharing the fields with them -the farmer sorcerer must have known something about the most delicious insect that had among the Basothos been known as “one delicacy that you would strongly prefer to deny your blind granny,all for yourself…”.

All I mean Less, is missing is about stuffing more health hazardous than acceptable edible ingredients into your already Junk-Bunny Chow… Just like going out of one’s lustful way, to risk a condom burst worn by a herpes soaked dick…

Hoping thereby by this inadvertently deeply self insulting speech, fit only for some miserable movie script , they would earn their Party and themselves an Ossewa a cattle drawn cart Less, than an Oscar for more than just rhyming purposes ; in the oncoming General Erections Festival where we are supposed to cast even our goat…’

Almost huffing and cajoling Less Uvalo responded after another longish treatise, ‘Dis country needs very badly some Spike Lee to come ober an help engender movies

‘bout Black folk from de heart of a folk lived experiences an not from sheer greed fer thu so-called Stardom an porn star perks dat comes wif it all…Dis Plantation needs more quality stories, than those that pretend yo are jus now free eben t’ waste yasef worse dan Americans…going into a variety of hell choices.

Of more self-effacin Obsequious Sambos scratchin when it aint itchin ;I see a lot of ya homies aroun emulatin such by jus smilin at me because I perhaps look American

,speak American an walk American, ma dress sense aesthetically almost American Yuppie ,typical yokel dat I am back home … An thus some discovered deity t’ openly drool at; an dat’s a national dignity suicide man,wifout any body putting deir knee on de neck…

In ma hood ya smile only when ya really gotta show respect or adoration man not jus acquiescing eben t’ less honor shown ya direcshon …Ha doin, somebody is nuf t’

acknowledge em man.. .If ya jus smile outa de blue ,some folk immediately turn deir face away, lest ya up t’ sometin man,eben pimps don smiles man peddlin deir trader’s wares ,lest less no dose of smile earn em cheap man …

If a President of de country makes a speech wif a lot of titters in between an den gits sittin through a Judges Commission on da Plantation’s Capture in sessions strewn wif a lot of smiling ‘n banter an all kinda exchanged niceties; den graduatin t’ making comical wannabe molly-coddlin speeches ‘bout youn ladies sacred names such as of some youn Liz , den ya all know de country is fer sale in areal cheap market…

De media trashes ya on de sport, as a likely lecherous nutter gone too far an if ya go beyond da pale an if , right down to de likes of de Monica

Lywinskyin ,-da whole nation- eben before da structures of government opposition moves against ya despicable character- and would actually rise t’

remove ya as some creep under de guise of a Real President…Right now at his age Joe Biden stays o de damn throne because he keeps a stern face eben when makin a joke or gaffe.

A Judge who sits also sharing pleasantries wif some VIP nigger or Yanky on a Statutary Commission he has t’ later make grave findins around , dat Judge ‘s bluf would be called especially by an through a labyrinth of media , before he or she goes far ,wif dis bull…He would be impeached man …

In America eben a most loutish fellow become President by some electoral faulty cog

, mus be always Presidential or else...Jus like yo don run fer President an call New York - Hymie Town

In de U.S. A, de oldest Democracy , de President is President eben after leaving office; an yos is said t’ be de best in de damn Democracy in de World.

Former President appears before a Judge an de Judge is all stern wif im,no smilin no pleasantry and dat President now underdog, jus ducks outa court, where de Judge has been in his own hilarious gargantuan Contempt of a Commishon ,which is a court

‘cause a Judge is sittin dere presidin man , he is also by de way extenshon in contempt of de nation.

An he has de gumpshon t’ take de matter of his duckin to his colleagues in de Apex Court of ya Plantashon and now dey discover contempt ’bout “Mr President de now underdog…” Dats bull man! Mr Big Judge is de one who is in contempt of Justice Commishon , by treating it as a tea party of pranks wif de incumbent President top

dog in de firs place den goin into de shinanigans of abdicatin his Justice Powers t’ his equally hugely confounded or openly biased colleagues.

Man if he didn’t understan his Rights as a Judge, he had no right t’ be dere from de outset…

He might be forgiven fer lack of U.S. geography savvy like when after de UK. children massacre in a Primary School in Dunblane Britain in de nineties , Dubya Bush called dis town, one of our American Towns ; he was forgiven for exposing his deep seated belief dat all messy gun slaughters of citizens happen primarily in America…

Ya President cannot be such a buffoon t’ soil up such a holy name as yos Team, in de year he hopes to be elected back t’ office man…Dats down right Monica Lewinskyin man…

But above all Team , yo need more of de under de Iroko tree Modderlan Culture an Education ,between each udder ,as two somes ,four somes or eben tens ;t’ perhaps begin t’ groom what de mighty Pan African Teacher of all time W.E.B Dubois called de makin of de Talented Tenf.

