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𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞

Look to Ukraine War 2022
To see
Ukraine people tearing
Replacement Theory apart
In practice
The last of
European fascistic scum falling apart

Replacement assumes plunder
Predicates
Displacement carnage
Genocide

The last of
European American fascistic scum
Daily murder Black descendants
Ancestors of whom
Got displaced from Africa
Got placed into slavery in the Americas
Thirteen million of them
Two million of whom
Became meals for
Sharks of the Atlantic

©Simon Chilembo 2021

African prosperity halted
With the gap of the loss of
Bodies and brains
Replaced forever by
Poverty and misery
Disease scaling the cake
Dysfunctional states
A legacy
The Democratic Republic of the Congo
But one case in point
Gory Leopold of Belgium
Exterminated ten million people
As if they were flies here
Numerous others left with
Amputated limbs
Setting standard for
Sierra Leone’s Charles Taylor
Decades later
Rwanda genocide
Shocked the world

Historically objectively viewed
Replacement Theory
In practice
Gave us colonialism
Gave me Apartheid
As welcome to earth present
In South Africa
Displaced
My mother’s people
From their land
Subjected us to
Poverty-driven subservience
Decimated us
Denied us the living
Opportunities for
Human potential maximization attainment
Replacing our human worth
With
Systemic racism oppression untold
Supremacist repressive methodologies
Blue prints perfected here
Apartheid a fascist catchphrase
These days
If you ask me

Five-hundred years later
I’m in Europe
Begging bowl
In my hands
“𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦!” noose
Around my neck
Waiting for me
To take just one misstep
To lynch me

©Simon Chilembo 2021

Survived
Have I already
Several a
Direct killer attempts
Me simply doing
What I gotta do
To be a decent human being
Everyday
Tailing after bounty
Stolen from my ancestors

Meanwhile
Hangmen-in-waiting
Scandalize my name
Already stabbed me in the back
That notwithstanding
Still standing
Stepping forth up-and-up
I can breathe

In America
Survivor posterity of my ancestral roots
Defy the highest odds
Living from day to day
Ever in search in the heavens
For reasons why
The colour of our skin
Is such an abomination
If there is a God
It is not for
People of colours

Children of the indigenous
Inhabitants of the
Americas land masses
Daily decry
Genocide of
Tens upon tens of millions of their ancestors
Fifty-six million perished
In the first one hundred years
At the hands of European scum settlers

Next time you see
The pre-match Haka
Do discern All Blacks
Souls of the Māori bemoaning
Replacement from their ancestral lands
In New Zealand

The Wallabies are no consolation
For the Aborigines
Replaced from their
Ancestral procreative spaces
To make room for replenishment of
Australian white supremacist
Grooming endeavours
Christchurch slaughters didn’t just happen

©Simon Chilembo 2021

Beyond Pele’s legendary fecundity
On the soccer pitch
Millions more of
Survivor posterity of my ancestral roots
Languish
Displaced in
Brazilian favelas
And the hinterland

In Argentina
History just as dreadful for
Survivor posterity of my ancestral roots
Displace
Debase
Excruciate
Exclude
Incapacitate
Isolate
Replace
Discard
Eliminate
That’s the way of
Replacement Theory peddlers
In practice for real
Playing itself out
With impunity
With the right hand of God
Unbeknown to compassion
Jesus’ civility defiled

Today
Fleeing ravages of wars
Inseparable from
Ways of original global masters of
Replacement by murder: Imperialists
People of the world
Run to modern Europe unchanged
Steam to
United States of America the cursed un-united
Resurface in
The land down under

Traumatized
World emigrants
𝘓𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘳é𝘴 𝘥𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦
𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘶𝘵𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘳𝘦
𝘉𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘪 𝘣𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘩𝘦
𝘈𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘬𝘢
𝘖𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘢
Want not to kill anybody
Want not to rape anybody
Want not to plunder anybody’s land
They only ask for
Shelter, food, and love
Hopefully
Packaged in something called
Human dignity
Ukraine War 2022 style
In our times

White Supremacists
Scared shitless of
Self-created myths
Of non-white people of the world
Wanting to eat
White people
Off the face of America
My foot
We are better than that by far

Oh, come on
If racist whites
Have failed to eliminate
People of colours
From black to magenta
For more than half a millennium
What makes
Hot-nutted
Small White American men
With guns in hands
As in
Buffalo shooting
Think that they can
Eradicate us now
We define resilience, dudes
Black don’t crack
Goes the rap
Let’s all live together in harmony
Now

Oh, by the way
In the 21st Century
And years pushing on ahead
Monoethnics are dying breeds
Multiculturalism is
The future of humanity
United in diversity today

Grow up
And
Get used to it, y’all bigots
Wash your damn bloody hands
Stay clean
For human solidarity
For love
Abound in the world
Despite the mess
You ever
So relentlessly strive
To sustain
How dum
Can a human being be
𝘑𝘦𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘶𝘻𝘻𝘻
END
©Simon Chilembo 22/05-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
June 02, 2022

PS
The pandemic is still in our midst. Fears and factual untruths haven’t abated. In my 7th book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories, I highlight fallacies red lights and how to identify them. Order the book, read, and be inspired by my philosophical exposition on the matter. It might save yours and your loved ones’ lives.

DISCLAIMER: I neither offer nor suggest any cures or remedies. I promote fearless, independent thought and inclination towards pursuing science-based knowledge in times of, indeed, frightening, life-threatening phenomena in the world.

©Simon Chilembo 2020

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋: 𝐔𝐊𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐

𝐓𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

Looking at
The crystal ball
That was
The full moon
Last night
In the month of April
Revelation is that
If it’s a multiple of
The number six
Year 2022 is
Year of the Beast

On the impending third month
One full moon ahead
Of hot-nutted men’s
Refuse-to-stop war games
Orgies of destruction
Murder and pillage
In Ukraine
The last of
People dying
Dominoes-falling-style
Shall cause
The axis of
Diplomacy
Imperialism
Irrationality
Resistance
Sacrifice
And
Pushed boundaries exhaustion
Tension point
To collapse

Snapping
The blackmail:
𝘊𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶
The ransom:
𝘐 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵
𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯
𝘐 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵
𝘙𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦
𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘦
𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘯

Nuclear war
Brought to life
For one last time
Duration of which
We’ll never see
Humanity obliterating itself
From the face of the earth
In an instant

©Simon Chilembo 2021

From the heart of Europe
Stupendous Big Bangs
Excavating the earth
Higher magnitude
Hiroshima-Nagasaki like
Mushroom clouds
Thunder-rolled
Into outer space

