Child, You Are Death, You Are Dead, You have Died
Poetic Response
When the water crisis hit my hometown (Qwaqwa) few years ago. It was presumed that it was and still is not a natural disaster but a political act. The water that sprang in our back yards, and wells of water that have been abandoned and neglected have led to the existing and pressing drought that saw a young girl drowning in one of the dams while fetching water with her brother.
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Backdrop: The tragic death of a young eight-year-old girl – Modisa Mbhele – in QwaQwa has led to violent protests in the eastern Free State town (South Africa), and the arrest of over 30 people. Modisa's death was being blamed on the water crisis in the area.
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The aim of the below poem was to weave two poetic narratives together like how rain threads of Modisa’s childhood gurgled in the joyful laughter of the gutters of her life was cut short… only to multiply and resonate in a consort which avoided monotony but was joined together by poetic delicacy of two poets.
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You Are Death, You Are Dead, You have Died
Child, you are death- you are dead, You have died
Your name was borrowed
From your grandmother’s clan names
Curled up around the tongue of your mother
That sings loud
diboko-seboko
puo-dipuo
pina-dipina
To grow
In the garden of her eyes
peo-popelong
To glow
Like the orange of everything in her sky
hodimo-mahodimo
To flow
Not as her landscape
But as a peeping sun-
Through her clouds
sehla-tshehlana
tsatsie-letsatsing
Child, you are death- you are dead, You have died
Your path
Marked with curves,
Cliffs and hills around her waist
tsela-tseleng
letheka-thekeng
Lefika- Mafika
Is a reminder
To come home alive, always
But then, you are death- you are dead, you have died
lefu-leholo-ke-ditshego
Like a shadow of a pebble that drowned
Not in her womb
peo-popelong
But over the over flooding river of her being
Your people will no longer
Soil themselves out of you
Modimo-Badimo
For you are death- you are dead, you have died
lefu-leholo-ke-ditshego
Your grandmother
Will no longer drink your mounting tears
dikgapha-tse-kgapatsehang
Mmé motswadi- kgapukgapu
Your Mother
Will never clean fear off
the walls of your face
fahla- sefahleho
Nor wipe the landmarks of grief
On your body
mmele-pelo-le-moya
Child, you no longer sing your screams
Or have your girlish voice pierce through river-banks
melapo le melatswana
dinoka-le-dinkwana
Your lungs can no longer
Carry waters that dripped between your fingers
fahla-sefahleho
Your spirit swam and swam
…leaped through political crack
To sink your soul
To wet your childhood
To well up like a storm growing inside you
didiba-le-madiboho
lefu-leholo-ke-ditsheho
furalletse- satalletse
didiba-le-madiboho little house
Now in our garden
Your grave lies
melapong-le-mafikeng
lefu-leholo-ke-ditsheho
Everything is damp with sorrow
Child, you are death- you are dead, you have died
lefu-leholo-ke-ditsheho
While our silence ate into the wind
Who… who survives drowning?
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How There Was so Much Water2
So based on Lo’s poem on page 19–20 I re-created a strong juxtaposition questions using Basotho/ Batswana/ Bapedi childhood games… linked to rain.
Diketo
Pula tsa lehlohono
Ha di na ka medupi
Hohle e le diphororo
Le’na he o nkgopole
O jesu’ mong’aka
O se ntebale le’na
Growing up in the mountains We used to play “diketo” Out of mined holes… dug up by our little brown fingers Across our backyards With the most amazing views of hills, and cliffs Two players would gather around the circled-hole That was housing twelve pebbles
Oho so mphete mon’ghadi
Bona, ke omeletse!
Rothisetsa marotho
Le’na o nkolobise
O jesu’ mong’aka
O se ntebale le’na
One player out of two Will throw a hand-full of stones up into the air Then try to grab as many pebbles inside the hole Before catching that one stone from the air With the same hand… If player one doesn’t catch the stone from the air quickly It means they would have failed to cup-off any pebbles From the mined hole So the next player takes over… it is their turn To capture as many pebbles… to win the game…
Moloki waka lerato
Ke khomaretse wena
Ha o fa ba bang ha kaalo,
Mphe hanyenyane le’na
O jesu’ mong’aka
O se ntebale le’na
Through loss/ grief/ disaster Many of us have been trying to play “diketo” With words… for our friends Who have lost love ones Through un/natural disasters We have been trying to – play- as co-mourner- comforter- co-healers We have been trying to dance with 12 pebbles inside a hole To ease- to sooth – to play – to catch the one from the air So that none of us can drown in our own tears- fears
O jesu’ mong’aka
O se ntebale le’na
O jesu’ mong’aka
O se ntebale le’na
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This poem presents a dialogue between two poets as they translate history/herstory/ their-story into data.
