The home was once brand new; fresh paint, clean carpet, window glasses held tightly by wet clay against the frame, a space to move our furniture and our love into.
My friends and I make a pact, a forever most of us will never keep. We are naive and eighteen years old, barely old enough to have a good sense of the world. We are in boarding school. Well I am in boarding school, I got sent here four summers ago in the south-western regions of Limpopo. It gets really cold and lonely here, so you tend to gravitate to whatever human you can find. I am at a girls only Catholic institution, my parents had always wanted my siblings and I to go to the good schools, and this school was their idea of great.
His father’s death was not a disgrace because he was buried in a bush, his body wrapped with plastic, with one person to pay respect to his life, doing the digging and the covering of the hole without any ritual done or words spoken.
Nkateko Masinga was the March resident, following Katleho Kano Shoro. She graced with biblical titled stories and spiritual content taking us on all sorts of pilgrimages.
Here is video of all the fun we got up to during Nkateko’s residency.
The first night Nondawonye left her village, she did not say any goodbyes, not even to her lover, Nhlakanipho. Her leaving was involuntary, something pulling her to somewhere. She left after midnight, straight from a dream to the bushes behind her hut. It was unknown to her where she was heading but the route felt familiar, she had walked that path in her slumber before it felt like she was still sleeping and soon her grandma, Gogo, will knock on her door and remind her of her daily chores.
The first quarter of the year is done and dusted and I’m taking some time to reflect.
So far the year has been nothing but good to me. Last year I became the first international storyteller to be awarded the J. J Reneaux Emerging Storyteller Grant award by the National Storytelling Network. I used the grant to attend a personal storytelling course in Cape Town this February, a 3 weeks intensive course taught by Sue Hollingsworth of the Centre for Biographical Storytelling.
larger than life is such a cliché
and especially problematic by
when applied to a loved one
who is no longer with us,
has passed on or away,
Nomashenge first came up on my timeline during the CSP Sho’Case. Vus’umuzi Phakathi had shared a video of one of her performances and after watching it felt so cleansed. Like I had a sip from the well of purity. Something about her was so innocent and new and I was in love.
Kwena arrived on a warm afternoon. The sun seemed to be lazing on the horizon, its streaks colouring the sky orange and red as a final act for the day, a curtain-call before the evening breeze ushered in the night. Our meeting seemed orchestrated, the fulfilment of an age-old prophecy. Her father placed one hand on my shoulder, moved his lips close to my ear and simply breathed. We had done it.