Black holes in the universe
Giving our once
Earthly bodies particles
Sanctuary
Reducing us further to
Sub-atomic particles

Heaven to some
Hell to some
Which won’t really matter
Anyhow

Total humanity decimation
Return inconceivable
Reincarnation ideas pulverized
When we’ll have
Already lived all
There was of both
Heaven and hell
In all forms
In our
Pre-apocalypse earth now
Abound with
Godly crap talks and acts
Everywhere
Wrapped up in
Satanic verses in
Proclaimed holy books
Fools don’t even know
How to read
Upside down
Downside up
𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦 𝘧æ𝘯

Hear my possible last
Melancholy song now
Those of you
Hooked on legacies
Show them now
Share them now
Enjoy them now

For God’ sake
We all gonna perish
Shit ain’t gonna mean no shit
In post-nuclear war
Apocalyptic world
Bloody ’ell

It is what it is
Worst of humanity
Playing out its ultimate idiocy
To the very end
Obnoxious

Woe betide
Tyrants of the world
Whilst we last
Let us breathe
𝐄𝐍𝐃
©Simon Chilembo 17/04-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
April 20, 2022

PS
The pandemic is still in our midst. Fears and factual untruths haven’t abated. In my 7th book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories, I highlight fallacies red lights and how to identify them. Order the book, read, and be inspired by my philosophical exposition on the matter. It might save yours and your loved one’s lives.
DISCLAIMER: I neither offer nor suggest any cures or remedies. I promote fearless, independent thought and inclination towards pursuing science-based knowledge in times of, indeed, frightening, life-threatening phenomena in the world.

©Simon Chilembo 2020

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃: 𝐔𝐊𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧

Once upon a time
I was a man of means
My formative years I lived
With beloved
High Priestess
𝘈𝘶𝘮𝘢
Mother of my mother
Sowing seeds of 𝘒𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢
Land of milk and honey
In my head

She used to say that
If I do good
God will bless me
With 𝘒𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢’s abundance
Here on earth
If I can handle it
Heaven is for the dead
𝘒𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 is the gift of immortality

She waited until
I was a man of substance
In my world
Before she transitioned
To heavenly domains
I emerged from my sorrow
To find 𝘒𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢 opulence
Doors wide open
Auma must have had
A talk with God

I did good and good some more
With my thoughts
My hands
God poured her blessings on me
Shined my soul
Gave me the Midas touch

Everything I caressed
Felt the touch of God
Gave me gold
It wasn’t by chance that
I was born in
𝘔𝘻𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪
The land of gold
Diamonds and pearls
𝘍𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰

In the land of
Black gold
Swimming with the salmon
Powered by the cod
I counted my money
In units of forty
Forty-this
Forty-that
Forty thousand here
Forty thousand there

I invested in
Forty thousand acres land here
Forty thousand houses there
I’d have
Forty thousand million dollars
In my name
By age forty plus forty years

Me
Moving too fast to see
Me
Coming on too strong to care
Forty thousand bolts
Of malignant forces
Hit me
Took me down
Burned my forty thousand
Real estate units
Stole my forty thousand million dollars dreams
Threw me into the fire

Like a whale out of water
Crushing under its own weight
Malignant forces collapsed
Under the weight of
My forty thousand million dollars dreams

They can’t walk
They can barely crawl
The sun never sees them
They can hardly breathe
Miserable
Natural born envious losers
Forty thousand corona ventilators
Couldn’t help them
My forty thousand million dollars dreams are gone

The fire died
Phoenix that I am
Immortality blessings
Recipient that I am
For the good and good some more
That I do
I could only rise again from the ashes
I dream again
No hurry
No worries
This time around

I smell
My forty thousand million dollars anew
𝘒𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘢
Bring on the milk cows now
Do kindly inform
Queen bee that I’m back
Feed me the honey
Babe

Alas
In Ukraine
Forty thousand corpses of
Young men sacrificed in
A war made for
Catastrophe from beginning
To humanity finality
Decay under the spring sun
In open killing fields
Sprawled on devastated city streets
Where even urban stray dogs
Dare not appear

As if artillery smoke
Burning human endeavour spaces
Flowers set on fire
Inadequate
Human body decomposition gases
Foul the atmosphere
Killing cows
Milk is gone
Choking bees nests
No more honey

There never is
Life rising again in these conditions
Burning oil refineries smoke
Strangle the sun
Misery absolute

All dreams
Young men
Boys
Still carrying
Their mothers’ milk odours
On their pre-demise bodies
Forty thousand of them
Are gone
Never to return to
Their 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘬𝘢𝘴
Forty thousand plus forty thousand
Of them
Their mothers
Forty thousand of them
Their sisters
Forty thousand of them
Their cousins
Forty thousand of them
Their fathers
Their brothers
Their uncles
Their buddies
All men dying
On the frontlines too
In
Forties of thousands
Forties of thousands
And
Forties of thousands of them

Meanwhile
In Russia
One man
Presses these and those buttons there
Like a delinquent child
Micro playing computer games
Live
On the biggest outdoor TV screen
Only that death arising in
The Ukraine war
Is that of real life human beings
Forty thousand of whom
Are children of his land
Dying in ways
Sacrificial chess pieces
Never could comprehend
Ghastly

I let my forty thousand million dollars
Dreams go away
No loss
I can always recall them
I ain’t no oligarch
I own no yacht
No green back
No Euro Dollar
Sanctions on my case

Money is only numbers
Numbers come and go
As we come and go
Any woman knows
We die
Numbers continue
With their lives

Numbers make history
Numbers lock history in time
Numbers set history in line
Either you are on it
Or you are not

There are
Forty thousand souls
Wandering in my vicinity
Unaware that they are dead
Knowing not where they are
Where they want to be
Not understanding why nobody
Seems to care about them
Not in the least see them

PTSD on the other side
Must be some dreary journey
Darker than we’ll ever see alive
In pre-nuclear war times
No wonder God is weary
Given up on us
Long time ago

I reach out nevertheless
𝘈𝘶𝘮𝘢 used to say that
Prayer pacifies the dead
I have work to do

I have forty thousand
Demised young men’s dreams
To ensnare
Their forty thousand stories to decode
Before nuclear bombs
Erase even our ability to count zero

Numbers are because we are
I cannot look
Count
And be indifferent

Where is God
When
Forty thousand dead
Young men
Need to be buried
With human dignity
Before scavengers
Devour their identities
Disperse their bones
Across charred earth
𝐄𝐍𝐃
©Simon Chilembo 29/03-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
April 04, 2022