Yo need more down t’ Africanizashon education ,dan de plethora if not millions of political parties in dis Plantation bred on one day, like the messiest litter of mangiest hungriest breed…

Oh,Team, how yo need t’ de Reclaimin de Re-anointin an Restorin de general personhood plus de furder redeem de name Tintswalo, dan hordes of de damn political parties, jus showing how ye have t’ hanker after politics, t’ hope t’ recover emsef dignity ,in a down right rotten way of lookin at onesef an shadow indeed, an insultin all ya values of quality of life…

Before our time is up ,I must share wif ya a bit titillating story almost vulgar experience of mine at a White ‘Black Ways Re-adjustin’ school t’ which a Bus-In Movement had landed some of us in.

Dere was dis lady teacher who one day, jus came up t’ me ,as I stopped in a corridor in which she was t’ pass… Popped her eyes as she stood in front of ma tiered sef durin break, time … ‘’ Yo remnant of slaves an you remain gentrified despite ya terrifying eyes, havin de privilege an not at all right t’ ogle us up , down an side ways ,without being lynched ‘’ she screamed an den moved on as if she had not jus insulted me wifout any provocashon ; but fortunately our parents had warned us t’ always stoically take it in, tie ah shoe laces well ,lift our trousers well up our bums an walk upright like a robotic White professor , as nothin much could be done ‘bout it. An worse ,de risk of eben bein accused of attempted rape always loomed large…

I had survived dis an many odder more subtler insults an indignities till most of us moved on ,an be free to move in educashon at higher Black learnin centres…

Den in later years , I bumped on one of Dis ma udder childhood teacher , one day, a clear ‘subtle sexual tormentor’ I had neber expected her to be, who when seein me had jus almost jumped t’ hug me:

‘’Hey you romantic eyes ball ‘o fire,” as she conspiratorially hissed into ma ear “yo wifout knowing gave much unpaid pleasure to Miss Nixon, as she oft had t’ go to her hostel room durin tea break an after a gruelling sensually taxin stint in ya class, t’ go, t’, guess do what?…Nakedly masturbate a sizzling one, on ya ,youn black man an good afternoon t’ yo…’’

As she dashed away cockled up deep in her sated heart as wif punch by her revelashons; so quite lewd ,nor just facts dat suddenly burned her breast on encounterin me…Dey had burned her heart for a real ln time Ah guess…

At leas wif ease Tintswalo 84 had most poetically cleared her breast; it is still all good tins bein equal .

Now dat we are adult we owe posterity de layin out of our youn lives stories t’ help em t’ savor fer deir own betterment ,outa our collective chapters in our exclusive odysseys- cobwebs an all…

Ah stood dere on a side walk ruminating on what de White Miss Johnson, had jus cleared; her literally Dolly Parton large endowed breast had vaulted at mah ches hair jus below my chin an her perfume wif a very poignant venereal ambuscade alluring appeal, comin up t’ singe ‘n bust mah nostrils an onto mah mighty ebony hairline...Ah throttle a squeal escapin, though it would have been nouf sof t’ be boddered ‘bou…

If dis were not an accidental encounter ,I would have gravely suspected it were some wrestlin plot ,from which Don King ,or eben Hugh Hefner would have sometin real adrift happen so dey would later rake in de dollars at it door …

At dat very moment Ah begun t’ deeply tink how unlucky Ah was not t’ have been expelled from deir Black behaviour Adjustment Penitentiary (‘n not dat Ah did not savor dis one minute ago, time… ) at which moment Ah came t’ reminisce on one fella

, called Stuurman , by homies from mar hood an named fer the Khoi-san revolushonary leader an de only prisoner t’ ever escape from da damn Robben Island.

Stuur, was nearly expelled fer his walkin style ,ah mean de jolly Black signifyin tin, an what was labelled gutter English he spoke an was found t’ be very insultin t’ White ears and White tastes; was also told t’ stop talkin t’ many White gals and causin dem t’ loose deirsef control wif all bawdy giggles…

De Principal had commanded him t’ brin his Mom alon t’ school on De next day, as he had den retorted ; ‘’ But she ain’t gonna get a weekday off, Shar…(he had deliberately garnished de punctuashon of de statement an in prefixin de principal t’

discolour it from our usual Sah… eben if t’ subtly religiously affront him wif a deliberate Shar…)

’’Why not, Dis is crucial we goin t’ write her Boss a letter t’ release her …’’

‘’ Dun waste ya no time an ya ink Shar ,jus dictate it int’ ma head Shar…but sure as deaf , Shar will only let her loose on a Sabbaf Shar…’’

‘’ Is he a damn Jew man?...’’

‘’Yes Shar and ye are, de man Shar …’’

‘’What’s her damn name ?’’