Translate Into Data to Translate Into Fact to Translate3
1652
First Disaster… white butter flies came across the sea to eat our lands… Jan van Riebeeck the first colonist… set up a Dutch supply station by the Cape shores in 1652
1838
Abolishment of slavery engulfed in diamonds and gold sparked Anglo-Boer War in 1838
1909
The Union of South African without native South Africans… proclaimed by white dominion over majority of black people in 1909
1912
Black civil rights movement: South African Native National Congress is formed in 1912
1935 Social Security Act
1913
The Native Land Act (black people… black bodies… black voices cannot and will not own their own land) as of 1913
1938 Fair Labor Act
1948
The birth of Apartheid, and white privilege in 1948
1946 National School Lunch Act
1952
Defiance Campaign: we carried you on our backs… you sucked milk from our breasts… how can we the ones who have raised you ask you for permission to walk on our lands 1952
Then 20 000 Mothers/ Sisters/ Daughters/ Women’s… march against pass laws in 1956
1960
69 Sharpville massacre… 69 demonstrators killed, 69 black people… black bodies… black voices… flooded by bullets and drowned in their own blood… in 1960
1960 Aid to Families with Dependent Children
1961 Food Stamps
1964 Economic Opportunity Act
1965 Housing and Urban Development Act
1966 Child Nutrition Act
1972 Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children
1978
Steve Bantu Biko killed… 1978 after he said... “The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed”-
1976
Solitary whistle of guns killed 600 students… 600 Solitary wailing of tears fell … 600 school children’s screamed … in 1976 Youth Upraising
1982 Job Training Partnership Act
1984 Truth in Sentencing
1984 Comprehensive Crime Control Act
*1988 Office of National Drug Control Policy
1992
Nelson Mandela released after 27 years in prison. We were sold out… in 1992
The dawn… the rise…the beginning of democracy. FREEDOM!!! in 1994
1994 Three Strikes Law in California
1996 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Act
1998 Workforce Investment Act
2005- #FeesMustFall
What we felt scattered in the air - Betrayal. Fees- Must- Fall!
… Still there is no free education for a black child and its 2005
2012
Black people… black bodies… black voices… against… xenophobia/ afro-phobia/ corruption… black people… black bodies… black voices … fought for crumps of bread... black people… black bodies… black voices have turned into dog-eat-dog… “we will be killing each other today!” Marikana!!! That is in 2012
2013/2014/2015/2016/2017/2018/2019. Black women in South Africa have mastered collecting bricks that build sisterhood of friendship on the foundation of trauma…
2020 un/natural disaster South Africa has been declared the kingdom of femicide
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So What About the Instinct to Survive4
Here I explored with what Lo’s poem can be when said in both English and Sesotho. Almost like the meeting of two languages through poetry.
“… so what about birds and burying beetles. so what about support and what about struggle. so what about ants and bees and termites. so what about the field upon which tender feelings developeven amidst otherwise most cruel animals. so what about migration. breeding. autumn. so what about the numberless lakes of the russian and siberian steppesand what about aquatic birds, all living in perfect peace…”
“… Joale ho thoe'ng ka linonyana le ho pata maleshoane. joale ho thoe'ng ka ts'ehetso mme ho thoe'ng ka ntoa. ho thoe'ng ka bohloa le linotsi le bohloa. ho thoe'ng ka lebala leo maikutlo a bonolo a holang har'a liphoofolo tse sehlōhō ka ho fetesisa. joale ho thoe'ng ka ho falla. ho tsoala. hoetla. joale ho thoe'ng ka matša a se nang palo a masabasaba a Russia le a Siberia 'me ho thoe'ng ka linonyana tsa metsing, kaofela ha tsona li phela ka khotso e phethahetseng…”
Backdrop: The Modjadjis’, or Rain Queens, are the hereditary queens of the Balobedu, a people of the Limpopo Province of South Africa. Their ability to make rain are believed to be reflected in the lush garden which surrounds her royal compound. Surrounded by parched land, her garden contains the world's largest cycad trees which are in abundance under a spectacular rain belt. The succession to the position of Rain Queen is matrilineal, so her eldest daughter is the heir, and males are not entitled to inherit the throne at all. The Rain Queen is believed to have special powers, including the ability to control the clouds and rainfall. The Rain Queen is not supposed to marry, but has many "wives".