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐕 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄: 𝐔𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄

High Priestess
Seer
Mother of my mother
Had people perplexed
Sceptical
Disclosing to them
Upon request
Likely future outcomes
In their lives
According to
God’s revelations
In her spiritual outlooks

The 1980’ saw
Television bring
Bioscope and sporting events
In South African homes
A marvel in the townships
Changing people’s lives forever
High Priestess liberated

Television
Gave grandmother’s visions
Explanatory form
God spoke
No longer invisible in the wind
But from a box
The people could relate to
The box in which
God
Performed and revealed his
Future plans for the people
To the High Priestess
Who told that
Television never
Switched off in her head
Empowering the people
For if grandmother saw it on television
It had to be true
The people were convinced
There were no
Fake news
Foxes on television
In those days gone by

Television association helped
Grandmother heal many a hopeless soul
Saved many a despairing life
I wish
She were here
If only for a prayer

On the other side of the world
My 21st Century
Television is in a computer
That under normal circumstances
Doesn’t switch off
Similar to the one
In grandmother’s head

The computer television is
In the palm of my hand
I bring it to my face
So close
I wish it could
Get into my head
Make me speak
With High Priestess grandmother
Who has since
Retired to the
Ancestral sprits’ domain
Call it heaven
That I can’t even
Dream myself to

But I’m here
Television in hand
Watching as it happens live
In real time
In modern television lingo
As a man bombs a hospital
In there died infants

Children waiting to be born
Died in their mothers’ bellies

Bombed in the maternity wing
Of the hospital
Devastating a people
In the worst possible manner
Kill fathers on the frontline
Kill mothers in hospitals
Terminate a people’s
Self-propagation potential at the source
Ultimate cruelty
I heard talk of
Crimes against humanity
On television somewhere
The other day

Other mothers-to-be
On the run
Birth in open spaces
Undignified on rumbled grounds
Trembling from artillaried earth
Dead bodies
In body bags
Name tags amiss
Thrown in a mass grave nearby
As if infectious-disease carrying animal carcasses
Burial rituals won’t do
Missiles thundering overhead
Angels from hell gone wild

Others birth in crowded
Bomb-proof tunnels
Whilst numerous others birth
In lands away from
Their homes
A current people
Losing their present and future
All-in-one to a single war
Holding the world to
Ransom in one country
Fighting for survival
Against the onslaught of
One megalomaniac’s
Murderous land grab antics
Dreaming of recreating
Greatness-of-the-past illusions
Of a once upon a time
Empire built-on-sand
Collapsed under its own rot mass

I fail to make sense of all this
I wish I were
Seeing the future
As the High Priestess’
Television in the head
She’d tell it showed her
In the moment

If humanity is one
Those dead children
Are mine too
Their mothers
Could have been my wives
The troubles of life
Women have to endure
In war and peace
As I see it
Make me want
To go to war
Stop
Mad men
Who don’t see it
That way

I inhale
Close my eyes
I exhale
Open my eyes
I see
High Priestess’
Television in my head
It shows books
Flapping their pages
In the form of
A thousand birds
In a heart formation
In the sky
I see my pigeons
From when I was a child
Grandmother’s face
Appears
It morphs into a white pigeon

Pigeon flies out of
The Pope’s hands on television
Lands on my laps
Becomes a book
My new weapon of war

In the season of death
In atrocious earth tremors
Owing to war machines’
Pyroclastic forces
In the envisaged silence of
Pre-suicide moments
When self-constraint
Channels of no return
Have been traversed
I feel happiness intoxicated
I can’t explain
The sense of freedom
I feel
Chilling my spine

So
I write books with love
I write for liberty
Watch me
Defy death
Stop the war
Save the children
Bring mothers home
Save the people

I ain’t no Messiah
I’m only human
Of flesh on bones
I weep blood
For the dead
Who never saw
Their blood flow
Into rivers of pain
𝐄𝐍𝐃
©Simon Chilembo 11/03-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
March 18, 2022

𝐇𝐎𝐓-𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲

Where is God
When we need him most
One last time
By the look of things

Out-numbered one-to-five
When people work nine-to-five
For salt ’n water on the table
One man against the world
Gives no damn about numbers
People are just meat

Fire power pulling his nuts
Below his desk
Is all he cares about
Reminiscent of a man
With brains between the legs
Fucking AIDS of the world
Indiscriminate
Unabashed
He comes
He dies
AIDS lives on
Grows in numbers non-stop
Until humanity is all gone
From this space in the universe

©Simon Chilembo 2021

The one man’s nuts throbbing
Between the legs
He fires his power
His missiles come and come

If numbers count
It’s not about
Nine-to-five work people
Meat
Perishing
But the one man’s need for survivors
To come lick his nuts
For black gold droplets here
Gold dust there
Bling hither and thither
Over enlarged territorial acreages
That God long shunned

Two thousand years
Of between-the-legs-hot-nutted men
Have worn God out
He’s away on holiday
In a place beyond heaven and hell
Countless light years away
These mad men
Having long made planet earth
A place called hell anyway

God doesn’t want
To be here
When between-the-legs-hot-nutted men
Bury themselves
In the illusion that
They’ll screw the world
Fire missiles
Come and come
And nine-to-five humanity
Meat
Shall die alone
When
Just as between-the-legs-hot-nutted other men
Fire back
Come and come straight on
With five-to-one leverage
Retaliatory aggression

©Simon Chilembo 2020

No stalemate
No second chances this time
When we’re all gonna go
Dead
Done with hell
Done with heaven
Brains
Splattered
On crumbling walls
On tumbling mountains
Fantasy obliterated
Imagination dissipated
End of the world
Done and dusted

This here defies
All that is God
By any standard

One-point-two megatons
Nuclear bomb
Is universally equal
In the world of man
Men hot-nutted or not
Just saying

This here
Men power mongering on steroids
Playing death games
Can’t be God’s idea of
Being one’s brother’s keeper
Nor love thy neighbour gestures

When we’re all
Dead and gone
Disease doesn’t matter anymore
Mine is bigger than yours is no longer a matter

When our bodies are all
Dead and gone
God won’t have temples any more
When we’re all
Dead and gone
God’s greatest creation’ll be
History to no one

God’s eyes
See in the dark
Where numbers can be anything for man
Foresight long showed God that
The carnage of
One man against the world’s war
Shall smash his eyes
Blind him for life

Pray and pray and pray
And pray again
And pray, pray, pray
Useless
God is deaf
Beyond man’s reach
We are on our own
Now
𝐄𝐍𝐃
©Simon Chilembo 22/02-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
February 23, 2022

SEBOPUA

CREATURE – The Thing

In my mother tongue, Sesotho, the verb ‘to mould’ (with clay) is ho bopa (ka letsopa). By extension, ho bopa describes ‘to form’, or ‘to create’ a tangible, inanimate object out of clay or any other similar malleable material. The objects made may be of functional, ornamental, or both values. They may also be aesthetically attractive or repulsive. And they may either be destructive or life-supporting, either by design or accident, or by intentional application. For purposes of this presentation, we shall work with the concept of ho bopa in terms of creation. In this case, creation producing a dysfunctional output, a thing, with a potential for destruction of the self and/ or its environment.