‘’House Number One Maid t ‘ ye Shar, but t’ me Mama Nanny Shar… An in true life named for de Black Jamaican Slave Revolts Leader who set up a town on a hill fer her people called Nanny Town, after deir victory gainst Slave Masters Shar ,Nanny is her name of Ancestral Power like dat of Maya, Uluwani,Xiluva,Khanya and Kinte Goddesses ‘n root Modders of all healf ,now painted as caricatures called maid and interchangeably our Ancestral name Nanny also finally defiled t’ mean jus some unwed gal, hustling her life lon, fer a prize ,while fac is,dey are de most gifted Scientific Home Groomers ‘n Managers de whole wide world has eber known Shar …

An mah memory tells me de Modder of de Lawd was an unmarried Mom wif out, capping on her fer real Shar …’’

‘’Are you de boy who got ma boy’s sneakers and jeans for Christmas? An ya modder earned de title Number One Maid after ,workin fer us diligently fer years and co-raisin ah kids…An on full hand t’ us, while back home she were producin yasef ,some terrorist scum? Yet wif such histrionics as yos ,she fer all de twenty years had openly called de Sabbaf, Jesus’ Day, despite us repeatedly disabusin her of dat myth … ’’

By de way de Principal spoke in damn correc English, Ah mus add ,an not as ah speak…He spoke da Queen of Britain’s language an we speak Queen Sojourner Truf an Harriet Tubman our Queens of freedom ah Black Moses ‘s language in de hood…

Stuurman nosed more up, ‘’ Yes, Shar de smartest scumbug terrorist eber ,Ah am Shar an fer a free nus scoop, de sneaker an de jeans dey ain’t wif us nomore Shar fer de lan of de quick, dey are in da graveyard Shar ,Ah sold em to some Up Town White boys doin joints in a White’s only hell hole ,we call it in mah hood - da White Graveyard - an dey over paid me ,jus ’cause dey could ;which tin Ah, did know in advance …An I aint capping em , Dey like always showin off t’ us ‘deir nigger boys’ all de time ‘’ …an Ah sold em to get me some smarter outfit an books outa Ole Nanny Backyard Academy …

Aint no waistin ya time Shar…I am outa here right now an will be graduatin in da nex Semester ,In dis mah hood College in which I’d been doin private classes ; tanks fer few White tricks I Iean here an Ah gonna be Big fer sure…

So fer mah Black Ass histrionics almost choking the gals of dis school t’ death,... Ah fire mysef right now on dis spot ,before dey all die… ’’

‘An he dashed signifyin … t’ get all his satchel bag an paraphernalia from de class fas enough ,t’ avoid gettin de White gals cryin emselves t’ deaf…

We got word on de nex day, dat her Mom was fired from da staunch Synagogue goin Boss’s house…

I wanted t’ leave too, but my Mom had fallen in love wif mah nuly spoken English an sooo, jus loved showin me off at church, while also askin pastors t’ pray fer me ,as mah nu English was jus perfect fer mah future Pulpit.

Yet as Tsui/ Goub has wonders t’ perform ,here ye are jus my gift horse, in de right moment, right time an right place .

Ah ‘m goin’ back home t’ introduce a nu auxiliary in mah hood called da ghetto as ye

‘n Ah dared t’ together kinda look ya uncle S.P.’s gift horse in da damn mouf He had meant t’ play a big fool wif da holy name Tintswalo but de Power From On High had meant by it , a gift t’ de world…

One tin Stuurman was free t’ have his name in America among our homies, but not I mahself, ah was oppressed by dirty dozens.

Dis is far worse dan Mafioso Operations in the U.S. an de same culprits preten t’ have a heart an sacrifice billions of the cappin when ever Ah, mentioned mah full name , Akana Uvalo,dey would laugh ‘n roll shoutin : ‘’What African shit name is dat?...” Eben If ah were Jawal Kunjufu de toughes African - American Educashon activs ah would have been axed still what African shit name is dat,if I had been Shaka Zulu de little smarter amon em would have axed permishon t’ worship me ,If ah were Pharaoh de smarter lot would still educate emsef bout dat name, while many still would shun it as dat of a Slave Driver as many more bow t’ me an dey do t ‘ a man sef- named

50cents after a White man an a later day Al Capone …So eidder here or over dere we are all still in Slave Camps an cabins…

En Lawd have mercy if any boy would be named 2Puk Shakur, Steve Biko and eben Al Sharpton, de System would hire a special CIA agent teacher in de school dey went to, not only t’ keep a hawk’s watch over dem but to also t’ break em down till dey just became ‘Born Again’ worse still Black Robots…As Such de hiatus tween us an our Indigenous DNA,His/Herstory an Culture is a daily project t’ which de White Supreme

-ist Racist works on ,ebery day of deir Demonic lives called Democratic…

So Ah ,had t’ doctor mah name t’ Less Uvalo ,tellin em dat de part Uvalo was some Italian name, an most times shortnin it to just Less, in order t’ survive amon de still cannibalizing on each udder, like in de ole slave plantation, where bein smart was when ye sounded like de White Massa in ya speech an athletically out run all de niggers like Jesse Owens out ran de World ,an ancient Jack Johnson beat odders up like t’ be firs t’ beat up Americans of all colours an Joe Louis turned beatin folk into a high class art…

Dey hate emselves bad an in private, away from de Whites, Stuurman had confided in me den, dat he ‘s safe from da cappin because his name actually sounded Dutch, though in fac, quintessentially Afrikaans, a Slave Acres derivation of Dutch.

