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๐—ช๐—”๐—ฅ ๐—™๐—ข๐—ฅ ๐—ฃ๐—˜๐—”๐—–๐—˜?

๐—” ๐—Ÿ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ด ๐—ง๐—ถ๐—บ๐—ฒ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—บ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด

WAR FOR PEACE?
When humanity makes
War for peace
Devoid of love
Hate
The human nuclear fusion powerhouse
Holds humanity survival
Hostage
In wait for one
Hot-nutted manโ€™s
Testicular explosion
To start
The 3rd World War
Blowing humanity
Into annihilation
No historian will write about

Thereโ€™ll be
No victors
To tell no story of
Humanity burnt to ashes
Blowing in
Nuclear fall-out clouds
Blanketing emaciated
Planet Earth
Across the universe lost meaning
Humanity done trampling the soil
To barrenness
For life
Climate change could never do
A better job

No more ambition
No more brains
No more curiosity
No more dreams
No more exploration
No more fantasy
No more games
No more idols
No more jubilations
Independence a thing
Of once upon a time
No audience
No storytelling
No more memories
No more sex
No more God
No more hallelujah
Jesus just a small boy
Crucified by his own
On track to
Humanityโ€™s self-annihilation pursuits

No more scriptures
Unholy
In shadows of fear

No more cathedrals
Acoustics for
Angelic song voices
Blown up
Into mushroom clouds

Nuclear bombs wars
For you
Baby

No more lies
No more fortunes
No more gold
No more diamonds and pearls
No more black gold
Or is it liquid gold
From beneath arid lands
From ocean floors
Beneath heavy waters
Running wild
Caught up in the money trap

Call it
The greenback
The Euro
The Kroner

The Rand and
The Ruble
Archaic
Imperial Russia revivalists
Untenable Marxism alliance
Workersโ€™ Revolution
Corruption-soiled pipedream
Might as well keep smoking opium
Afghan poppy, needless to say
Vodka-drunk
Drown in
Castle Lager pools
For the Indian Ocean
Mahatma Gandhi
Could have taught them
A lesson or two about
The way of peace
In social transformation

The Yen or
The Yuan
Oriental mystic
Incense stickโ€™
Smoke
Dazes Africa to
Sleep
In sweet-sour
Bloodless neo-imperialism yokes
Subtle
In Shaolin Kung Fu
Mastersโ€™ dances
No murderous visions
In Tai Chi meditation trances
Peaceful conquest
In the landmass of the wretched
Yogaโ€™s bhujangasana
Broke Africaโ€™s back
Chant: OM
Namaste

Land of the Rising Sun
Got a rude awakening
In World War 2
Yet, fools of the world
Donโ€™t wanna learn

America-induced blood baths
Flow in rivers of the world
In charred after-World War 3 world
Planet Earth shanโ€™t recall
What a river once was
Blood not even a concept

Yet, America wants to make
A mad man rule the world
Four more years
May be the last
The longest
The permanent
As in
Stillness state
The other side of
I canโ€™t breathe
Last breath

Nothingness lasts
When thereโ€™s
Nothing to breathe

See you
On the mythical other side
We meet as atomic particles
In nuclear fallout
Feeding on itself

Mankind finally equal
In a state of nothingness
Humanity obliterated
From planet earth
For nothing
When air to breathe
Is free for
All
Living creatures
Freedom is
All
About that

In wars for peace
It doesnโ€™t work
Like that
America
Ought to know better
Today

In the Middle East
We could still be
Living in Biblical times
Quick sanded in
The Old Testament
Fighting vicious battles
As old as
A thousand Methuselahs
In
Who wants to live forever mayhems
For life
To the last man
The Tigris didnโ€™t save
Saddam
Weapons of mass destruction
Are here for real
Today

World War 3 knocking
On heavensโ€™ doors
For the chosen ones
And they say
Heavenly God
Loves us all
Discrimination from
The source
When all are born sinners
According to
The Scriptures
Satanic hell is a place
Packed in nuclear warheads
Once they all strike
Weโ€™re all gonna roast
Right here on earth
No escape
NASA crumbled
Space-X grounded
Space travel
Gone with the inferno
Branson last said
Would star with virgins
In Battle Star Galactica
Bezos last seen in the Amazons
Blue in the face

Heaven can wait
Humanity come to an end
Closed chapter of
Creationโ€™s darkest story
No one to read
Creationโ€™s wasted expression
Of itself through man

No more power

Elon Musk: spaXced out
Gangsters: garroted
Trumpsters: magnetized
Fascists: suicidal
All burnt-up excrement
Like everyone else
Reduced to
Carbon dust particles
Polluting the universe

Lonesome planet earth
Rotating on its axis
Ever since creation
Indifferent to
Love or hate
Humanityโ€™s creation

They could have chosen
Love
Weโ€™d live happily
Forever and ever
In peace
Writing human history
Infinite
In all forms
Through the epochs

Letโ€™s
Make love
Not war
Futile cry of
Language impotentized
Falling on imploded eardrums
We write it down
In love letters
Immortalize it in books
Catalogue them in libraries
Of the world
Anyway
Might survive
The apocalypse

Make history
Be not
Beast of war
Grotesque
Be apex-dog of letters
Read history now
You just might
Save Humanity
๐—˜๐—ก๐——
ยฉSimon Chilembo 2024

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
September 15, 2024

๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผด๏ผต๏ผฒ๏ผฅ ๏ผฏ๏ผฆ ๏ผท๏ผก๏ผฒ

It doesn’t change
Since time immemorial
Women abused
In war
Women distraught
Primordial
Survival instincts driven
Open their womanhood depths
Embrace their men

Cold
Eyes blank
Passion dead
Women seeking comfort
When war sirens wail
Since World War II
Jet fighters roar
Zig-zag the sky
Modern-day drones
Wizz above peopleโ€™s heads
Missiles crater Mother Earth
In all directions
Extraterrestrials will never land
On earth again
We are the last remnants
Of anything similar
To human civilization on earth

Safety a thing
Only
For explosives encased
In weapons of war
Awaiting discharge
To murder women
With children
In their bellies
Children
On their backs

Children massacred
In wide-open playing fields
No godly shields
To see any place
School buildings
Hospitals
Walls pulverized
Under missiles attacks

Children die
Under their mothersโ€™ bodies
Women wish
Mothersโ€™ backs were
Turtle shell strong
In the least

Woman and child die
Warlords say
Peace is coming
Just another
One more lethal missile rain
This way
And that-a-way
Shredded human body parts
Crumbled with
Concrete jungle
Rubble
Unidentifiable

Thatโ€™s the idea
These are animals
Warlords say
Weaken the enemy
Just a little more
Pre-emptive attack
Turtle shells strength
Only a metaphor

Terrorism is a chronic disease
Warlords say
Eliminate terrorists
With no mercy
They kill
So they can live
Warlords say
Peace is coming
Paid for at
The ultimate price
Either way
One more woman to demean
One more infanticide cycle
To execute
Ever so easy when
Woman and child canโ€™t run
They canโ€™t hide
Their cries drowned in
Storms of war
Who has forgotten
But one
Enduring calamity
Bush push
Operation Desert Storm
Amongst multiple others
In the timeline of
Human history
To this day

Ceasefire
Talks, talks, talks
Yuppy, yuppy, yuppy
Bla, bla, bla, blas
Give woman a break
More children to bake
Canons ever so hungry
For human fodder

Military-Industrial Complex
Got the Moola to harvest
On the spoils of war
Warlords kill
Every which way
The smart run
To the bank
Smiles on their faces
Wall Street is happy
Who wants to be a billionaire

Peace awaits manโ€™s fall
Into the belly of
The earthโ€™s crevices
Ignite World War 3
Burn motherfucker, burn
If thatโ€™s what itโ€™ll take
For peace to find itself
Live for itself
Without man
On the face of the earth

Warlords kill
Women and children in vain
Peace looks with dismay
At war hawksโ€™
Stupidityโ€™s absurdity
War hawks think that
Peace romances carnage

When carnage breeds hate
Germinates vengeance seeds
In blood
That never dries in the earth
Even stones bleed human blood
Here
Dry tears in the rain
Peace waits for us all to die
When we are all gone
Tomorrow will be a better day
For peace

If it is there beyond
Bloodied planet earth
Iโ€™ll go to heaven
Bring back the women
Bring back the children
Heal their bodies and souls
Thereโ€™ll be a few good men
In heaven too
I figure
Iโ€™ll bring them along
We give peace a chance anew
We gonna make a change
This time around
No more wars
In the future
Let women live
Let children grow

War hawks
Stand
In the forefront
Go fight in hell
By yourselves
Show us
Then
Who the real men are
The strongest men
In the world
Skew-nutted
Short-circuited
In the head
Afraid to die

I for one
Stand for peace
If I could
Iโ€™d be a global
Missile defense system
In all inter-human hostilities
Of the world
Killing wars
Dead on their tracks
Unlike the
United Nations Security Council
Toothless
Permanent membersโ€™
Vetoes locked its jaws
Forked its tongues
Might as well build
New Tower of Babel
New York City-style
In Trumpland nightmaresโ€™
Post-insurrection killing fields

Vetoes have tied
The hands though
Tragic
Just as well
Better forget the idea
The Twin Towers fell
Misery wonโ€™t end

War hawks think
Iโ€™m mad
Iโ€™m naรฏve
They have blood
On their hands
Milk and honey drip
Off my hands

Life is sweet
In my land of peace
21st Century Canaan
North Pole side

But then again
These ainโ€™t godly times
Prayer has no meaning
When
Women die
Children die
Nations collapse
In wars
Instigated
In the name of God
Fortified
In the ways of God
Sustained
By the grace of God
The future is bleak
For Godโ€™ sake

Hope is no freak
I wonโ€™t shut my beak
For peace, shall I speak
Words hard as teak
Never shall I peak
Ever in the mood for peace
I have a woman to please
Childrenโ€™s fears to appease
Wars must cease
Mother and child beseech
END
ยฉSimon Chilembo 2024

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
September 15, 2024

๐—ง๐—›๐—˜ ๐—ฅ๐—จ๐—ง๐—›๐—Ÿ๐—˜๐—ฆ๐—ฆ ๐—ฅ๐—จ๐—Ÿ๐—˜, ๐—ฃ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐˜ ๐Ÿฎ

๐— ๐—”๐—š๐—” ๐—”๐— ๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—œ๐—–๐—” ๐—ฆ๐—”๐— ๐—˜ ๐—”๐—ฆ ๐——๐—”๐—ฅ๐—ž ๐—”๐—™๐—ฅ๐—œ๐—–๐—”: ๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—•๐—น๐—ฎ๐—ฐ๐—ธ ๐—ฆ๐—ผ๐˜‚๐˜๐—ต ๐—”๐—ณ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ฎ ๐—–๐—ฎ๐˜€๐—ฒ

Iโ€™m ever so fascinated by the USA. At first, it was the illusion of the Dream of America. This Dream of America still lures poor, mostly involuntary wretched souls of the earth hoping to taste heaven on earth before they die. Some get to believe that they have secured a better future for their offspring, just from the first step on the soil of the land of dreamers. Going down on their knees, they kiss the Dream of Americaโ€™s Mother Earth in deep felt gratitude.