©Simon Chilembo 2021

Etymologically expanding ho bopa leads us to, amongst others, the adjective sebopua. The latter approximately translates as ‘a product of creation’ – a thing, an object the existence of which is acknowledged simply because it exists as a result of creation’s infinite creative potential. Creation gets it right most times; it screws up badly sometimes.

Sebopua is thus used to describe people of various degrees of physical handicaps and intellectual disabilities; often from birth. It may be due to birthing complications, illness, inherent neurological or genetic aberrations, and many more. The expression sebopua is often applied derogatively. It may also be used in exasperation as a manifestation of grief against a condition of hopelessness, extreme suffering for the afflicted, and the next of kin as well; including national social welfare authorities, where applicable.  

On the one extreme there’ll be a wholly physically disabled person of any age; drawing much sympathy from others: harmless, poor, unfortunate product of God’s creation.

On the other extreme, there’ll be a borderline, apparently normal person. But they will have all kinds of eccentricities. These render the sebopua incapable of functioning within socially conventional boundaries of human interactions. Much so in adulthood, people in this category tend to live in parallel universes contra mainstream social wisdom concerning how society is organized; from the smallest family units to the larger national entities.

Sebopua people break all the rules, either purposely or because ‘it is what it is’. They don’t know anything else but their unique ways of looking at the world. They cannot understand that others can think or act differently from them in given situations. They simply don’t know how to empathize: it’s their way or no way at all. Civility is a concept unknown here.

Some of human history’s greatest thinkers in all human endeavour the works of whom society benefits from even today can easily be drawn from the eccentrics above. These often tend not to be too much of a burden to society. It is those that are inclined to destruction that are a curse to humanity. Some of the most perilous leaders in human history have emerged from the latter category of sebopua, a freak of creation.  

The thing about sebopua is that they are just a thing. They are devoid of coherent feelings and thoughts expression. Sebopua tend to be one-way-traffic communication machines. Their language skills can often leave much to be desired. Talking to one could as well be as good as talking to a clay molded human figure.  

Sebopua are indifferent to the elements; they know no pain. The only form of pleasure that matters for sebopua is their staying alive at the expense of their perceived and real enemies, not understanding how anybody can be so stupid compared to their, sebopua’s superior intelligence. Sebopua brutality can be horrendous. Woe to the spineless that fall for sebopua’s deceptive charisma. Woe to non-stayer enemies of sebopua.

©Simon Chilembo 2020

Another thing about sebopua is that an eccentric sebopua is a sebopua. The condition knows no colour. It knows no race. The only difference is the relative extent of power exercised and access to weapons of destruction according to their location on planet earth. This here debunks racism as an ideology that claims and pushes ideas that some races are inferior to others. In a perfect world of the free, people group in cliques not always out of racial identities solidarity. Both for the good and the bad, people are drawn to and bond with one another out of shared mental constructs; shared world views.

There’s sebopua in a cul-de-sac in America today. The walls are closing in. I wonder what they’re going to do when they can’t breathe anymore. In England, another one bites the dust. The world must now learn to stop political experiments with dibopua (sebopua plural form) if we have learned anything from the Coronavirus (Covid-19) pandemic.

In the old days, dibopua used to be hidden away. Or worse. Democracy is a wonderful thing in our times: everyone has the right to live. Whatever the cost. However, there’s a tipping point to everything in life. May the fair and just prevail in all holes and surfaces of the planet. May light reign supreme. Ultimately.     

