My father was the first man to be buried in our village. His death coincided with my birth and my mother’s sadness. The other villagers knew this, so they stretched my name from Kwena to Ke-wena when they spoke to me, as if saying ‘It is you who has caused our lives to be this way.’
I certainly have my Naane le Moya faves, one of them being Sibongile Fisher, who has been regular here. From interview to residency, never mincing her words and serving top quality stories always. Narratives that hold your hand as you look deeply within yourself or your surroundings.
It is blasphemous to enquire the origins of your maker, you will hardly find yourself anyway. For It is said that she is an oblivious kid chosen by the universe, nonmalleable to time’s haste for death, casting immortal spells as if skipping stones on a lake.
The true enquiry therefore becomes “from what was I made?”
Part I: The Pilgrim
Burdened by this ghostly cargo,
The carnal leakage too far gone.
Lucid dreams swindle my rest,
A timely vent for a smothered soul on a prodigal quest.
I self-mutilate like a vandal,
A nagging summoning to let myself go.
Delay my demise another day,
To feign control over mortality.
It’s 2008. A biting winter and a lonely heart. Beige is the colour of the season and you wear yours with olive. Last night I told my friend about how ready I am to try again and I wake up to convince myself that I am ready to try again.
Sjamboks! Tear gas! Policemen in vans and others are forming hedges of defence for Authority.
“Where have I seen this before?”
Song. Chants. Revolutionary dances.
“This looks familiar.”
We had heard about what they had done to the other villages, these demon possessed men that killed without any conscious. Those who managed to escape came to tell us how they tore open the bellies of pregnant women, how they set their shrines alight and how they gave the village a new name every time they moved on. We lived in fear for we knew that they were coming to our village, Battlemount.
Its the 31st of December 2016, I’m alone and I’m planning to be alone for some days. I want to get into the new year sober. My plans are to get into the new year alone, to gather my thoughts and to spend time with God, to present my year plan to Him and to not be blinded by anything. Closer to 00h00 I start to write the plans I have for the new year and one of the plans is to NOT BUY BOOKS. When you walk into my bedroom its books everywhere, some I’ve read, some I have not read, just books everywhere and as much as I’m a bit of a readaholic whose dream job is to be paid for reading, the sight makes my eyes a bit sore.