The poor souls will have survived atrocities-extreme and/ or natural calamities in their original homelands in various parts of the world – elimination hole countries, as one elimination munching American mouth has called them. The stench of America emanating from the mouth nauseating the world. Like theyโ€™d be anywhere else in the world for they are human too, vile fortune hunters whoโ€™d eat their own mothers are also in the Dream of America rat race, abusing the poor hopefuls in all sorts of abhorrent ways.

The vile hustlers get to the land of Lady Liberty. They ride on the American Nightmare blood train, amassing the Green Back by any means. With the Dollar might, they burn and turn the land and the world red with their relentless destructive ways of relating to and managing society, to say the least of Mother Earth. Just hear them crap-talk Global Warming as a concept and reality. Sometimes I wonder if these cognitively inadequate people have their filthy elimination holes as the abodes for their brains. Scum of humanity.

My continuing fascination with the USA is about the elimination holes brains personalities fronting the American Nightmare discourse and social engineering efforts. I throw their supporters in the same boat of inherent or wilful ignorance and bigotry: dim-witted charlatans.  

Between 1960 and 1975, I was born and raised in a systemically racist, self-encaged, media-repressive, stifled African peopleโ€™s education, international relations pariah then-Apartheid South Africa. Elimination holes brains personalities fronting the American Nightmare want to establish a 21st Century Apartheid Dream of America state. A messy, costly, bloody lost cause.

From my childhood days in the 1960s to the mid-teens in the 1970s, the American Dream of heaven on earth was fed into my eyes through beautiful pictures of American life in carefully state-selected and censored magazines and movies. There were, of course, glimpses of pictures of violence on Black people here and there; also, those of gruesome assassinations of politicians and entertainers. Pictures of homeless people languishing on city street pavements, if not under bridges appeared here and there too.

But, the pictures of the glamorous Dream of America were overwhelming; from Miss World-type girls to style, automobiles, and New York City night neon lights, amongst others. The visual impact was accentuated by the sound of music. Some of them aware or not, Mega Stars across the musical genres sold the Dream of America more effectively than any other propaganda agents. In the South Africa of my childhood days, all the adult Jazz and Soul music lovers that I knew dreamt of going to America to see their favourite stars. Many believed that, given the apparent success of big names like Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Louis Armstrong, Sam Cooke, James Brown, Ella Fitzgerald, and Aretha Franklin, to name but a few, America sure was Black peopleโ€™s The Promised Land. Little did my music-loving South African aunts and uncles know about the history of Black African peopleโ€™s slavery in the making of the American Dream economic might.

On the radio, jingles accompanying adverts of consumer items from cornflakes to tobacco always left me giddy in the head in their sweetness of melodies and painting of America as the epitome of high living. I couldnโ€™t wait to get to America to enjoy all these amazing products from the source. Man, imagine me drinking Coca-Cola sitting in the Waldorf Astoria New York in the company of an American Miss World! That used to be a truly compelling dream.  

And there was sport. Muhammad Aliโ€™s boxing prowess notwithstanding, his political outspokenness in the Civil Rights sphere painted the path for my journey to The Promised Land someday. Post-the-Apollo 11 moon landing of 1969, I would for many years in wonder gaze long at the full moon. I never had ambitions of flying to the moon, but I used to think that if America could send men to the moon and back, then, in America, I could be all the great things I dreamt of being when I grew up.

In reality, though, I only wanted to be a medical doctor so that I could operate on peopleโ€™s hearts like Dr Chris Barnard had done in Grooteschuur Hospital, Cape Town, on the 3rd December 1967. And I wanted to be rich and famous like the flashy heart surgeon. I was seven-and-half years old, then, and was already beginning to read newspaper headlines. Living in a highly politically charged environment whilst going to school in Lesotho at that time, I had already become an aspiring avid radio news listener. Therefore, I understood early that since I was not White, I could but with difficulty, perhaps, be a heart doctor in then-Apartheid South Africa. Instead, America would make me a great doctor, I earnestly believed.

From South Africa, via Zambia, I would end up in Norway 21 years later. I became a jack of many trades, but not a doctor. It is what it is. No worries. I have become an author; I write books. I am happy. I look at the USA with mixed emotions: feeling lied to, but not crushed. I am disappointed and appalled by the inhumane, parochial, and degenerative side of America that nearly half of the countryโ€™s population not only exhibits with impunity but strives to expand and perpetuate. All spearheaded by the insular, living-in-the-past racist White Supremacist MAGA America movement bent on establishing an Apartheid Dream of America state in the 21st Century.  

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

As I write and think, and think and write, I find that the sociology of the American Nightmare half of America is not in any way divergent from that which I left behind in my Black South African township, Thabong, Welkom. This is transferable to urban South Africa across the board from Apartheid days to the present.

South Africa is a perfect USA microcosm match in more ways than one. In that sense, itโ€™s just as well that Iโ€™ve ended up in Norway; a country by far better run than both South Africa and the USA. If the then-Apartheid South Africa came close to crushing my soul, the USA would have killed me already, I suspect. By the numbers, and by the guns, vicious MAGA America is more lethal than the pre-1994 South African township at any time, like-minded as they may be.

The regressive nature of American MAGA power relations dynamics is not different from that prevalent in Black South African townships. Iโ€™ll shortly demonstrate this in an exposรฉ of the Township Nightmare power relations personality traits. In the same vein, Iโ€™ll implicitly demonstrate that human personality traits are driven by inherent internal biological structures and processes that supersede race and ethnicity theories.

For example, a human heart as an organ is a human heart whether itโ€™s in the body of a male or female White, Black, or whatever colour of the spectrum person. Similarly, adrenaline is adrenaline; the nervous system is the nervous system. A certain neuro-hormonal imbalance will cause universally predictable behavioural outcomes cutting across race and ethnicity. That is how MAGA America can be understood in the context of the dark side of South African Black township culture. After all, South Africans and Americans are all human. Any human disease will similarly kill them if no necessary and recommended conventional medical preventive measures or curative treatments are given and adhered to. Needless to say, the recent COVID-19 pandemic caused havoc in much the same it did in South Africa as in the USA, including the rest of the world, of course.    

The underlying guiding idea in my exposรฉ is the consideration of psychopathy as an observable antisocial behavioural tendency amongst many MAGA America and South African Township Nightmare types.

Reacting to the strange, destructive behavioural tendencies exhibited by prominent American MAGA proponents, I, on October 13th, 2020, posted a comment on my Facebook feed. I have edited and expanded on the original text for this talk. And it goes as follows: 

HASSLE ABOUT PSYCHOPATHS  

The hassle about psychopaths is that they cannot listen to reason; itโ€™s beyond their cognitive capacities. For a psychopath, itโ€™s their worldview or nothing. Conventional Ethics (right v/s wrong) and Morals (good v/s bad) are irrelevant concepts to psychopaths.

Depending on where in the world you live, are you on the โ€˜nothingโ€™ side of a psychopath, they are likely to eliminate you in various ways. Youโ€™ll hear threatening expressions like, โ€œWe are coming for you!โ€. So, โ€œโ€ฆ if you fuck around with us, if you do something bad to us, we are going to do things to you that have never been done before,โ€ Guess Who.

As history documents over and over again, a dead opponent to a psychopath is the preference. Nevertheless, history is full of examples of how psychopaths in leadership roles across the board tend to have tragic demises. Google โ€˜world despotsโ€™, please! Itโ€™s free.

Despite its imperfections, where democracy works comparatively kind of okay, people shall seek to talk issues over through various established governance platforms, no matter how challenging or futile the exercise may be. In the end, votes are taken. Assuming a perfect world, outcomes are acknowledged. And the winner takes it all. Life goes on.

Democracy allows for election outcomes to be challenged when irregularities have been observed at any point during the process. Or even when the losing side just wants to be a nuisance. Democracy in practice can stand a lot of crap. Psychopaths thrive on the latter fact.

As current history unfolding shows somewhere in the world, when psychopaths win, humanity gets ever closer to thresholds of self-annihilation. Therefore, be ever so careful about who you elect to power in your land. Donโ€™t allow yourself to be charmed by the cheap-feelgood-chronic-diarrhoea-like buffoonery antics of psychopaths.

If you donโ€™t know how to identify a psychopath, call my number. For Iโ€™m not a medical doctor, Iโ€™ll guide you through an illuminating philosophical discourse that works all the time. Itโ€™s all about, amongst others, a solid academic and professional training background. Go to school. Acquire knowledge for human progress. Take your children to school. Read much and well. Pass exams clean; donโ€™t cheat. Donโ€™t burn books.