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
January 13, 2022

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AMERICAN NIGHTMARE

DIDN’T GO AMERICA 

And, so

I didn’t

Go to America

I felt robbed

Yet again

God had decided

To screw

My wishes  

Yet I had prayed and prayed and prayed

Prayed since I was a  child

I saw beautiful America 

In the bioscope

King Kong

Swept me off my feet

Made me believe

I could reach for the sky

Higher than him

Upon the World Trade Center

I was smarter than him  

After all

If only I could

Get into the screen  

Off the wall

All I had to do was to

Go to America

I dreamed 

Heard on the radio

As 

Neil Armstrong’s first one step

On the moon

Was reported

A giant leap

For mankind

Was recorded

When other children and I

On my township streets

Enthralled

Sang about that moment

Monna wa pele

Ya hatileng ngoeling

Ke mang

Ke Armstrong  

It was clear to me that

In America

The world couldn’t hold a man down

I’d go to America

When grown up

I’d be doctor in America

I believed

Science ruled in America

The day

I ate

The body of Christ  

Father Hammel had earlier

Convinced me that

I was a chosen one

Child of God

The bishop-with-no-name

Later came and

Patted my cheek

Nearer to the heart  

My entry

Into the kingdom of God was confirmed

My wishes

Would be her command

For as long as I lived

America brace yourself

But

I didn’t

Go to America

At night

Year in and year out

I slept

Deep as I could

In the event that

Spirits of my ancestors

Came my way

I’d be wholly

Receptive to their guidance

As to how and when

I’d go to America

I went on to sleep

Hours on end

In daytime

Many a year in

Many a your out

To no avail

I didn’t go to America

©Simon Chilembo 2021

Dejected

Faith gone

To places I couldn’t fathom

Only God

Only ancestral spirits

Knew

I felt cheated

Terrible  

First

They dropped me

Not only

In the darkest continent

Africa

But Africa

Where my blackness

Was a curse from birth

Where

I only dreamt

Blood raining on me

Everywhere

In everything I did

Every bloody day

I’d at times wake up

In a fog of blood

All around me

Hard to breathe

No wonder

Ancestral spirits

Could never reach me

Could never speak with me

In South Africa

Land of my birth

God favoured

White people compassion-deprived  

Favoured with greed

Favouring oppression of the conquered  

As they knew it in Europe

Where they had been scummed

Their previous lives

The wretched of the wretched

Reproducing the ever wretched  

Of the earth

Souls broken

Dehumanized by their own

The original landed

Self-imposed rulers of man

Creators of God

Who ruled

By the sword

Subsequently the gun

Now the drone

Not forgetting

Intercontinental ballistic missiles

No blood, no victory

No blood, no insurrection

No blood , no subversion

No blood, no suppression 

No blood, no subservience

No blood, no annihilation  

What a bloody mess

©Simon Chilembo 2021

In Europe they had kingdoms

They had the church

In South Africa

Kingdoms morphed into Apartheid state

The church remained  

Multi-pronged

In the name of God

Of many faces

The wretched of the wretched

Propagating the ever wretched

Of the earth

The only thing they knew   

White people spilt

Black people’s blood there

In South Africa  

People killing people

Became a way of life there

Not much has changed

So much blood everywhere there

People stabbed

People gunned

People molested

Bled and ran

Bled and fell

People died in pools of blood

When I saw blood

I knew I was alive

I got older

I knew I had to

Get out of there

America calling, baby

Ol’ Blue Eyes

Came out voice blazing

Singing

New York

New York

And all my doubts were squashed

I just had to go to America

New York

New York

City that never sleeps

Just perfect for me

Too much blood

In my dreams

During sleep

©Simon Chilembo 2021

Mr Black President Mandela

Of South Africa

Came and went

As if from nowhere

Mr Black President Obama

Emerged in  America  

Went and buried

Mr Black President Mandela

Black Power

Circle of life complete

In Mzansi fo sho   

Mr Black President Obama

Of America

Charmed

All charmable people of the world

Incredulous

Angry White people’s worlds

In disarray

Black-people-detesting cells

In their blood boiled

Resorted to the only trait they know

Violence

Lynching of Black people urge

Pervasive as porn

Diabolical must be a place in America

Where they don’t know a thing

About democracy

Tyrants

Getting kicks out of

Shameless display

Of ignorance entangled in

Bungled communisocialism theories    

Heads or tails of which

They don’t know at all

Founded upon slippery

Coagulated blood-paved intellectual grounds

Some gone to school

I can’t help but wonder

From which planet

The books they’ve read are

Their libraries must be

Drenched in blood

They must have been taught by

Crooked professors

Fake

Blood-sucker intelligentsia

Soiling academia of the world

Ivy League universities

I gotta ask

What went wrong

With these people

Or is it you

What’s become of you

Once upon a time

Revered seats of knowledge

Astonishing     

Black people of the world

Caught Obama fever

Chronic

Need no inoculation

Obama ain’t Corona

Got

Obama talk

Got

Obama walk  

Yah, man

Bob Marley had said it before

Everything’s gonna be alright

No more cry, woman

No more cry, man

Dry your tears

Black child  

Martin Luther King’s

Dream had come true  

We had overcome

Free at last

America

Watch me

I’m coming home

Miley Cyrus

Where’s the party, babe

There’s

A party in the USA

The Un-United States of America

Amidst the Obama euphoria

I heard a gunshot here

KABOOM!!!

A gunshot there and there

KABOOM!!! BOOM!!!

Black man 

Ceased to breathe here

Ceased to breathe there

Die

Nigger

Die 

Reality come home  

Gruesome

Genocidal Apartheid South Africa

Upon my heels

©Simon Chilembo 2021

White America

Not unlike

God-favoured

White South Africa

Compassion-deprived   

Favoured with greed

Favouring oppression of

Black people

People of colour

Rose

Showed its true colours

Emboldened

Raw to the extreme

No brakes

No remorse

Despicable

Mr President Doughnut Prump  

Hit the scene

Raving mad   

Apartheid lunacy

Taken to another stage

Up or down

Just as vile

If not worse

Mr Vice President Pence’ gallows  

Spelt it all out in

The Capitol gardens

Obscene

Like they used to

Parade the streets with

Decapitated heads

Of their own

On stakes

In yesteryear’s Europe

Delinquent

White America

Spoilt brats

Seek to burn San Francisco flowers

On Madame Speaker Pelosi’s head

Shut her beak

Meanwhile

Paul Gosar

Unhinged

Animates

Ms Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez

Woman of colour

He could never match

In any way

Kills her

On the digital world stage

Ghastly

Appalling

Repeating history

As is customary

Killing his own

In 21st Century America of all colours

On the streets

In the name of justice

For paralysed-Kenosha-police-seven-times-shot-in-the-back-unarmed

Jacob Blake

Delinquent

White America

Spoilt brat

Kyle Rittenhouse

Just normalized

Vigilantism in America

Critical Race Theory

Comprehension bereft

Children of America

Just fallen deeper into

The abyss of hell    

Horrendous  

Out on the streets

On a

Longevity enhancing jog

Unarmed

Posing no threat to no one

Black America young man

Ahmaud Marquez Arbery

Met his demise

In the hands of

Genocidal white America’s

Travis McMichael

In the murder trial court of whom

The latter’s defence lawyer

Wants not to see

Men of God in

Black America personas

Outrageous     

On second thoughts  

They can keep their America

My God ain’t too bad after all

Neither are my ancestral spirits

Gonna find me

Pure white as snow

Polar bear
END
©Simon Chilembo 18/11-2021

©Simon Chilembo 2021

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PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my 7th book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories. It might save yours and your loved one’s lives.

©Simon Chilembo 2020

THE RUTHLESS RULE

Kassie Jungle Law: Only the Strong Survive

In my never-ending attempt at seeking to make sense of events in the world today, I, as a reflex, regularly look back at the first fourteen-and-half years of my life in South Africa, 1960 June – 1975 January. Growing up in the then racist apartheid state has profoundly impacted my life. Day-to-day living was ever so dramatically charged. Such that, on the one hand, one could but choose to numb oneself to the volatility of emotions, if not traumas arising, and live on disenchanted and detached from the gruesome, disenfranchised reality.

On the other hand, one could look at, hop onto the intricate traumatic feelings and thoughts bandwagon, learn survival ropes, and hope for the best; longevity being a remote idea. Wishful thinking. Although the OPEC oil crunch of the early 1970s had already begun to make its mark globally, this period could easily be seen as the golden years of the apartheid regime’s economic might. The oppressed Black population segment was subjected to extremes of state security agencies’ violence.