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More so below I looked at the above poem from Lo and used it to compose a praise poem inspired by the narrative of the linage of the Rain Queens, who were believed to have mystical rain making powers. Probably the response below was to merge two worlds on the landscape of African cultural roots.
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Rain
comes down as a delicate worn-out curtain,
a relentless but relatively slow descent
of quite small diamonds drops.
some look the size of corn;
others are like pieces of glowing stones,
or marbles hanging down in convex loops,
or smashed pieces of mirror balls.
these sky tears flow, overflow - flood, floods
with intention on the hand, sand, land
almost hitting, biting, flirting, dallying with the ground,
with vision, conviction, addiction, obsession
if anything, Rain when it breaks
and scatter…
scatter and breaks
like glittering, blistering, shooting, shelling needles.
if anything, when it comes,
Rain falls on every house,
not some or others, but all.
If anything, Rain when it lands
a lament
too hard to tame
too hard… to name
is a blessing and a curse
a curse and a blessing.
a natural un/natural water dance.
… Rain plants its self in the ground,
meets seeds that feeds all.
at times its drops grow,
and flow, overflow - flood, floods
then falls on human walls,
to drown us… all in our own blood.
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Translator’s note by Napo Masheane
Oratures in Africa allow us to borrow from each other’s poetic voices, styles, forms, and themes in their translations and interpretations. Part of each oratures’ story, which is how I refer to myself and Lo’s work, is that if we don’t write ourselves into history... herstory and/or any-story, we won’t remember our past and capture our urgent present experiences. This for me is the premise that connected my theatrics, poetics and narratives with Lo’s poetic anthology, A Series of Un/Natural Disasters, which looked into social ills and issues, for instance in their poem; Because Another Tropical Storm is Looming - pg 9–12, which birthed out of me... You Are Death, You Are Dead, You have Died. A poem inspired by the tragic death of an eight-year-old girl – Modisa Mbhele – in QwaQwa, blamed on water crisis in the area, that led to violent protests in the eastern Free State town (South Africa), and the arrest of over 30 people.
Furthermore, there was Lo’s poem... Poor Marks for His Handling of Federal Response – pg 28–34, that presented its self as a rhetorical statement, “poor people were evacuated by gun point”. Here, the departing point inspiration was to compose a poem made out of the weaved-up childhood Basotho games, that are often shared through various translations across Southern Africa by number of ethnic groups to call-on or celebrate rain. I also explored with Lo’s… How There Was So Much Water – pg 19–20, that became the principle dialogue between two poems asking more questions: What fascinates me with the choices the poet made was the way in which they used punctuation marks, where a rhetorical question ends with a full stop.
Fascinated by a saying in an African culture that amplifies that: “He- She- They... That Control History- Herstory... Control the Narrative,” I subsequently found that... Translate into Data to Translate into Fact to Translate – pg 48, by Lo again capturing historic/herstoric data, and translating it into time through a collective translation. I trialed with both of our data collection through slavery, apartheid, migration, civil wars, genocides, un/natural disasters and femicide, that closely knead into transverse ethnic similarities; between our two countries. While the last poem: Rain… speaks to the narrative of the linage of the Rain Queens, who were (are) believed to have mystical rain making powers. But how the very same legacy of making rain can flood and drown feminine existence of its power. This drawn inspiration was a rendition from Lo’s poem… So What About the Instinct to Survive – pg 38, which stands as a juxtaposition of what two poetic voices can poetically achieve through commonalities that are in synch with the questions they have.
My overview of Lo’s artistic-poetic voice as an orature… allows any reader to engage with timeless questions such as; how far do we picture an un/natural disaster as natural or as another political act that vomits on those who are underprivileged? Lo’s tone as an orature challenges supremacy that is engulfed in some particular ritualistic aspects within our inherited traditions and culture. That for me is the crust of how we as poets can echo the politics of the stomach that hinder those who are a part of a world that will always un/naturally pickpocket those who are ‘the have not’ against (v/s) ‘the haves’.
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