Ultimately, the reality is, though, there is a psychopath in all of us. Summarizing my philosophical discourse on what attributes to look out for in deciding, after analyzing a personโ€™s socio-behavioural incongruencies, whether they exhibit psychopathic tendencies or not, a close brother-confidant of mine once said, โ€œSo, a psychopath need not be a raving mad personality in our midst?โ€

Yours truly, โ€œYepp, thatโ€™s right!โ€

Brother-confidant, โ€œIt means, then, that a psychopath may be the everyday smart-looking person sitting next to, or in front of you right now at any place?โ€

Yours truly, โ€œSure thing! But itโ€™s all about relativism, see? Know thyself!

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2019

Whether or not I have a personal or some other human aspects relationship with the concerned, my labelling of a person as a psychopath is my pre-emptive self-preservation measure. This also helps me to put into perspective events in my immediate and distant worlds given who the dominant actors are in the different parts of the world, them sharing or not sharing common interests.

In my private survival instincts world, I donโ€™t need to have a medical doctor to declare for me whether I am dealing with or am observing a psychopath in my immediate spaces or far out in the wide, wide world. Descriptively, I know a psychopath when I see one. I then behave accordingly to protect myself and my own in the face of actual or potential psychopathic onslaughts upon us. Itโ€™s a doctorโ€™s job to diagnose and treat the patient accordingly. They can take all the time they need.

And, talking about personal survival instincts, I had on an earlier Facebook post declared that โ€œUncivility is an effective manner of attaining some degree of civilized talks with psychopaths. Communication leads to mutually desired outcomes to the extent that involved parties apply the same language and familiar terms of references.

โ€œFailure to break through psychopathsโ€™ noise and deficient knowledge barriers should lead to withdrawal from talks, if feasible.

โ€œOtherwise, the fools must be isolated, if not excluded from civilized social interactions. In the worst-case scenario, it may be necessary to eliminate them. Diplomacy has to have limits even in the free world.

โ€œDemocracy is designed to neutralize our passions in common human relations interaction spaces and circumstances. Wars and societal collapse are direct outcomes of lunatics being allowed too generous opportunities to play out their antics for far too long.โ€   

Any reasonably intelligent person whoโ€™s gone to school and can read, think, see knowledge linkages, and can thus synthesize functional, universally applicable explanatory models towards understanding how life works on earth, can read many a professional text and make sense of it. If they donโ€™t understand, they ask as a matter of course; they actively seek more information from relevantly knowledgeable human sources or books and other information storage and distribution facilities to debunk or confirm initial conclusions made. This is called research.

Through my various learning pursuits in my time, my private operational definition of what constitutes psychopathy or not is based on readings of publicly available subject literature that is written and wilfully published by qualified medical personnel of various specializations and levels of academic and professional standing across the globe. This includes literature publicized by a plethora of international human behavioural sciences professionals. Google this shit!

Donโ€™t let yourself be intimidated by the arrogance of power from doctors, psychologists, and others whose professional literary works we all, with much admiration, flock to in our efforts to study and better understand the overall complexities of human nature. If they donโ€™t want us free spirits to speak about human wellbeing issues, then, they must withdraw their publications. They must cease making their expertise publicly available reference materials in libraries and social media.    

Simon Chilembo
Oslo
12.10.2020

I wrote the exposรฉ essay of the South African Black Township Nightmare power relations personality traits on May 29th, 2021. Posted in my blog on the same date, the exposรฉ bears the title:

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 โ€“ 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 regimeโ€™s economic might. The oppressed Black population segment was subjected to extremes of state security agenciesโ€™ violence.

Oppression is some costly business. It curtails human resources’ productive potential growth and manifestation. Atrocious. Oppression will last to the extent that the oppressorsโ€™ 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 countryโ€™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 their wealth, becoming super-rich individually and along with their family members, as well as their power clique hounds: oligarchsโ€™ fangs drooling kleptocracy and nepotism poison in everything they touch. At the same time, their nations get caught in quagmires of long-term poverty and international indebtedness

The Soweto Studentsโ€™ 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 stateโ€™s capital base. Apartheid had to ultimately collapse. Not because somebody woke up one morning and suddenly discovered that the system was 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 to its knees.  

The effective brutality of the apartheid regime reproduced itself across the entire Black populace by default โ€“ in the home; at absolutely all levels of social interaction. That is visible to such an extent that the nature of fundamental survival power relations dynamics cultivated then amongst Black people themselves have endured. It is 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 peopleโ€™s fundamental survival power relations dynamics alive during all these years.

Post-1994 South Africa has also been accessible to me. Itโ€™s the land of my birth, the land of my familyโ€™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 hasnโ€™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 varying, 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 peoplekill 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 liveable spaces in the townships has spiked exponentially, apparently in favour of the new immigrants.

Many of the new immigrants 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 โ€“ daring nature, PTSD, and other related outcomes. They also have 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. Itโ€™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 Iโ€™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 countryโ€™s vibrant economic and social advancement in the long run.

Thereโ€™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 Tutuโ€™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.   

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 โ€œโ€ฆ solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short.โ€

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 โ€œsemphete ke o feteโ€ (Sesotho: donโ€™t overtake me, I overtake you โ€“ the rat race) tendencies. Here, the strong survive. The ruthless rule; applying cruelty as their claim to prosperity and longevity.    

Brought forth, elaborated in my Black South African context, and set in alphabetical order below are personal dispositions Iโ€™ve 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 (In the latter, i.e., globally, the USA fits in like a glove). 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. In essence, this is the making of despots ekassie, a microcosm of the Dream of America nightmare:

  • Bodomo (street parlance โ€“ Setsotsi) is derived from the Afrikaans word dom. Alternatively bokwala (Sesotho), it means stupidity; downright idiocy. Amidst events, act like you donโ€™t know whatโ€™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 obstinate like hell. You are a denialist. You are a revisionist. 
  • Bokhopo (Sesothois crueltyWhen 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, itโ€™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 havocbe 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, mamelloukuqinisela means staying the course no matter what: keep on pushing; stand tall, donโ€™t fall. Never, never, never give up! Never change the course of action once commitment to act in a certain manner is made. Here, mamelloukuqinisela 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 doesnโ€™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, โ€œMaziwaziwe, mazโ€™bidlikazโ€™bidlike! (isiZulu)/ If they (e.g. towers) fall, they fall; if they collapse, they collapse!โ€
    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; โ€œโ€ฆ itโ€™ll disappear just like a miracle!โ€
    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 false 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 doesnโ€™t exist. Step aside rule in the ANC? Whatโ€™s that? If you are indeed going to fall, you donโ€™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 โ€œhave a liverโ€/ 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 โ€œO sele!โ€, meaning โ€œHe/ she is petulant!โ€   
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, โ€œWho is it you trust?โ€
Whoโ€™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 latterโ€™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? 

Itโ€™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. Itโ€™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 itโ€™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 humanityโ€™s creative potential towards a sustainable, infinitely fulfilling life for all. The South African national anthem, Nkosi Sikelelโ€™ 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. I make YouTube videos. 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.

I can be hopeful about the future because I am happy all the time. Watch this video here to see how you can be happy all the time, and make somebodyโ€™s day every day into the future.    


SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
May 29, 2021

๐—Ÿ๐—ข๐—ฉ๐—˜ ๐—Ÿ๐—˜๐—ง๐—ง๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—ฆ ๐—ฃ๐—ข๐—˜๐—ง๐—ฅ๐—ฌ

๐—ช๐—›๐—˜๐—ก ๐—ช๐—ข๐—ฅ๐—ž ๐—ฆ๐—ฃ๐—”๐—ฅ๐—ž๐—ฆ ๐—–๐—ฅ๐—˜๐—”๐—ง๐—œ๐—ฉ๐—œ๐—ง๐—ฌ, ๐—ช๐—›๐—”๐—ง ๐——๐—ข ๐—ฌ๐—ข๐—จ ๐——๐—ข?

DISCLAIMER

I am not an employee of NAM (Nasjonalmuseet/ the National Museum of Art, Architecture, and Design). I work at NAM on behalf of an outsourced service provider, in which I have full-time employment. This presentation today is one of several literary creative inspirations that I have so far gotten whilst performing my formal duties at NAM. The presentation is unsolicited, and it is done with no inherent ulterior motives. It is done and delivered with but the best of intentions, without fear or favour. 

Neither NAM nor my employer can or must be directly nor indirectly associated with the thoughts, opinions, and sentiments I am going to express in this presentation. I alone am responsible for the contents herein. I hope, though, that the output shall be of a quality and standard that shall cause neither embarrassment nor disrepute for both NAM and my employer.

The inspirational moment, and its subsequent outcomes, i.e. poem, publication in a book, and the social media video recital here would have happened regardless of whether or not I worked at NAM. All that needed to happen was for my eyes to fall on the particular inspirational object. It could have been anywhere, at any time. It just happened to be at NAM, Oslo, on October 28th, 2022 this time around.

As I walk through, back and forth, round and around in my professional errands in the various public exhibition spaces in the museum, the vast variety of objects on display works my emotions and thoughts in phenomenal ways. Many a time I feel like I see myself floating in this boundaryless enclosure that is an intermingled environment of what Iโ€™ve gathered of ideas of heaven and hell. In this environment, the material and the conceptual are all merged into one new reality that defies human speech for description. The opposites as we know them on the earthly plane cancel out one another in this strange new reality. And it doesnโ€™t matter.

For example, in this temporary but recurring new reality, I donโ€™t see the environment as I do with my eyes distinguishing between normal light and darkness. The sensory organs donโ€™t work in the conventional way here. When I expect to hear a sound in my head, as from observing a painting depicting fire, somehow silence claims its space. Itโ€™s in conflicting but harmonic moments like these that I get lost in time and space.