©Simon Chilembo 2018 Author/ Poet/ Publisher
©Simon Chilembo 2018 Author/ Poet/ Publisher

Oppression is some costly business. It curtails human resources productive potential growth and manifestation. Atrocious. Oppression will last to the extent that the oppressors’ financial base remains sufficiently robust to sustain the oiling of the oppressive state machinery at all levels. Money talks. Money rules. As it is with South Africa, a country’s endowment with a variety of natural resources that the world is willing to pay generously for is of crucial importance. Oppressors maximize their hold by capturing the wealth of their nations, therefore. They personalize the wealth, becoming super-rich individually and along with their family members, as well as their power clique hounds. At the same time, their nations get caught in quagmires of long-term poverty and international indebtedness

The Soweto Students’ Uprising of June 16, 1976, would not only change the liberation struggle course. It changed the political landscape of South Africa as well; further weakening the oppressive state’s capital base. Apartheid had to ultimately collapse. Not because somebody woke up one morning and suddenly discovered that the system was in fact diabolic. The fact is that it simply was no longer economically viable. And prospects of any meaningful bounce back were bleak. Added pressure from the international trade sanctions had brought the country down on its knees.  

The effective brutality of the apartheid regime reproduced itself across the entire Black populace by default – in the home; at absolutely all levels of social interaction. That to the extent that the nature of fundamental survival power relations dynamics cultivated then amongst Black people themselves have endured. Albeit manifest at even more sophisticated, grander scale, and more destructive levels in keeping with societal management complexities and technological advancements of the times in the 21st Century.

During the apartheid domination years, many a Black South African exile carried along with them these survival power relations dynamics into the Diaspora. Not that it helped the concerned exiles much from the point of view of applying the same survival strategies as generally functional in the township, or kassie culture in Black South Africa. Kassie is a corruption of the Afrikaans language word, lokasie; which means location. Observing, establishing, and maintaining links with fellow South African exiles has kept my fascination with the Black people’s fundamental survival power relations dynamics alive during all these years.

Post-1994 South Africa has also been accessible to me. It’s the land of my birth, the land of my family’s maternal-side ancestry, after all. Thirty-eight-and-half years since living abroad, I returned to stay in the country for five years, 2013-18. As such, I have been in touch with the trends in the land all along. Much had changed drastically at about all levels. However, characteristic personal survival attitudinal attributes have remained constant. I shall dwell on these later on in this essay as I unravel prerequisites for the workings of the ruthlessness of kassie jungle law rule.     

Kassie is a funky catchphrase these days. But originally, it essentially implied a slum; not much unlike Brazilian favelas, for example. In practice, the meaning hasn’t changed in any big way. From the colonial era, peaking during the apartheid years, and stretching into contemporary times, tens of thousands-upon-thousands-to-millions of Black South Africans were dumped here. It initially was predominantly male labourers working in the mines and the agro-industrial complex.

There would be a few state functionaries and even fewer professionals in various vocational categories here and there. Much as there would be numerous fortune hunters engaged in all kinds of illicit endeavours; from petty crimes to large-scale organized crime activities involving alcohol, drugs, precious stones and metals smuggling, human trafficking, prostitution, and more. Family units would eventually emerge as a natural human development process, of course. Children would be born, raised, become adults, lead miserable lives, and subsequently die; the indignity of poverty accompanying them to the grave. Causes of death variable, from murder to illness, if not natural causes.

Prevalent land conditions are far from prime in the townships. This makes the construction of decent domiciles a daunting challenge for impoverished people. Sustainable subsistence food production from the land is near impossible. Minimal to total lack of functional social amenities comes with the package here. If there was anything prime about the original townships, it was the potential to induce and generationally perpetuate poverty with all its attendant maladies: disease, moral decay, ignorance. All that to facilitate self-annihilation amongst Black people: kill them; let them kill themselves; create space for more European trash to come to work, settle, and add to the growth of the white population in the country.

Conditions are even worse these days, taking into consideration, since 1994, the influx of millions of refugees and fortune hunters from war-torn, dysfunctional African states to the north. Others come from other parts of the world, especially Asia. Competition for limited resources and livable spaces in the townships has spiked exponentially, apparently in favour of the new immigrants. Many of the latter come into South Africa with more by far international hustling experience: higher academic qualifications and vocational experience in both the social and natural sciences, military or guerilla warfare experience, and all that it entails – daring nature, PTSD, and other related outcomes. Also, investment capital for entrepreneurial ventures in various fields, often starting with small-scale grocery stores called spaza shops.

The latter attributes above are often accompanied by extreme manifestations of arrogance of power towards the locals, who are considered to be intellectually lacking, lazy, and fearful of White people, who still own the land, anyway. It’s hardly surprising, therefore, that strong anti-immigrant sentiments have mushroomed across the country, culminating in several outbursts of brutal xenophobia-inspired violence in recent years. Afro-xenophobia expression is ascribed to South African Black-on-African Black violence. In keeping with characteristic basal kassie culture, violence is the first instinctual option to eradicating conflict. Tragedy is ever the outcome that never brings forth solutions for a peaceful co-existence for all in the country.

The reality of the matter is that, much like the Ununited States of America, South Africa owes much of its economic might to the historical inflow of migrants from all corners of the world. As I’ve already implied above, these people bring into the country a wide diversity of creative/ intellectual/ academic, productive, and entrepreneurial skills that contribute to the robustness of the country’s vibrant economic and social advancement in the long run.

There’ll always be a few bad apples here and there. But assuming a functional justice system prevailing in the land, relevant policing and legal institutions are there to deal with lawbreakers. South Africa is truly a multi-cultural melting pot. Bishop Desmond Tutu’s broadly embraced Rainbow Nation nickname for the country supersedes discrimination neither based on race nor origin of the people that call South Africa their home, either by birth or immigration.   

©Simon Chilembo 2020

From an epistemological perspective, it is clear that the concept of township/ location/ kassie in South Africa was never meant to create ideal, conducive conditions for Black people to thrive and propagate themselves; neither to attain ever higher standards of living in time, in pace with national economic growth prospects.

The rise of apartheid economic might was at the expense of the lives of Black people, both at the hands of the apartheid state security machinery, and intra-Black violence across mainly urban South Africa. Many other Black lives were also lost through fatal accidents and occupational diseases in the agro-industrial-mining complex. Functionally concerning apartheid intentions, townships were supposed to provide temporary shelter for lives destined to be “… solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short.”