But above all Stuur had made his escape good from dat American Island school, jus as did our Ancestor from der Boer Robben Island, t’ which most ironically now de Guantanamo Bay dat ,we hear one of de S.A.’s Plantation’s wannabe parliamentary an Presidential candidate has jus warned dat once in power, he would send all de pregnant gals packin t’ it ,so de boys an men could have nuf space t’ emselves t’ sow

deir more damn wilder oats... Ya surely badly in need ,of some e-Sundowns warriors ‘t lead dis Plantashon outa pits o’ hell…

Oh by de way, ah know of some dudes who changed deir names to Kin Geronimo, Comanches, Tuscaloos, of American Native Royal Blood an Warriors ,an where laughed out of town- t’ go ah guess, all de way t’ some ghetto were dey changed deir names t’ christian baptism certificate names of John ‘n Thomas.

Only two niggers called Sittin Bull ‘n Kin Seattle, survived jus because deirs sounded English an American… An by de way dose most awesome Kins of all time, are still referred to as chief, jus because Massa tinks no Native American can be called Kin ,as

“the only Kins came outa Europe…”

Ah still need t’ go for psychological therapy t’ debrief me of ma cowardice still, dat in America ,Ah choose t’ call mah sef jus Less an only when safely back on de Modderland, do ah,have de guts ‘n fresh air t’ call mah sef de full ,Less Uvalo an de ain’t no Sojourner Truf our Black Moses’ under groun train t’ ship me outa Greenville in de South t ‘New York in de North,where de slaves are all at lis free t’

carry deir full African names, in dat Cosmopolitan atmosphere, where all people at face value seem t’ be equal ?...Though tis de same ole nigger very clogged Acres of Penitentiary jus as here…

Time t’ raise some nu Eldridge Cleavers ,nu Steve Bikos, nu Angela Davises and nu Winnie Mandela an nu Makhedas…’

Teamswallow now with a wide gapping mouth mumbled some incoherent words amidst soft sobs ,then caught her breath to retort coherently While briefly reminiscing

‘Winnie Mandela was indeed a warrior among warriors and it ain’ t surprising me you spell her name so right…Of the Sharpeville’s Nyakane Tsolo’s and Phillip Kgosanas’

the nineteen year old an sixteen year old in 1960 who led a parallel Marches to the Sharpeville Police Station and one in Cape Town…

Reminds me also of two stories, one with an uncannily ubiquitous sameness as that of your Stuurman: this is of Duma Khumalo; once one of the Sharpeville Six once sentenced to death by the apartheid regime alongside one young lady Theresa Ramashamola, for a murder and burning up of an apartheid time Government Councillor Jacob Dlamini then called tyre round the neck, necklacing at Sharpeville in 1984 during the rent boycott uprisings...

Yes there was a lot of Black on Black violence that had ensued causing Ronald Reagan to comfortably declare the real war against apartheid rule since 1976 , was just a Black on Black bloodletting ,that Pretoria could not help.

Incidentally the Sharpeville Six were ultimately reprieved from the Death Sentence, as the Free Mandela and other’s calls gained International Momentum.

MY MAMA WAS A ‘ KITCHEN GIRL THIEF…’

Just after the Six were released ,Duma Khumalo joined a group of another raised voice against apartheid atrocities called Khulumani ; meaning Exhale Enough, on the side lines of the more Statutory like , Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

Duma had then penned and crammed a monologue in which he told his own story of upbringing at Sharpeville; he had carefully chosen the tragi-comedy part ,as local theatre that he had grown up experiencing was hitting harder against apartheid especially if it had a tragi-comedy leitmotif touch to it.