And, in silent thunderous flashes of light, clouds of inspiration engulf my thoughts with darkness. Through this haze, I get to sense words in either written or spoken forms. In this state of mind, I lack a background upon which to base my experience of these words that I hear in what I perceive as silent sound in stationary motion. This is how my writings come to be. Preserving my sanity, thereby. I appreciate art for what its charming beauty and its irresistible goriness do to ever kindle my creativity. A work of art has not moved me if my response to it does not inspire an expressive textual idea in my head.

Immersed in the writing process, I do not create writing ideas from nothing. My writing ideas are stimulated through my responses and reactions to my actual interactions with events and attributes of my environments at any one time. It is not always that the writing idea shall be manifest at all. It is one thing to have an inspiration, and it is another to bring the inspiration to life โ€“ the mood, time, and space have to be right. That means that my literary output so far is only the tip of the iceberg concerning how much more I shall potentially produce. Every day I canโ€™t help but get several concrete inspirational moments stored in my creative database in my brain. Therefore, I work at the right place at the right time. I shall live to see my 1000th book published before Iโ€™m a hundred years old.     

Every piece of poetry, essay, or novel that I write helps me to hold my feet on the ground. The writing process cleanses my soul; it elevates my passion for living. This is so because, when I write, I get lost in a realm of being in which asking existential questions and finding functional answers are the imperatives for survival. This is the realm in which, with text, I get to materialize for life my dreams, my hopes, and fears. I am eternally grateful for the privilege of working at NAM for what immense value the workspaces add to my creativity.

Currently, and until January 14th, 2024, NAM has a major exhibition of some of the works of Harriet Backer. The exhibition is called Every Atom is Colour. Whenever Iโ€™m in the magnificent exhibition hall, I get a sense of a warm, safe, homely feeling. This is reminiscent of the better part of my formative years whilst attending school in Lesotho, 1965-69. I feel and see so much of my late maternal grandmotherโ€™s aura throughout the space.

Harriet Backer gives me a reassuring, here-and-now sensation in my entire being. I see myself walking into a bright future standing still with time in Harriet Backerโ€™s presence. This is much like seeing the visions of the kingdom of God that my grandmother used to tell me about. She used to say that I was a chosen child of God; when Iโ€™m grown up, Iโ€™d be king of my people. And, when I die, Iโ€™ll be headed to heaven, where Iโ€™ll sit on the right side of God, and live happily ever after. Amen!

Iโ€™m not quite ready to die yet. Heaven can wait.

I first met Harriet Backer in the northern spring of 2022, a few months before the official opening of NAM. Upon entering the room through its main entrance, I saw a portrait of a letter-reading girl hung up on the wall facing the entrance squarely from across the room. This was one of those love-at-first-sight moments that often make my heart sing throughout my body. The girlโ€™s enthralling beauty reminded me of a girl that I once knew as a growing-up boy-to-man in South Africa in the early 1970s.

Each time I entered the room Iโ€™d daydream about the many, many love letters Iโ€™ve written in my time. The girl in the portrait is there but not there at the same time. I could bring her to life in my fantasies, but I could never have her in the flesh, yet I love her all the same. Hopeless love.

In the same manner, the girls I used to write letters to in many parts of the world were there in my fantasies as I sat down and wrote. The fantasies would get wilder tortuous during the replies waiting phases, which could be weeks to months in those pre-internet days. Upon receiving even only one reply after the long wait, I used to curse my fantasies for failing to bring in the flesh these girls home to me. But I kept hoping that one day, it would happen. Iโ€™m keeping the dream of love alive in memories of some of the girls now dead.

Iโ€™ve met numerous other new girls since. We donโ€™t write letters these days. Social media and other modern communication platforms do the trick. But itโ€™s not the same. I guess thatโ€™s how it took about six months before the poem inspired by the letter-reading girl came forth.

One day, as I stepped into, the Harriet Backer room, I marvelled at the especially silently exuberant nonchalance of my beloved letter girl on that particular day. Thinking that I saw the painting moving like it was being pushed towards the door, I feared she was shutting me out for once. At the same time, I felt welcome as I confirmed that the painting was attached fast to its regular spot.

I realized, then, that I hadnโ€™t before thought about what the message in the letter could have been and from whom it may have come. I also realized that I had never gotten to look into her eyes since they were so fixed on the letter in her hands. Perhaps I should write her a letter, I thought. At that moment, then, I suddenly heard poetic words singing in my head; the poem Love Letter became the real-world outcome.

Before I read the poem, I have to make another disclaimer as I, in my words, describe what art is:

DISCLAIMER 2

I do not have any academic or professional training in art. My articulation of what art is a function of my laymanโ€™s instinctual appreciation of things beautiful against the ugly; both in the figurative and abstract manifestations as my senses perceive it in any given situation and space, at any given time. All I know is how to think and write, and write and think. Art is what I feel. If I feel it, I can think it. If I think it, I can write it. Writing is my art, my artistic expression. Writing is what I do; all attributable to my academic training 

I put it forward here that for creatives in regular employment, other than the pecuniary side of matters, the job will be worth it if it allows for the creative to thrive in their particular creative domains. 

That as implicit in the work nature, or, as is my current situation, the job characteristics, its location, and its operational spaces design facilitating my seeing things. The latter inspiring my literary creativity as an author and poet in my private capacity.

WORKPLACE OF BEAUTIFUL THINGS

People do from time to time visit museums of all kinds for all kinds of recreational, educational, and research reasons. I work at Norwayโ€™s Nasjonalmuseet. The institution has proved to be an awesome literary creativeโ€™s wet dream for me as an author and poet. I get at least one goosebumps moment each day I am at work. Tens of thousands of works of art are on display throughout the eighty-nine exhibition spaces at the museum. In all their widely variable expressive forms, these artworks move me in a way that ever fills me with love and joy like I have never experienced before. Working here is a privilege I am much grateful for.

At different points in all the exhibition spaces in the museum, there are rest stations comprising benches upon extensions of which are placed, amongst other items, wooden playing cards. The cards have various quizzes and games for the guests to have a go at as they sit and rest. I, together with Ole, a fine but ever condescending colleague young enough to be my grandson, happened to have been engaged in a discussion about various aspects of the museum when we approached one such station. Ole then unexpectedly reached out and randomly pulled out a card from the bench extension. It turned out to be a quiz card with the question: โ€˜What is Art?โ€™; creating a gotcha moment that I saw Ole revelling in.

Talking about Oleโ€™s gotcha moment, this was yet another one of those moments in which a person of European extraction comes to me with the pre-conditioned notion that Black people are not cultivated enough to appreciate the finer aspects of European culture. Anyhow, my immediate response in this case was, โ€œArt is the capturing of an experiential moment in time and space in order to, perhaps, tell a story about that experience in the future. This capture can be in any form or medium according to the proclivities and talents of the artist.โ€

Ole, โ€œI hear you. But you will have to elaborate more on all that you have just said!โ€ 

Seeing as we had to attend to each our respective duties at work then, I replied, โ€œI shall write an essay for you, then. Deal?โ€

            โ€œDeal!โ€

My definition of art shall be both conceptual and functional. Conceptually, I know art when I perceive it. I do not have to be told. I do not have to be instructed. I know art when my senses register it. Regardless of the representational form, the sentimental response that I get from experiencing any manifestation of art that I consider as beautiful is a constant. Conversely, an unattractive, unpleasant artistic form as I experience it emotionally affects me in the same way relevant to it irrespective of the form or the representational style.

Whenever I read a storybook (or even write one) that I enjoy, my breathing rate slows down, the total bodily relaxation I get gives me a wonderful warm feeling all over; I get goosebumps, and my palms get warmer and moist. This kind of feeling brings me immense joy. The dreamy state it gets me into sends me into a fantasy world of all things possible. If I had been, for one reason or another, going through hard times, this state brings hope home; it fills me with a sweet sense of freedom. In this state, I am invincible. This is my subjective domain for defining what beautiful art is for me as my perceptive senses โ€“ eyes, ears, skin, tongue, nose, intuition โ€“ register it, feed my hormonal system (feel-good hormones), and the latter instruct my nervous system to induce my being to act accordingly. Pure joy.

Whilst recognizing it for what it is, art that is repugnant to me is exactly that. If it makes me cringe, if it casts a shadow of pessimism over me, if it fills me with negative thoughts and associations, if it gives me a cold sweat, then it is bad art for me. There are times when I can see beauty in bad, ugly art, though. I think about the hands, or some other body parts, that created the work. Every hand shall tell its story according to its ownerโ€™s neuro-hormonal wiring and physical capabilities. One manโ€™s apparent gory art may be anotherโ€™s depiction of heaven. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Functionally, art is a conveyor of messages, a storyteller; a courier of generational narratives in humanityโ€™s dances with nature and itself over time. Art can be an instrument of change. Art can repair the once broken. Art can inspire hope, faith, trust, and love. To the extent that art is a personal expression, art may speak for its creator. Art creators have the potential to make or break society. Ask God, manโ€™s most divisive, master-of-carnage creation. God may have created man instead, her most complex work of art. The outcome is not any better.

Art is identity. Identity may be deception obscured in art. From the outset, art may be true by intent and purpose. But when human perception and interpretation of reality are as polychotomous as there are so many people on earth, art shall be true or fallacious as to the perceptive state

and cognitive capacity of the observer. Therein lies the mystique, the intrigue of art. Who am I? I am a man in love with art.

Art is some powerful stuff. Art is a human creative potential deserving to be handled with tender, loving care. At its best, art is an instrument of peace; art has the potential to stimulate reflection on the human condition. We rise, we fall; art captures all that. Art is beauty. Without beauty, life is not worth living.

Beauty moves humanity forward and higher on the scale of qualitative and quantitative improvements in life. It is not for nothing that nations of the world, interest organizations of all sorts and sizes, wealthy individuals, and many others invest heavily in the promotion, conservation, preservation, and storage of some of our most impactful of artworks over the epochs into the future. Art immortalizes human experience.

WHAT IS ART WORTH?