But then again, survival instincts abode in all humanity. People can remain wretched only for so long. If they are not wiped off from the face of the earth, they shall engage in all sorts of means to prolong their existence. Perhaps fate can change for someone, someday: break the bonds of subjugation, rise and liberate the people, and, ideally, live happily ever after in boundless abundance.

In the meantime, at the individual level in the South African kassie context, survival was and still is about ruthless “semphete ke o fete” (Sesotho: don’t overtake me, I overtake you) tendencies. Here, the strong survive. The ruthless rule; applying cruelty as their claim to prosperity and longevity.    

Set in alphabetical order below are personal dispositions I’ve arbitrarily identified as being cardinal for relative individual survival and ruling potential in the South African kassie culture of violence. That as a tool for understanding the nature of human relations power dynamics, and consequences thereof, at all levels of contemporary society, both locally and globally. The respective attributes may be understood regarding the identification of the individual as to who they are, and what their social standing is concerning behavioural phenomena observed of them:

  • Bodomo (street parlance – Setsotsi) is derived from the Afrikaans word dom. Alternatively bokwala (Sesotho), it means stupidity; downright idiocy. Amidst events, act like you don’t know what’s going on. Go about your daily business indifferent as to whether or not you cause others harm in your endeavours; you lack empathy. You are not interested in reason. You are a denialist. You are a revisionist.  
  • Bokhopo (Sesotho) is cruelty. When it is deep-seated, merciless, non-benevolent, and non-repentant it is called khohlahalo in the same language. Rule by absolute iron-fisted fearsomeness. Without exception, anybody transgressing you in any way shall suffer the full ruthlessness of your wrath in line with the nature of the offence and the choice of punishment you dim fit. The line between life and death is often very thin here. This tends to elicit baffling loyalty from your cohorts. Much to the bewilderment of your detractors.
  • Ho tella (Sesotho)/ ukudelela (isiZulu) is an uninhibited show of lack of respect. Total disdain. You are brazen. You bulldoze your way through towards the attainment of your power or material acquisitions, and other egocentric ambitions. In your interpersonal and other relations in the community, it’s your rules or no rules at all. 
  •  Lenyatso (Sesotho) is the root of ho tella and leqhoko, immediately above and below respectively. It means to undermine, to belittle other people. Tools applied include patronization, ridicule, insults, unjust criticism, passive aggression, isolation or exclusion, subjugation; all propelled by jealousy and/ or feelings of threat irrationally perceived or real because the victim may, indeed, be the better person in many respects. The idea is to crush the victim, cut them to size, and put them in their place of insignificance. This is pure mental and emotional abuse that often easily degenerates to physical abuse.
  • Leqhoko (Sesotho) is provocativeness. Be agitative even out of nothingness just so your presence is noticed, is not forgotten. Be relentlessly disruptive. Cause havoc; be an ass. Instigate and sustain fear. Use all means at your disposal: bully, defame, riot, vandalize, pillage, depose, fight, maim, kill. Ultimately, emerge as the leader of the pack; level-headed and solution-oriented, if only to cow and manipulate the terrorized towards aiding to secure attained dominant safe position.
  • Mamello (Sesotho)/ Qinisela (isiXhosa/ isiZulu) refers to tolerance capacity; endurance in both hard and good times, depending. Good times are generally no big deal. But in hard times, practice self-preservation by keeping to yourself and your own. Hang in there. Stay away from trouble. Be invisible. Make no noise. Cultivate hope. Keep the faith because everything is going to be alright someday. Persevere.

    For the mighty, though, mamello/ ukuqinisela means staying the course no matter what: keep on pushing; stand tall, don’t fall. Never, never, never give up! Never change the course of action once commitment to act in a certain manner is made. Here, mamello/ ukuqinisela becomes an interplay of bodomo, bokhopo, ho tella, leqhoko, and manganga in variable doses and combinations according to the circumstances prevailing at any one time and space.
  • Manganga (Sesotho)/ Inkani (isiZulu) is absolute stubbornness. Take a stand, be resolute to the very end, whatever the cost. Whether or not original intended goals are attained is not the essence. You are defiant to the extreme. Stay rock-steady as a matter of principle because you cannot be wrong, or you cannot be denied your demands. You are the truth. You are the light. If you are not the son of God, then you ARE God! Your opponents shall declare you as deranged, delusional; but that doesn’t bother you at all. You are mmampodi (Sesotho)/ champion; you rule. You live above the law. You own your followers through and through. Each one of them understands that you are their life saviour.
    A street parlance (Setsotsi) adage goes like this, “Maziwaziwe, maz’bidlikaz’bidlike! (isiZulu)/ If they (e.g. towers) fall, they fall; if they collapse, they collapse!”
    It is what it is.

    Tyrants, hard-core conspiracy theorists, and charlatans fall under this category. So, in the USA, Coronavirus is just the common flu; “… it’ll disappear just like a miracle!”
    Not forgetting The Big Lie that Joe Biden and the Democrats stole the presidential elections of November, 2020. And then supporters of The Big Lie insurrect The Capitol peacefully like tourists, leaving destruction and carnage behind. Very special people that The Big Lie spinner loves.
    You can also do an egotistical, parochial, typically falls premises pushed brexshit and pull your country out of a body of international solidarity in the Western world.
     
    Neither does State Capture exist in South Africa. You know none in your family that has contracted AIDS in South Africa. Therefore, it doesn’t exist. Step aside rule in the ANC? What’s that? If you are indeed going to fall, you don’t go alone. You are vindictive. 
  • Sebete is a Sesotho word for liver.The liver is considered to be an organ of courage in my part of Black South African culture. A courageous person is said to “have a liver”/ O sebete. Courage is a common thread linking all survival, or power attributes in kassie.

Ho sa (Sesotho, noun), lumps together the attributes above into one virulent trait: petulance as gross as only an extremely spoiled brat can display. The descriptive form of ho sa is “O sele!”, meaning “He/ she is petulant!”   
People of all ages manifesting ho sa as a characteristic social interaction trait are some of the most dangerous a community can have. Makings of despots emerge here.  

Underpinning the relative kassie individual survival and ruling potential laid out above is the question: O tshepile mang (Sesotho)? Which directly translates as, “Who is it you trust?”
Who’s covering your back?