He would sit himself on a chair and opened his piece ,with a shattering: ‘’I am a son of a - thief…’’ There I was just a sitting where I was ,in the audience sitting there alongside Ntate Motete Leeu an old Sharpeville resident and distant relative of Team-then there were tears in every eyes …And a friend passed me a note to the effect:

‘’that this is more than true to especially our township sub-cultural mish-mash pathology that has bequeathed us the legacy of every second house being a shebeen, a boot-legger’s corner and great number of well coiffured and dressed to the nines mamas assail white towns on daily basis to go shop- lifting with a conspiratorially mandatory acquiescent nod and aid by the mostly black shop assistant township neighbour of theirs and I remembered the supporting political Black Consciousness slogan of the time being : ‘’ a se spini e kasie ,as e mcowarde udarkie…’’

All philosophically meaning Cuz, we are all jointly out ,to just repossess by all means what has in all the centuries of Jan Van Riebeeck landing here has belonged to us…

And all that has kept our kids with lunch boxes to school and funded a many university student, as one Soweto respected business man , man- about- town a train robber and trucks cargo lifter ,Jabu Vilakazi is openly known and acknowledged for his most out standing Robin-hood like philanthropy, which is nothing compared to

today’s Oppenheimers all out to fund those political parties that will carry out their capitalist agendas as old as the Motherland Mountain’s pilfer mandate itself ,when they come to power; just as their now big time flunked project in uncle S.P. has all but gone down the tubes till his next Cecil John Rhodes ‘blessed’ deployment …And for real a Cecil Rhode’s deployment is on the cards By the way, Ase Mcowarde Udarkie ,meant we don’t take away from and impoverished Indigenous people. But Wala…right now the hyenas in Pretoria wearing black skins have been impoverishing Udarkie far more than Queen Victoria, Cecil John Rhodes, Paul Kruger, Hendrik F Verwoerd and their almost final Total Strategy of the P.W.Botha ilk ;is funding wannabe felonies masquerading as political parties and calling it all the ‘’Empowering Democracy Project’’ all what it is ,is just a Poo Jetsam thrown over board from their Golden Yachts, for the ingestion of their ever available less than bergies and ‘’good English’’ speaking strandlopers oft dressed up, for political Racoon Shows-blabbered out as manifesto launchings.

Well Cuz, my use of expletive word Racoon to an extent almost explains the Afrikaans words bergie and strandloper that I have just used…For a punch, Team then emitted a sharp laughter.

GRAZJNG IN THE GRASS

Our long winded but breezy thesis ‘ are quite a platform for the establishment of the Slave Acres Back Yard Academies/Community Universities , such as the Martin T Hani Academy and Robert M. Sobukwe , Steve B Biko ,Braam Fischer and Beyers Naude taught in His/Herstory and Culture Faculties…

And yes ,we need more tears and home brewed and grown economic stratagems right now ,in this country than easy and wanton smiles.

I am surprised as I equally wish somebody establishes a ‘Hani Way Movement’ to honour both Martin Thembisile and his labour migrant father who had nurtured him into the tenets of the Liberation Struggle when ever he was home ,to his illiterate wife and children from the Gauteng mines and of cause an Academy named for the Hani’s would also strongly embrace the philosophies of the other later day Servant-hood and Savant-hood icons such as Robert Mangaliso Sobukwe and Steve Bantu Biko

,Braam Fischer,Beyers Naude, Ruth First, Dennis Hurley and even more like Cetjwayo Hintsa, Maqoma and Bambatha and Mmathatisi going back Liberation History/Herstory so that the Academy does not become another lackey for Party Political inclination on our fast evolving but oft collapsible shores… evolving downwards into Community Universities .This will be a far more fitting honour than giving the Chris Hani’s name to a Hospital ,in a haze of shame to also cover up the glee of many who called themselves his comrades had savoured as clearly would he have been alive, he would never ever allowed their dirty claws on the fiscus and letting them sleep around, even if he were not to be a President.

A Hani Movement would really be more than a Giant Broom to sweep all the neo-apartheid filth no doubt and a panacea and Muti for the whole breadth and width of the Motherland…

These would serve as most fitting and national worthy barometers ,to finally even eradicate the encroaching culture of Clever Blacks - and clever blacks are a neo-apartheid most blighted phenomenon in nascent politics controlled culture and sub-cultures; where you find Indigenous supposed to be educated decrying even most holy and revered cultures such as the burgeoning young empowered be expected to look after their old infirm and needy; and calling this on getting the cue from their Wight

friends - Black Tax- and painting it with the same brush they continue to use to paint one Friday down in the year - Black Friday - A historical event of huge Slave Auction in the Old Americas…

By the way, Clever Blacks should not be equated to the culture of Klevas, denoting the wise, savant street -wise and of Good Example to the young, such as Don Mattera

,Desmond Tutu, Abdulah Ebrahim ,Hugh Masekela and Agree Klaaste to name a few...

A clear cut example of Clever Black is such as, those who PUSH their academic achievements into your face ,to grant them passage into your adoration ,some coming out to make their claims to leadership stronger to the gullible, by use of their Overseas Education.