Your eyes see what they see. Your brains process your perceptions as to their inherent OS programming, i.e. the brain in concert with the hormonal system, which affects behaviour, ultimately influencing our decision or choice-making processes. Your expressive potential is manifest through your creative skills and particular materials and work tools preferences.

The expression of your observed reality or conjured fantasy isolated in your creative expression of choice shall, then, manifest the outcome we see as a work of art in its unique presentation that only you can tell it like it is. Itโ€™s up to the eye of the beholder to see or not to see the beauty, the function, and/or the worth of the work. 
Simon Chilembo, December 29, 2023

LOVE LETTER: A Poem

Iโ€™ll write you a letter
Etch my words on paper
If itโ€™s a crime to love you
Here is the evidence

My love for you
Is not
A judicial affair
For courtroom theatricals
For juriesโ€™ deliberations
For judgesโ€™ adjudications

Iโ€™ll etch portraits
Of my love for you
On canvas
Lock them in frames

Weโ€™ll want to meet again
The other side of
A thousand years ahead

Hanging on walls
In art museums
Of the world
For a billion eyes to see
I couldnโ€™t hide
My love for you
For your eyes
That could never see
My love for you
In plain sight
END
ยฉSimon Chilembo 28/10-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
Oslo
Norway
January 07, 2024

๐—˜๐—ก๐—˜๐— ๐—œ๐—˜๐—ฆ ๐—œ ๐——๐—ข๐—กโ€™๐—ง ๐—ž๐—ก๐—ข๐—ช

๐—œ๐—Ÿ๐—Ÿ๐—จ๐—ฆ๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก๐—ฆ ๐—œ๐—ก ๐— ๐—ฌ ๐—ช๐—ข๐—ฅ๐—Ÿ๐——, ๐—ฃ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐˜ ๐Ÿฎ

I dedicate this presentation here to my late beloved mother, who died five years ago on October 7th, 2018. May her soul continue resting in eternal power. On Monday, October 2nd, 2023, my mother would have turned 83 years old. Happy posthumous birthday, Machona Mother โ€“ Shebeen Queen dearest!

When as a child growing up in South Africa up to the age of 14ยฝ years I was in various spaces hassled for my Blackness and other envied personal attributes, my mother instilled in me a fierce sense of pride and personal integrity. She constantly told me how beautiful I was, and that, as my academic performance demonstrated time after time at that time, I was the most intelligent kid around. I believed her, and, with humility and gratitude, Iโ€™ve aimed to live her words since then: beautiful, intelligent man that thrives amongst other beautiful, intelligent people.    

August month, 2023, marked the 35th anniversary of my stay in Norway. The tangible plan I had upon leaving Zambia, my fatherland, in June, 1988, was that Iโ€™d complete the 3ยฝ yearsโ€™ post-graduate business studies programme I had privately secured for myself, with a little help from my friends. Afterwards Iโ€™d then move on out to the bigger, wide, wide world.

Twelve years was the timespan that I had given myself that when subsequently big and strong with an Economics PhD degree and international big business and global technocracy experience clutched under my armpits, Iโ€™d then return to South Africa, land of my birth, and become the countryโ€™s Reserve Bank Governor. I had the earth moving under my feet; what could stop me, then? What could go wrong?

The accompanying supportive Norwegian State Education Loan Fund scholarship offer was the first to come my way. I accepted it without second thoughts because I just had to get out of Zambia at the earliest opportunity. This was a matter of both ambition and the nearly untenable personal living conditions in extremely hard family and national survival environments at that time.

That Iโ€™d somehow ultimately stay in Norway for a longer period, not in the least permanently, was never even an iota of an idea in my head. Dream of America calling, Baby. In January, 1991, towards the end of the business studies programme, a bureaucratic glitch led to my ceasing to receive financial support from the scholarship fund. I was left with a huge debt in tuition fees and other costs to the school. Indefinite termination of my studies at the school became unavoidable. This was the beginning of my economic dire straits that would last at least five years in this first cycle. As fate would have it, Iโ€™d fall in love with a sweet Norwegian woman during this time.

In the meantime, I had opened and had been running two Karate schools in Oslo since my arrival in 1988. Thatโ€™s how I got to stay in Norway to this day. Both love and Karate no longer rule my life in Norway. But Iโ€™m still here; largely because of the joys, trials, and tribulations that the love and Karate exposed me to in the country. I experienced the joys, I wanted more and more. Norway delivered; I got addicted to the land.

I having been overwhelmed by difficult circumstances beyond my control, once unleashed, the trials and tribulations were ruthless. Under the hardships of life in Norway, Iโ€™ve seen many a lesser man from the African Diaspora spiritually buckle, fall, rise, and walk dead. All faith gone, no hope, neither mental nor physical strength left, they die. Literally. I decided that if I fall, I shall fall. But I would never die. I didnโ€™t travel more than half the world to let problems of life kill me so far away from home. One way or another Iโ€™d find a way to rise again; just I can breathe. I could never return neither to Zambia nor South Africa poor and without a business PhD degree. Never.

Indeed, I fell once; I fell a second time. On the third fall I lost everything, including face. My people networks collapsed. For once left alone, Rockstar popularity dissipated, I got the opportunity to be better acquainted with myself as a grown-up man. I saw clearly my dreams, my potential in life. I became my bestiest bestie. Now I know myself well. Better than ever. My self-knowledge trip gets better and better and more rewarding each and every new day that comes and goes.

I got to understand that my social survival navigator skills by way of my sellable talents may be many, but the relevant shall come forth and carry me through only specific situational needs in order to respond accordingly to given conditions in different epochs and spaces. The constant steering ethos being my personal motto of change, win, adapt, or die.

Iโ€™ve learned to change perspectives, acquire new skills sets, and adopt varying modus operandi to ensure victory in the face of adversity, no matter how long it takes. This knowledge also helps me to take to the next level what I already know and works in my favour presently. Concurrent with applicable talents, the ability to adapt to, and flow with the currents of changing or changed circumstances is a powerful tool for success for me. I have yet to die. I might talk about death on the other side, should I die.

Whilst recovering from the major fall following the devastating personal economy knock that I got from the Global Financial Crisis of 2007-2008, I had fully embraced the idea that all I had to do was to chill and wait for my next big break. I had suffered enough. I had learned more about myself and the ways of the world to know that I had to stay alert, fresh, and strong for the impending big break; whatever it would be, wherever it would take me, and whatever it would do with me.

It was a painful wait. Much reading, thinking, and writing rechannelled the emotional and mental torment to the enhancement of my creative potential as a writer. If I can read about it, I can write about it; tell a story about it in my own words.

If I can write about it, I can deconstruct it; I will better comprehend the challenges, I will see solutions. If I can write about it, I can dream. If I can dream, I can hope. My faith is shaped in the messages of my dreams. My writings tell the story that everythingโ€™s gonna be alright ahead. Keep moving.  

I have been through so many personal falls and rises that I know when an opportunity for my self-reinvention is nigh. The feeling of anticipation I get in times like these is like no other. I become larger than life in my thoughts so that when the opportunity for me to rise again arrives I wonโ€™t lose control of my sensibilities.  

Whilst I had visions of yet another multi-million-dollar international trade business venture, as the book writing inspiration suddenly revealed itself one fine morning in August, 2015, I knew that my real calling had finally come home. I got into a frenzy. Feeling like one possessed by the spirits of our greatest ever historical and contemporary world authors, I went on to write the first of my dream-of-one-thousand-plus books before I turn 100 years old.

The debut novel, When the Mighty Fall โ€“ rise again mindgames, I wrote in fourteen days. It became about the story of my first twenty-five years in Norway presented in a semi-autobiographical, or fantasy memoir format. Intense emotions and scenes arise in the book: boundaries are pushed and crossed; limitations are overcome, people reset themselves and their lives, stereotypes are crushed. All played out by at least equally intense and exceptional characters. The book has changed my life; it has made me a better person. It started the process by which I continue to learn and understand humanity and our universe better the more I write and think, and think and write.

Working with the book from the start, and living with the variable impacts it continues to have on its readers are a constant, in real-time steep learning curve. I guess itโ€™s a mark of a significant book when the author gets a mixed bag of strong reactions from the readers. Acquire and read the book for yourself so that you can make your own conclusions. Love or hate me as you wish; it is your prerogative in a free world. If you wish to destroy me for your hate, I wonโ€™t take you lying on my back.

My embracing this book writing calling of mine was with a clear awareness that my works would never be appreciated by all. Iโ€™ve in my life read more than enough books to appreciate that fact well. Iโ€™ve over the years come across numerous literary critiques on various media also. What has shocked me, though, is the gross misinterpretation of my thoughts and intentions in and with the aforementioned book. This has been especially so given that it is the least expected section of my readership that has been thoroughly brutal in their condemnation of me and the book. Perhaps this makes the point for writers knowing about their actual and potential target readers. However, as for me, to the extent that I so far write personally inspired factual and fictional narratives as opposed to formal academic, or professional literature, I in principle write for myself. I could never write if I went around thinking about who my readers are, or shall be, and how they will judge my works eventually.  

Working clandestinely, my aforementioned brutal critics, on utterly wrongful, naรฏve conjectures, have gone around tarnishing my reputation in Norway. People read my books. In their readings they come face-to-face with demons they conjure for themselves. They panic; lose it. They judge and punish me without a trial. Pathetic.

Because my conscience is clear, and because of my resolute dedication to growing and developing my creative writing talent and occupation to the 1000th book and beyond, the hurt and emotional turmoil I initially felt are gone. Iโ€™m healed. Iโ€™m strong. Iโ€™m on the rise again, destined for higher and higher heights of success than ever. Iโ€™ve written eight more books since the When the Mighty Fall publication. Iโ€™m on the roll; right on track. No one, nothing can stop me.

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

Travelling from Lusaka back to Oslo with Qatar Airways two weeks ago, it was on the first leg of the trip, Lusaka-Doha, that I took time to take a deep dive into reflections of my highs and lows in Norway over the years. I couldnโ€™t help but dwell upon encounters with some really bad people that have always been there to hinder my climb to success in the things that I do by way of making a living in the country. The bad people were in total contrast to the loving and caring ones that I met during my short family matters visit in Lusaka, from August 20-29, 2023.