Simple as the question might seem, it is not necessarily a daily conversation question posed in my original part of Black South Africa. The question is profound to the extent that it is asked a person directly, or others are asked about a particular individual when the latter’s negative behaviour defies not only mainstream social protocols across the board, but sheer common sense as well. It is believed that there must be some extra-ordinary qualities, some mystic about these kinds of people. For example:

  • What gives them the guts? What makes them tick?
  • Whose progeny are they? What are their lineages?
  • Do they have some guardian angels, perhaps? In that case, who are the latter? Where are they?
  • What do they have that ordinary people do not have?
  • Are they working for somebody even more powerful than themselves? Who are these people?
  • Are they protected by God? Ancestral spirits? Wizards and witches?
  • Or are they just raving mad, sick in their heads? Are they bewitched?
  • Do they have magical powers themselves? If so, from where do the powers derive?
  • Are they members of some organized crime gangs? Or some secret societies? The Illuminati?
  • Is it just because they are too rich? But where does their wealth come from? 

It’s only if and when sufficient knowledge about these treacherous people is gathered that concerned individuals or the community can effectively react to get rid of them in one way or another. It’s not unusual that the former fall from glory in the most dramatic and humiliating fashions; those who lived by the sword dying exactly as they lived. Such is kassie life. The ruthless rule but momentarily.

The strong are often the smart with senses of moral and ethical awareness. They tend to survive, break out of the mould of kassie misery and ignorance, and live longer. Some in this category will in time even travel wide and see the world, permanently breaking the spell of kassie anti-life attributes. Expressing themselves through diverse media and creative and performance forms, they may also become proponents of liberty, justice, and equality as fundamental Human Rights tenets all of humanity on earth is entitled to.  

Meanwhile, South Africa has yet to cleanse itself of the kassie anti-life attributes spell, to the extent that it’s possible. However, given the current display of elite kassie mentality antics in various judicial and organizational platforms in the country, it is clear that much more work remains to be done at this rate. Well, cumulatively from the onset of contemporary European colonialism in the 17th Century up to the apartheid era in the 20th Century, the mechanizations that facilitated their imposition had at least four hundred years to dehumanize my people and screw up our psyche. The Rainbow Nation is only twenty-seven years old.

Khotso is a common Sesotho name for South African males. It means peace. The female version is Mma-Khotso both as a formal name and may denote that the woman is a mother of a boychild called Khotso. The name has significant connotations. In practice and conceptually, peace is a universal prerequisite for progressive human co-existence. That making for harnessing humanity’s creative potential towards a sustainable, infinitely fulfilling life for all. The South African national anthem, Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika! (Nkosi Sikelela) is essentially a cry for peace, captured in the Sesotho text:

Morena boloka sechaba sa heso/ Lord Almighty, save my nation
O fedisa dintwa le matshwenyeho/ Bring an end to strife and suffering  

Were the ruthless and the smart kassie people of South Africa and beyond to realign their attitudes and heed the message of Nkosi Sikelela, the future would be bright for all. I want to be here in four hundred years to gloss in the glory of the heaven on earth that South Africa and the rest of the world will have become. I sit here in a space of relative peace. I breathe. I dream. I write. Ever conscious of the lasting impact that my kassie life background has had on me, I have every reason to want to choose to be hopeful.  


SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
May 29, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

LOCKDOWN – A Poem

FREE YOUR MIND

Prophet of doom
In gloom
High on a broom
Possessed by the moon
You bemoan
You aren’t enslaved goon
Neither 5G’d buffoon

You rave
You own a cave
For free will
Thy will
Shall be done as you will
You might as well
Write your will

Dig your grave
It’s a time game
Your thoughts aren’t the same
Your feelings aren’t tame

Take your time
Your freedom is prime
For crime
Warning bells chime
Could save you a dime

It’s a no-end-game
Your logic is lame
Driving in the wrong lane
Is a death game
For the infame
Ignorance unframed
Self-destruction uncaged
Soul encased

Burial to erase
You from the race
For collective survival grace
There’s no grief
Your mind is grave
No peace in the grave
Your demons are brave
Your dark side can’t behave

In the horror that’s your head on a stave
For your face
In a trance
Everyone is a nutcase
Everything is a disgrace

You persist that the system in place
Seeks to replace
People liberties with acquiescence
In dissonance
With your sense
Of egotistical existence
Your disappearance
Equals good riddance

For once
Shut your mouth
Declare your
Four-square-metres of safety
Around you
Close your eyes
Form your
Space of solitude
Inside eight cubic metres of
Six mirror’ surfaces

Open your eyes
See the many facets of
You
Your potential
And that is only
The-visible-to
The naked eye

Inside of you
Is the power
That made God
To say the least
Fear not thyself
Fear ye not the unknown

No need for anger
No need for confusion
No need for despair
No need for panic
No need for prejudice
No trepidation
No end of the world imminent

Cleanse your hands
Create similar spaces
For your loved ones
Your neighbours
Your fellow beings
Merge the best
Of your reflections
See how larger than life
You all are together as one
Against
Devious intentions
By the contentious
They call it solidarity
You have a future to groom

No need to abuse
No need to bully
No need for conspiracies
No need for estrangements
No need to hate
No need to lie
No need for suspicion
No need for others’ blood in your hands

Mirror reflections are science
It’s called physics
In times of uncertainty
Chaos reigning high
Broken mirrors pieces
Reflect
Lights of possibilities
By their numbers
In all directions
Angles and curves
Have no fear
There’s always an answer

Lockdown
Open your mind
Do right things right
Reflect on your life
Reflect on your place on earth
There is always an answer
It’s only a matter of time

Polish mirrors in your head
Let science work
Like it took man
To the moon
And back
Alive
Mars is next

Lockdown
Unleash your fantasy
Cure your myopia
Pandemize your phobia
Vandalize claustrophobia
Vitalize your inertia
Recall your Utopia
To your euphoria
Today
END
©Simon Chilembo 14/04-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

THE 500K CASE – A Poem

PANDEMIC FATALITIES
This year 2021
I’ll hit 
My second life
500 000 kroners
Fortune mark
Beyond which
I’ll stop counting
As the zeros grow’n’grow  
I’ll start kicking creditors
In the butt 
Big Daddy
Mr Big Money Maker
Back in town …

©Simon Chilembo 2021


What you gon’ do
When 500 000 ghosts
Nightmare your sleep
One night at a time
One spectre at a time
When your
500 million dollars creditors
Get on your case
Fight like hell
Want a noose[1]
The Capitol is calling
Save your pennies
END
©Simon Chilembo 14/ 02- 2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
February 14, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

FURTHER READING: “List of unproven methods against COVID-19” on Wikipedia.

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

[1] The Atlantic, It Was Supposed to Be So Much Worse, Godfrey, E, Author, https://bit.ly/3u1IMW7, (accessed 14 February 2021)