Even Psychopathic out of exile such as one of this Plantation’s Head Honcho who came to send to the grave 30,500 of his own people to the early grave ,just to protect fact that hosts of our beloved from exiles unfortunately came back as HIV AIDS

carriers and with this reality threatening to erode the trust our folk had on the exilic lot , he decided to poison every mind in the Plantation that AIDS does not exist ,as people are just poor and need good nutrition, which he also failed to cultivate and provide.

While despite all fact, that his power of denialism killed a little close to the number of people than King Leopold 11 slaughtered in Namibia, Lord Kitchener butchered among the in Boer Concentration Camps and those butchered in the Gaza Strip today has but just slightly eclipsed that number , coupled with the refusal to institute a programme of Debriefing of us all ,the victim including perpetrator of apartheid multi-faceted killer machines; yet he is still heralded as the smartest ,educated ever post apartheid by those called Clever Blacks for ironically confounding dumb ways…

This Top Dog also enjoys more fame among the ‘ Growe’ rough on the skin Clever Blacks than the Honcho that toppled him ,to find a total panacea to stop the devastation of HIV AIDS in its more horrid tracks that it is still marching on…

While Cuz,I don’t hold no candle for the Under Dog Honcho, we have not been enabled to know about his real intents with the putsch, later christened State Capture, all we are let into is how Stalingrad he is around the law…

The putsch is the more enigmatic and hardly a few people have been charged for this mighty capture. Right now the oncoming Erections 2024 could easily be rigged and be collapsed by Industrial scale voter theft happening way, before the Ballot casting day.For the Stalingrad stallion horse trading for the gunning for the land slide win has not been at the centre but above all elections chicanery as the climate is getting the hotter. Fact being Signature forging is so wide strewn among would be partners in Coalitions already into pacts , away from cameras in front of which they are vaunting with vitriol and all the kak ,but out there patting each other’s backs privately that: ‘’

hey, we all are packing em pretty good, for our brand new and novel Coalition.’’

Only civil society’s prescience can stop them political porn stars as even call rise already for the postponement of the would be stolen jamboree 29th May 2024…

Therefore my prayer is that all in S.A. look right now ,not just to the General Erections 2024,but to the beyond , that will turn if not all like bubble-gum music, political shams ,to the Real McCoy Soul Music for all the People…Say a more Reggae , than symphonic orchestras of coon imitations…

If deeply examined with a sapient surgeon’s scalpel ,you will realise there is no person-hood in the midst and height of the S.A. Liberation Struggle that stood so

regally, out as a warrior-savant and saint-hood like Martin Thembisile Hani aka Chris…

The choice of his mettle to not just emulate but take upon ourselves for a few who will survive its riggers, will really liberate this Plantation as it relives the promises that were crushed in his death ,while it held our hopes high in the late eighties and early nineties .

No cohesive enough a Movement will glue our people together more than the Hani name ,would far beyond the 2024 General Erections.

Expertly and Ethically run, more deeply hermeneutically interpreted at all levels of society, where we failed to sell the Wisdoms of Mohlomi , Moshoeshoe and the Warrior-hood of Inkosi Bambatha and now have even a far better chance of re-instating their philosophies where they will never ever be supplanted in the age of enlightenment upon us all…’

Less Uvalo expresses his awe one more time; ‘Hey Cuz dere is so much coincidences of history between you’re his/herstory and de one of de Diaspora dat drives me completely nuts, as much as Martin Hani had dis fadder Gilbert who natured him into social-consciousness, only at de rare times he had visited his family from his migrant labor work, he had made sure de seed is planted deep into de Man later to be known, by a de Nom-deguerre -Chris, a name taken from his blood brodder’s name ,hey de blood was quite thick man in dere; so thick I surmise dat when Martin had in exilic precarious condishons t’ go incognito under cover from de enemy t’ was more dan hard fer him t’ temporarily totally forgo de family name, choosin rather t’ take his brother in de holiest house’s name Chris, while retainin his roots - Hani. So clearly dis man jus feigned t’ be under cover whilst he was not - a real proud warrior he was.

Of de mettle dat of Cadjoe a Commander of de Slave Revolution in Jamaica was incidentally also trained by his own fadder Naquan in de posishon as de Commander he had succeeded .

So really why don’t we have a cross de Atlantic Academy of de Highest Honor, named for bof Hani an Cadjoe?..