These bad people have striven to ever hamper my genuine efforts to work to be a decent human being with a well-intended commitment to my personal aspiration of adding value to society to the extent that Iโ€™m resourceful and productive. Some have been outright about their dislike of, and disdain for me. I can live with that.

Others have turned out to be Judases in the end. A sickening lot that once ranked high as confidants in my world. These provoke my primordial survival instincts when I consider that they are ever gathering somewhere conniving to micro-assassinate me slowly. A mission I could never allow them the pleasure of achieving. Unless I am overtly potentially or actually caused bodily harm, I am not likely to resort to violence as an immediate self-preservation recourse. However, my warrior creative spirit observes, or experiences and analyses everything.

I apply different writing styles as dictated upon by the moments when I celebrate or decry events around me, both near and distant. I do the same with uplifting or destructive actions specifically directed towards me. That way I get to vent out my frustrations and anger without spilling a drop of blood. Then I can sustain my sense of personal safety and integrity in the face of adversity; irrespective of whether the adversity is overt or discreet. My words are my armour.

The poem Iโ€™m going to read came forth during the process of thinking about the latest Judases, wolves in sheepโ€™s clothing that have emerged with their true colours in the dark in recent years. It is a self-preservation, protest poetry piece. This poem also sets my eyes on October 24th, 2023, which will mark the fifth year of my return to Norway after a five-year creative exile in South Africa.

Aware that my enemies had already drawn their swords to slay me, I felt like I had brought myself into the mythical lionsโ€™ den at my arrival in Oslo. But I knew I was blameless contra the enemiesโ€™ smear campaign against me. Iโ€™m grandson of a Daniel, father of my mother. The Biblical Daniel was โ€œโ€ฆ saved from lions by the God of Israel “because I was found blameless before him” (Daniel 6:22). So, Iโ€™m still intact; standing tall, breathing happy and free, crafting words into literary expressions in my efforts to make sense of my world.

Similar to other writings of mine addressing my personal life conditions and states of being owing to simply being who I am and the personal choices that I make all the time, Iโ€™ve written the poem not out of a need to defend, explain, or justify myself. I do not seek any validation nor accolades from some Jacks and Jills anywhere either. I listen only to my teachers, to men and women of authentic benevolence: proven mediums of global human excellence, love and peace.

I primarily write to purify my soul, ease my pains, and fortify my spirit. I write as a good-intentions, free, have-no-fear spirit with nothing to hide in a free world. I feel good about what I do; I know Iโ€™m good at it. And thatโ€™s all that matters to me. It is what it is. I am that I am. Take me, or leave me as it is your prerogative in your free world. 

I publicise my works in response to what I feel to be a higher call to share my thoughts with those that want to hear my words. This call inspires me to aspire to teach and to speak for the young, the weak and vulnerable: the afraid, the oppressed, the voiceless. That from my life experiences as lived-in moments in time. Also as learned from hearing the voices of others that are much wiser than me.

The wiser than me being my teachers across the board, including some of the most impactful historical and contemporary philosophical and spiritual wells of wisdom of the world. All from one-on-one teachings and discussions with the living, or through consumption of the wiseโ€™ thoughts through the variety of multimedia platforms available in our times: from the written word in books, to sight, sound, and motion presentations in live theatres; on cinema, television, and computer screens.

Thanks to the power of the internet, we today have the said multimedia platforms compressed and collapsed into the palms of our hands via mobile telephone technology. Knowledge acquisition and dissemination of the same, verification of facts and propagation of truths, debunking of falsities and crushing of conspiracy theories, are all at the tips of our fingers these days. Therefore, those that manage and live their lives on unchecked assumptions; uninformed, factually fallacious decision-making tendencies do so at their own peril.       

ยฉSimon Chilembo 11.09.2023  

Self-made
New enemies of me
People I donโ€™t know
Lurk in dark corners
I donโ€™t know
Wish me dead

They donโ€™t know
Iโ€™m a free soul of the light
I donโ€™t know how to hide
I donโ€™t know how to die
Darkness cannot contain me

Invincible to eyes that see
I worry but little
Of fools groping in the dark
Hoping for a lucky strike
To annihilate me

Iโ€™m not
In a state of war
I fear no drones
No stealth missiles threats to
My soul of the light
Defence system

My shield is
My words
I push back with
My voice
I sing one moment
I preach the next
I wail this moment
The moment I growl
Earth trembles under my feet

Self-made
New enemies of me
Faceless people I donโ€™t know
Fools with reasons for
Enmity I donโ€™t know
Duped in fake storytelling tales
Of witches in fright
Of demons of them
Confronting them
In the glow of light
Permeating
The darkest recesses of the universe
In fright
Fight
Shadows of themselves in the dark
Tumbling in muddy faeces
Of their own
Gathered in trenches
Of massless conspiracy constructs
Meant to implode
A free soul of the light
They cannot see

I could never collapse
Into myself
Squash me
Sprout me
As particles of
My flesh and bones
In deep waters

Delusionals donโ€™t know
Thatโ€™s the closest theyโ€™ll ever
Come to harming me
Envious fools donโ€™t know me
Inconsequential foolsโ€™ll never see me
Repugnant fools embraced by
Darkness I donโ€™t know
Darkness I donโ€™t care about *

I cannot run away from the light
I have nothing to hide
I donโ€™t know how to hide
I have nowhere to hide
Not even a tomb can contain me
I had to break the law
Drank and drove
For prison walls to hold me
If only for a while

Youโ€™ll never find
Remains of me
In pyramids of Egypt
In a thousand years
When I say catch me if you can
I play with words
No longer do I play with
Bloodsuckers
Stabbed me in the back
I could have bled to death
Had it not been for
The light stronger than
Enemiesโ€™ self-consuming malice
In the dark

Resilience is the name of
Dark-hearts-impervious
Light games I play

Here I am to see
For all eyes with love
Iโ€™m a soul of invictus
I breathe love
As a matter of course
Iโ€™m here to stay
Longevity is the name of
My dance for life
Immortality is the name
Of my end-game
Beat that
If you can
๐—˜๐—ก๐——
ยฉSimon Chilembo 11.08.2023

On the 24th of October, 2019, I wrote the following article on my private blog, chilembowarriormoves.com:

๐—ข๐—ก๐—˜ ๐—ฌ๐—˜๐—”๐—ฅ ๐—Ÿ๐—”๐—ง๐—˜๐—ฅ: ๐—œ๐—Ÿ๐—Ÿ๐—จ๐—ฆ๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก๐—ฆ ๐—œ๐—ก ๐— ๐—ฌ ๐—ช๐—ข๐—ฅ๐—Ÿ๐——.
๐—ฅ๐—˜๐—”๐—Ÿ๐—œ๐—ง๐—ฌ ๐—œ๐—ฆ ๐—œ ๐—”๐—  ๐—›๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—˜, ๐—œ ๐—Ÿ๐—œ๐—ฉ๐—˜, ๐—œ ๐—Ÿ๐—ข๐—ฉ๐—˜, ๐—œ ๐——๐—”๐—ก๐—–๐—˜.
๐—œ ๐—”๐—œ๐—กโ€™๐—ง ๐—š๐—ข๐—œ๐—ก๐—š ๐—ก๐—ข๐—ช๐—›๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—˜.

๐—จ๐—š๐—”๐—ก๐——๐—” ๐—ž๐—œ๐—Ÿ๐—Ÿ๐—ฆ ๐—Ÿ๐—š๐—•๐—ง๐—ค+ ๐—ฃ๐—˜๐—ข๐—ฃ๐—Ÿ๐—˜

๐—˜๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ผ๐—บ๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ฎ๐—น๐—น๐˜† ๐—œ๐—ฟ๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ฎ๐—น ๐—•๐—ถ๐—ด๐—ผ๐˜๐—ฟ๐˜†

Uganda has recently legalized extreme persecution of LGBTQ+ people. People of non-heterosexual dispositions now make love with state sanctioned murder threat looming over their heads. The Ugandan state seeks to eradicate LGBTQ+ people from the face of the earth. This is a flagrant, futile, outdated, time and resources wasting exercise rooted in ignorance in the face of the most enlightened time in the history of humanity, the 21st Century. Pathetic.

Enlightened, liberated, forward-looking, resourceful, valuable people of the world know that sexuality isnโ€™t a matter of choice but an inherent state of being. As but an extension of the infinite totality of being human in its as infinite expressive forms, sexuality is exuded and played out from the core of a personโ€™s essence as encoded in the personโ€™s unique genetic makeup.

Sexuality is permanent. Sexuality is not acquired. Sexuality is not a disease; it cannot be cured, neither medically nor magically, nor by any other outlandish method. If God made man in her own image, God is then the queenpin of sexuality. Use of Godโ€™s prayers to ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ต homosexuals is tantamount to asking God to annihilate herself. Herein lies invalidation of the existence of an omnibenevolent, all-loving God. Amen!

Sexuality is not an attitude; it is not a lifestyle. Sexuality is what it is: it is it โ€“ a constant. It is the unidirectional, one-track express train towards the orgasmic peak experience that, in a perfect world, those in love aspire to achieve as a consummation of their oneness in love in all the possible constellations of love matchings humans are capable of as to their diverse intrinsic sexual orientations. 

Every personโ€™s unique genetic makeup is in turn an extrapolation of the human genome. The human genome is the unalterable existential thread that binds humanity together in its diversity of physical and physiological attributes. Thatโ€™s how you can love who you love; and, where applicable, you can reproduce with whom you will, regardless of race, status, colour, or creed.

Donโ€™t come to me with the ๐˜ฆ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฏ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ, ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ด ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏโ€™๐˜ต ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฑ๐˜ถ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜จ๐˜ช๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ง๐˜ง๐˜ฆ๐˜ด crap talk. Of course, these animals are of incompatible breeds. They arenโ€™t genetically wired to be sexually stimulative of one another, to begin with.