On comin home Hani had worked very closely wif Winnie Mandela while Cadjoe had worked wif anodder Commander Queen Nanny an at sef- liberashon towns wif names of bof, fer Nanny an Cudjoe were branded an set up in de mountains of conquered groun, as Free African Towns …

Lets stop da damn procrastinashon an build de Academy of of true Liberashon on dese most holy names…De Black take over for de Americas had den begun.? ‘

‘Without deviating from your point which I fully endorse Cuz,’ Team jutted in, My dad tells me that during apartheid in the eighties one Pik Botha who was the Old Plantation’s Ambassador to the UN,went on to inform the World Body that his observations ,walking down Bree Street in Jo’anna City was that of Black s wearing Big smiles and emitting out of their guts the loudest of laughter ,just to prove that folk were none the angry with now verlig apartheid (apartheid lite ) at all…

So the day we quit free smiles , just like you do on telling the Cudjoe Story, the sooner would our folk learn to concentrate on graver issues in this Plantation and learning to decisively deal with them…Thanks Cuz,for the palpable No Smile Lesson…

Duma Khumalo would continue without smiling and deep pain written in his brow:

‘’My mother was a thief and would bring home clothing from her Missus’s house in

the Vereeniging town ,to come and iron at my home ,having spent more time washing the laundry plus doing other tedious house chores for the week…

This had worked perfectly well for her ,as it would enable her ,to on Sunday Morning send us to the Sunday School ,all but resplendently dressed up in her Missus’s well ironed children’s clothes, to the African Methodist Episcopal Church’s Black Liberation History teaching Sunday School Sessions, teaching that more than pure Bible Stories elsewhere and offered here by Ntate Tsheke…So Duma’s Mom would not let her children miss the Richard Allen ,Absalom Jones’ freedom lite history and more about civic religious freedom of just having had the guts by some main church going collective to finally break away from a White run and White First Preference church…

“Get back home to get the clothes washed them again and ironed and prepared them for the journey back to the Vereeniging towns - White Huis and had the Missus of the house come to know the truth about the re-laundering of her White kids clothes, after adorning Black kid’s bodies for a Sunday, she would have screamed as she once did at my Mom-that she would have been better off, counted as one of the dead at the Sharpeville Shootings and went on to fire her on the spot, as the search for her replacement would not have taken a one glance into the meant to be lily white street, as any black body moving about there was either there for work, or in search of one.

Her frame of mind was no less than that of a Vanderbijl Park White woman at a filling station on the Morning before the massacre had, told another fellow White reporter on his way to cover the March ten kilometres away – that

“They should shoot all those kaffirs dead and the next morning, they would be back at

work”

It indeed took some doing to get these Sharpeville kids some ‘better’ an alternative religious history education, for the times - to all that they were fed at apartheid schools.

Besides this St Peters AME Churches ’s church School, Freedom Schools also disguised as Cultural Clubs, had been run on week days in Areas like Brakpan Township

,Alexandra and in the whole Witwatersrand under the protection of the communities under our the tutelage of people’s own such as Bishop Ambrose Reevers, Mme Grace Rasekoala and Ntate Wilcox Bopape to name a few and who had openly rebelled against what was called Bantoe Education and were thus expelled from regular teaching posts..

If ever we organised such schools under the Neo- Apartheid regime in these Plantation, we would be hounded out by being starved with funding denial , by these House Niggers running our lives today and with our people ,more on the re-colonization by the hand of neo-apartheid apparatchiks run and controlled by smarter and thriftier than Cecil John Rhodes Black hand that thrives on more Indigenous folk down the last bottom rung of the ladder and remain there praising the present Pretoria for food-parcels…

But really, should we throw our arms in the air of desperation? While the idea of Hani Academy is now out here right now. Never, we will beat the road to Sharpeville on Commemorations 2024 to go and not recharge our Liberation Fight batteries, for sure…

And on my first touching down on New York and with a friend of mine from home while in a fast -food corner, decided to break into Tsotsi-taal and a friendly African

American brother came close by to say , ‘’Hey dat mus be German an , German between two most beautiful Black Youn Women -quite unheard of…’’

We burst into a dizzy laughter while explaining that this is a Slave Acres Indigenous patoi heavily mixed with Afrikaans ,

‘’ And what is Afrikaans? … ‘’ He had asked as we in impolite titters, I guess ,we had moved on our way out - oh, just another of the by the way stories ,as sharing dissertations with the run off the meal African – Americans as for many, even a little of America they are willing to know,we had tainted him with that brush…’

And before Less could now also ask Team , why does she think, he mis-heard the pronunciation of some names, she with a giggle mentioned a while ago, she stood up, and instead belted out the old African American nostalgic slave days song: because she needed very badly now to hear out of her own mind going forward for inspiration and Less’s full understanding of their magical deeper spiritual connection

,that bordered on the almost esoteric quietly took it all in as she very softly belted out :

Way down upon de Swanee River, sadly I roam

Oh darkies how my heart grows weary

Far from de ole folk at home…

Closing it and punctuating it off here by bowing to Less who then continued …

‘Oh Olympian God of real life, of romance dreams,deep an wild sonorous psychological masturbashons also fer many a personal pain of just being real…

Which pays handsomely if well taken care of ,as memories handy fer de future nurture of our on goin personhood an folk-hood ...’

Team continued; ‘That is to honour your history and your present acumen to clearly understand and to also grasp sharply the present Slave Acres situation , so clearly nuanced by your ear that so expertly cast such almost very own almost mispronounced word like in ah-boh-lohn for Abelone to all the mess of my Indigenous words …’ And at this, she laughed now more boldly… ‘I honour you so much Cuz,you have so succeeded in obliterating the so machinated picture that uncle S.P.-Sneaky Poseure had sought to use and abuse my personal journey and heritage so far travelled nay trudging on as you ploeter en proe with your ear to my rantings,is your personal invaluable crown …’

As his wont Less Uvalo bowed , ‘Ah give also ma bow, despite graspin clearly what ye describe as ma hearing yo out an t’ nuance it all wif my alleged monikers; dat word also strangely reminds me of de saga of one Monica Lewinsky, whose image an dignity was so sullied, not necessarily by her trysts of pleasurin with President Bill Clinton, but by his shovin her youn person off wif words to de effect dat :

“ I DID NOT HAVE SEX,WIF DAT WOMAN…”

As if it were just a no serious blow job game … wif a gal his own daughter’s age. Just a ‘mere’ blow -job stint on de Highest Priest’s couch so lustily desired by many a wench an hoe and driven by the likes if Hugh Heffner and the Kennedy dynasty brothers.’

‘ Miraculously she was so stron nuf t’ have not committed de damn suicide…Yo dun do dat t’ a youn woman jus because ye can…’exhorted Less

‘Yo dun paint her wif ya grossly quaint brush includin a highly fictitious youn woman an caricaturing her name-Takalane - in yo old- reached sell by date -Slave Acres vulgar laws fermentin house, permanently besmirching a name so honourable in yo people’s history, their Kinte Roots, jus as ya go smellin ya political deaf bed...

No yo dun put yo knee on Gogo Takalane’s name’s neck ,so it can’t no more breathe the clean Modderlan air , wifout every jerk now making de worst - dirty dozens’

banter ’bout it- all , way down history …Yo can’t nigger, yo can’t…

Then Teamswallows begun to sob first quietly and then raising her voice to a sharp crescendo:

I ain’t your chocolate Slave Driver

To be…

Dying to wannabe Vanilla

I ain’t your now squalid Vaal River

Wishing to be the Tugela

I ain’t no Indian Ocean

Agonizing to be the Atlantic Ocean

I ain’ t in the Cape Coon Carnival

Praying to be in the Boer/Zionist Festival

My skin…

Wasn’t perfected in your kiln

I am made

I ain’t moulded

I am your I ancestral Kinte Aunt

Not your Jingoism pleasure Cunt

In your most lewd Script

You tried to make me your Creation

And some dead nigger girl’s apparition

Matriculating into a Vanilla skin

You shall not read me ,when I am dead

But now that I am still here and real bad…

Out to reclaim the Real McCoy the Ancestral Takalane

Who ain’t your procured Artificial Intelligence doll

Or a piece of meat in your juicy broil

Crowded by the all demented by power ghouls

Bereft of thinking right

And dreaming right

With no borrowed might…

Leaving you almost chagrined

If ever you are capable of thinking close to right

Dream right

And not with borrowed Might…

As Less Uvalo also beginning to make himself, also heard by rappin on the spot :

Teamswallows aint for sale

Teamswallows aint ya date ‘n gal slave

My Cuz ain’t ya Vanilla Barbie Doll

My Cuz,ain’t ya kinda Mistress Head dolt

Looking fer a date daft ,n wan

Yo down right sugar cane worm

But she a swallow flyin back in her team

Not jus ya chitlin rot canned in a tin

Teamswallows in pleasant awe one more time, ‘Oh, Cuz you are so effortlessly Indigenous ,without even the fashionable ostentatious kissing the soil of our ancestors, or tarmac walked by all kinds of thieves disembarking from later day slave ships, to come and meet their local lickspittles any time and dollar driven in Real Time , I wouldn’t be surprised if Barrack Obama did not kiss the tarmacadam ,when he first landed on Motherland soil… One Vocal Bring Back The Land Scout, around, would have expected them to kiss the Real Agricultural soil and its neighbouring pot-holed street’s soil, like the shell bombarded ones today in the Townships…

Less moved to hug her tight as they both bowed to our common ancestors with hands held together as they were about to solemnly leave their now clearly and indelibly made historical rendezvous …’

Less Uvalo Stepping back awhile ‘Cuz, neber eber have ya Cunt for sale, even if de pimp tries t’ get it through de damn Plantation’s political back door, neber eber sell ya Old Kinte in de hovels of slave merchants; Neber on deir Life as Demeaned Market places officiously offered fer some mean succour pretence , neber, eber Cuz…

Stand up an clean up ya name dat is right now ,being portended fer de vilest of self-pleasurin an vain self-cleansin of Asses long rotten….Yo owe dignity an honor, not only t’ yasef but more t’ posterity…’