Depending on the ever-abundant factors affecting the lives of the sources and quality of human reproductive material, i.e., sperms and eggs, the outcome from fertilization to birth (assuming a problem-free pregnancy, and survival of the birthing agony), a child, can be anything of manifestations of being human. For example, the child can, amongst a myriad of other possibilities, be 

  1. Wholesome and healthy
  2. ๐˜๐˜ฎ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ง๐˜ฆ๐˜ค๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ฃ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ญ, and/ sickly. I.e., have physical, and physiological incongruities reflected in all kinds and extents of physical handicaps and mental or cognitive incapacities, if not inadequacies  
  3. Distinctly male or female as to the construction of relevant reproductive organs; hormonally steered
  4. ๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ง๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ. I.e., intersex  
  5. Reproductive or barren upon attainment of sexual reproduction maturity age
  6. Sexually active or celibate   
  7. Heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, and much more in the human sexuality expression spectrum.     

It ought to be a no-brainer that LGBTQ+ people are human just like everyone else. They have the right to live; just like everyone else. They have feelings; just like everyone else.

From an ethico-moral standpoint, show me an immoral LGBTQ+ person, Iโ€™ll show many more amoral heterosexuals. By the numbers, heterosexuals are by far responsible for the worst human-to-human and human-to-nature atrocities ever.

Iโ€™m convinced that the world would be a better place for all were people of the world allowed to love mutually consensually who they love of their psychosocial maturity equals. That means that, bearing high the flag of ๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ-๐˜ช๐˜ด-๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ, ๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ-๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ-๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ-๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ, you donโ€™t go around sexually abusing children. You donโ€™t go around taking sexual advantage of the weak and vulnerable. You donโ€™t go around defiling animals.

AVAAZ E-MAIL: UGANDAN LGBTQ+ LAMENT

On June 4, 2023, I received an e-mail from the global campaign network, Avaaz. This was on behalf of an anonymized Ugandan LGBTQ+ rights activist asking for moral and financial support. Iโ€™ll print the e-mail in full:

ALERT: BRUTAL ANTI-GAY LAW SIGNED — FINAL CALL TO HELP!

WARNING: This email has descriptions of sexual violence that may be upsetting.

Dear Avaaz members,

I write from Uganda, where a vicious ‘anti-gay’ law was just signed into existence — and gay people are being hunted like animals. 

Days ago, neighbours castrated a transgender person with a kitchen knife. We couldn’t go to the police as we’d be arrested — and had to search for a friendly doctor, as most wouldn’t help us.

We’re being fired from work, rejected by family, evicted, beaten, rapedโ€ฆ and worse.

I’m appealing for your support. Please.

This could be our last call for help. Under this new law, everything we do, including sending this email and raising funds, will soon become illegal. But right now, before the law is implemented, there’s still a narrow window when LGBTQ+ groups can receive support — and your donation could help save lives.

You’d fund safe houses where people can hide, along with emergency medical care, legal support, and trauma counselling. We urgently need more safe houses, as we constantly have to run when angry mobs arrive.

We’re being flooded with frantic calls for help, but without more funds we can only help a tiny fraction of people. I’m heartbroken, and don’t know where else to turn.

And it’s all because of who and how we love. In the face of unimaginable cruelty and violence, please stand up for our right to Love. Donate what you can now:

I’LL DONATE KR30
I’LL DONATE KR50
I’LL DONATE KR90
I’LL DONATE KR180
I’LL DONATE KR360
OTHER AMOUNT

The new law effectively makes it impossible to exist as an LGBTQ+ person in Uganda.

I could get a life sentence for kissing my partner, and be executed for repeated homosexual ‘offences’. Renting to gay people is now illegal — and I could serve 20 years in jail just for sending this email.

They call us “ungodly” filth, but we aren’t the ones inflicting unimaginable cruelty on already vulnerable people. I know girls who’ve been raped by family members to ‘cure’ their ‘lesbian disease’.

That’s why safe houses are so critically important– providing a place of sanctuary in a country burning with hatred. With your help, we could:

  • Fund dozens of new safe houses and emergency shelters across the country;
  • Provide emergency health care and legal support for those who’ve been arrested — and meals for people in jail; 
  • Help fund the development of a new legal case to challenge the law in court; and
  • Power emergency response campaigns, like this one, to defend communities facing discrimination, assault, and war around the world. 

Every penny raised will support LGBTQ+ people in Uganda, and power Avaaz’s emergency response work around the world. By donating, you wonโ€™t just be helping in Uganda — youโ€™ll be ensuring this crucial capacity is maintained for others like me, facing unimaginable terror.

Gay, straight, lesbian, transgender — we all just want to live and love in peace. I don’t know when that day will come, but it is not today, and our fight for love must go on. Wherever you are in the world, please stand with us. Donate what you can now.

I’ve been part of the Avaaz community for years. I’ve seen the difference it makes when we come together fast for those in need. Now it’s my community being attacked — me and my people need this movement’s help.

With hope and the deepest of gratitude,

****** and the whole team at Avaaz

Note: As the anti-gay law has just been signed, the consequences for an email like this could be deadly — in many ways, they already are. For that reason, names have been removed and photos are anonymous.

PS. This might be your first donation to our movement ever. But what a first donation! Did you know that Avaaz relies entirely on small donations from members like you? That’s why we’re fully independent, nimble and effective. Join the over 1 million people who’ve donated to make Avaaz a real force for good in the world.
END

๐——๐—ข๐—˜๐—ฆ ๐—”๐—ก๐—ง๐—œ-๐—Ÿ๐—š๐—•๐—ง๐—ค+ ๐—›๐—”๐—ฉ๐—˜ ๐—”๐—ก๐—ฌ ๐—˜๐—–๐—ข๐—ก๐—ข๐— ๐—œ๐—– ๐—ฅ๐—”๐—ง๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก๐—”๐—Ÿ๐—˜?

Now, I ask a rhetorical but serious question with profound socio-economic analysis implications:

Can Uganda, or any other tyrannical anti-LGBTQ+ country, for that matter, provide statistics showing any value-added number to the countryโ€™s annual GDP accruing from the persecution of LGBTQ+ people in all its extents?

Well, in Norway, for example, one of the countryโ€™s most important conglomerates is Orkla. โ€œOrkla ASA is a Norwegian conglomerate operating in the Nordic region, Eastern Europe, Asia and the US. At present, Orkla operates in the branded consumer goods, aluminium solutions and financial investment sectors. Orkla ASA is listed on the Oslo Stock Exchange and its head office is in Oslo, Norway. As of 31 December 2021, Orkla had 21,423 employees. The Group’s turnover in 2021 totalled NOK 50.4 billion,โ€ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orkla_ASA 

Orklaโ€™s Majority Shareholder is Stein Erik Hagen, 66 years old. As at June 25, 2023, heโ€™s worth US$2.1 billion, making him the 1468th wealthiest man in the world; number 6 in Norway as at February 24, 2023. Stein Erik Hagen is gay. Culturally sophisticated, he is a renowned international art collector, and philanthropist.     

Norwayโ€™s GDP in 2021 was US$482.17 billion. Population number stood at 5.4 million then. Thatโ€™s against Ugandaโ€™s population of 45.8 million people, and GDP of only US$40.5 billion in the same time period.

Norwayโ€™s highest standard of living in the world is powered by people in all walks of life, including, in all national production, service, and leadership strata. Norwegian LGBTQ+ people are/ have been, amongst others, Government Ministers, Bishops of the Church of Norway, and many more in the commanding hights of the economy. Much as it is a generational global trend, the Norwegian arts and culture industries are teeming with LGBTQ+ people. I have yet to see Norway come even anywhere near to going under. In the meantime, the country just keeps on growing on and on as a world economic and geopolitics force.

The biggest brands in the global fashion, design, and cosmetics industries are a trove of some of the biggest creative talents in the world, some of the most influential of whom are LGBTQ+ people living with pride. Their enterprises are global economic giants to reckon with; creating hundreds of thousands of jobs across the world, and paying billions of dollars of value-added GDP revenues in various countries.  One of the greatest flesh and bone human brains to ever walk on our planet earth is Leonardo Da Vinci. His phenomenal interdisciplinary work in the sciences, mathematics, art, and philosophy permeates all aspects of our modern life. The man was gay.

So, Uganda and your fellow tyrannical anti-LGBTQ+ countries in the world, what are your value-added numbers to your respective countriesโ€™ annual GDPs accruing from the persecution of LGBTQ+ people in all its extents?

It is globally demonstrable that persecution of LGBTQ+ people deprives society of vital workforce resources across the board. LGBTQ+ persecution is clearly counterintuitive to equitable national economic growth; which is even more glaring in poor countries like Uganda.

The like-minded oil-rich, religio-conservative Gulf states have managed to harness their ultra-wealth to overrun all local and international resistance and critic against their atrocious anti-LGBTQ+ practices. However, these societies could attain even higher standards of living and more credible and durable geopolitics influence had they allowed their citizens to unleash their full human potential, free to mutually love who they love of their contemporaries.  

And in Ukraine, the countryโ€™s LGBTQ+ people are together with their fellow in-action citizens fighting side-by-side against Putinโ€™s imperialistic invasion of their country. Because they, indeed, are people like any heterosexual, LGBTQ+s are also capable of killing other beings. Violence and murder arenโ€™t the prerogative of mad heterosexuals with potentially dubious sexualhabits camouflaged in their irrational hatred for LGBTQ+โ€™s. Like in all Human Rights struggles, when push comes to shove and the oppressed finally pick up weapons of war and fight back, the latter wins. Wake up, bigots, and smell the coffee!

On June 16, 2023, Presidents Cyril Ramaphosa and Hakainde Hichilema, of South Africa and Zambia respectively, led an African peace mission to Ukraine and Russia. Iโ€™ll leave discussion of the merits or demerits of this trip for another time.

Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni chickened out at the last minute because of the escalation of Putinโ€™s attacks on Kiev. Putin even launched another attack on Kiev whilst the African delegation was in town, defiantly breaching and giving a blatant โ€™๐˜ง โ€™ to International Relations protocols.

The aggressor was simply making a point that he could have the ๐˜ด๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ฑ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜บ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด African delegation sent back to their respective countries in body bags, if he wanted to. The Africans recovered from the shock, talked with Zelensky, and went on to check on Putin the following day, anyway; wagging their little tails like poodles. Progressive South Africans look at Ramaphosa with dismay. Thatโ€™s Mzansi for you fo sho; myopic, parochial, outdated-communistsโ€™ bootlickers.

Real men persevere even in the most ominous of circumstances. Real men may be as gay as those fighting in the Ukraine army against the Russian invasion. A warrior is a warrior regardless of who of sexual maturity equal and sexual orientation they love.

Real men and women know that once they become a head of state, death comes with the territory; they automatically assume tyrannical or constitutional prerogatives to terminate or redeem life, according to prevailing circumstances. They also embrace the reality that they can under variable circumstances get killed on the job on any day.

How much of a ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ญ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ  is LGBTQ+ loathing Museveni, who got scared โ€˜sโ€™less out of thechances of getting caught up and dying in the Putin-made killing fields in Ukraine, I wonder? With no guts to face up to his national sovereignty leadership equals, he goes after soft targets, the LGBTQ+ community of Uganda. Coward. Loser.     

South Africa legalized same sex marriage in 2006. Although there are still unofficial, yet potent obstacles here and there, the LGBTQ+ community thrives in the country. LGBTQ+ personalities feature prominently in all spheres of South African econo-socio-politico life. And their influence grows by the day. After 9 (oโ€™clock, pm), hetero-married South African gay men exit their closets for their true loves outside.

Despite its governance challenges, South Africa remains a haven for Africans running away from their dysfunctional, war-torn anti-LGBTQ+ countries, including Uganda itself. South Africa remains an African economic powerhouse providing sustainable entrepreneurial opportunities for African immigrants from the latter countries, Afro-xenophobia violence issues notwithstanding. 

Whatโ€™s funny about Uganda in this context is that I first came across the words ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜น๐˜ถ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜บ and ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜น๐˜ถ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฎ in an article in Drum Magazine in 1972/3. Fifty years ago, in Welkom, my hometown in South Africa!

If I recall, the article was about how Ugandan men would meet up at local Sunday afternoon football matches in their villages. Some men would, then, pair up and disappear into the nearby bushes to engage in ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜น๐˜ถ๐˜ข๐˜ญ activities, the article reported. It was a given that many a girl would go down with their boyfriends as well. Of course. ย 

At age 12/13 then, this thing about homosexuality and homosexualism confused me a bit. I then ventured to ask an older friend to explain for me. Buti-Gabriel was in โ€˜JCโ€™/ Grade 10 at that time; he sure would know these things, I reasoned. He told me that homosexualism is when men sleep together like we sleep with our women.  

โ€œThey do it slightly different, but thatโ€™s basically it: having sex together man-to-man,โ€ Buti-Gabriel said. He further reminded me that we already knew how lonely men living in the then โ€˜Men Onlyโ€™ hostels in Welkomโ€™s gold mines had sex with one another in the absence of women. Aha, oh, yes, of course!

These womanless men came from the entire Southern African hinterland, as well as remote-lying, extremely poverty-stricken parts of South Africa. The guy said this in as matter-of-factly, and as ever cool as he was as a person and older brother that I had grown to be very fond of. Iโ€™ve had a laid-back attitude towards homosexualism since then.

A life-long ๐˜ โ€™๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜จ๐˜ฉ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ, Buti-Gabriel taught me how to be a gentleman to girls, and subsequently to women in my grown-up age. We remained great friends until he died in 2016. I miss him dearly. MHSRIEP!

Prior to the intriguing homosexuality and homosexualism mystery in Uganda as Iโ€™ve related above, there had already been an especially edifying association imprinted in my mind about the country. One of the earliest hymns that I recall singing at my childhood school between 1965-69, St. Rose (Catholic) Primary School, Peka, Lesotho, was about the Martyrs of Uganda: ๐˜ˆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ข ๐˜œ๐˜จ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ๐˜ข / โ€œLetโ€™s Praise Ugandansโ€.

Brutal Idi Aminโ€™s entry on the Ugandan presidential scene, 1971 to 1979, shook the heavenly picture I had held in my head for the country of the great martyrs. I recalled the latter, forty-five of them, being held in the highest reverence in the Lesotho-South African Catholic Church community that I knew then.   

Yoweri Museveni has been in power since 1986. He has taken the Ugandan murderous persecution plague to the next level.        

As regards Zambia, the LGBTQ+ plus struggle is still hard, yes. However, Iโ€™ll make a sweeping statement and postulate that woke, Zambian middle-class youth growing up and grooving in the Lusaka party scene in the late 1970s to the late 1980s (I havenโ€™t lived in Lusaka since 1988) will attest to the existence of a flourishing gay subculture in the city and the environs at that time. I canโ€™t imagine it having been any different in the Copperbelt urban centres such as Kitwe and Ndola.

I also canโ€™t imagine the Zambian gay scene as having diminished with the years. We had public secret gays as schoolmates and teachers, as relatives, including work colleagues.

I had just recently graduated from the University of Zambia in 1986 when, in one of my then business hustles in Lusaka, I got to strike a South Africa-Zambia commercial goods import deal with a super wealthy, fine-looking gentleman who, I thought, could probably leave an Afro-American movie star kissing his shoe heels. I got highly rewarded for the deal upon its closure.

After a business meeting that went late into the night one day, this man, we call him Mr Dukes, invited me for a snack and drink at his home in one of Lusakaโ€™s finest neighbourhoods. His house so overwhelmed me with its beauty and raw manifestation of opulence that my immediate reaction was to make the comment, โ€œAll the hottest girls of Lusaka would be in trouble if I had a house like this one, Mr Dukes!โ€
He curtly replied, โ€œHot girls are the least of my troubles, Mr Chilembo!โ€

Serving efficiently prepared bacon-and-cheese sandwiches and tea, he stated, โ€œI live alone here. I donโ€™t need women in my life.โ€
We ate in silence. Outside of business talks, I wouldnโ€™t know how to start any meaningful personal conversations with Mr Dukes after that incident.

Nearly three decades would go before a mutual acquaintance would reveal to me that Mr Dukes was gay, and that he had had a harem of young men that he sexually exploited at will. Inviting me to his house may have been a trap, but, sadly for the man, my mind was on the things Iโ€™d do with girls in his awesome house. Besides, he admired me for my Karate prowess and the local rock stardom I had already begun to enjoy in Lusaka. He really couldnโ€™t impose himself on me. I learned that Mr Dukes died in yet another one of those gruesome road traffic accidents involving huge, luxury cars driven at high speeds on Zambian pothole-laden roads twenty years ago.    

My feeling is that Zambia will soon legalize Gay Rights protection in the country. The country is on a path to economic recovery at a relatively better pace by far as compared to, say, Zimbabwe, where gays are โ€œworse than dogs and pigsโ€, according to projecting Robert Mugabe, the late and former dictatorial president.  

The point I want to make about South Africa (land of my birth) and Zambia (my fatherland) vis-ร -vis the LGBTQ+ condition is that tolerance liberates positive energy in society. Tolerance inspires and sustains creativity. Tolerance unleashes productive empowerment across the board in society. This is a crucial element of overall national development and growth. The case of Norway as Iโ€™ve outlined above is a perfect example of how this works. And, Norway is but one of the LGBTQ+ tolerant countries with the highest standards of living in the world.

The fear that the LGBTQ+s want to take over the world is unwarranted. Unlike religion, no one is converted to LGBTQ+ existence. You are either gay, lesbian, bisexual, etc., or not. If conditions become such that more and more LGBTQ+ people come out as time goes on, what the heck? Thatโ€™s the way of the world.      

LGBTQ+ people of Uganda and the world, stand up and fight for your rights. You are not alone. We all suffer together. Freedom doesnโ€™t come cheap. Absolutely ALL Africans ought to know this fact.

So, LGBTQ+ contradicts African cultural values? In what way is murder an African cultural values defence mechanism, then? Well, with effective brutality untold, Arab and, subsequently European invaders, applied relentless murder as a tool for imperial-colonialism imposition and sustenance. African has been left generationally culturally and cognitively raped and screwed.

Killing oneโ€™s own people for them exercising expressions of an emotion as fundamental of being human as can be, love, does not make post-colonial Africa any better than the primitive former imperial-colonial masters.

As the human genome carrying entities, Africans are essentially not different from any other people on earth. In varying degrees according to location on the planet, and exposures to multitudes of natural and artificial variants that enable humanity to adapt or die in given situations, Africans face the same existential challenges and joys as anybody else. Therefore, the spectrum of sexual orientations manifestations amongst Europeans or Asians is not in any way divergent from that found amongst Africans or people of any other racial classification, the latter being a curse to humanity.

Therefore, insisting upon the narrative that LGBTQ+ism is un-African is as banal as it is downright lacking in cognitive development maturity. Unadulterated stupidity oblivious to the ever-growing abundance of contemporary human knowledge database. Human love sentiment is truth constant in time and space; much as is the human need for liberty, equality, and solidarity. That underpinning the universal concept of Human Rights.  

Whereas the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was drafted without any African representation, the universality of Human Rights principles validity cannot exclude Africa. The assumption being that Africans are part of humanity. Much of Africa still under the Euro colonial yoke in 1948, no African country had the requisite political national sovereignty to be considered as worthy of participation in the process then. Independent Africa would eventually come out with its AFRCAN CHARTER ON HUMAN AND PEOPLES RIGHTS in subsequent years; adopted in 1981, and ratified in 1986.

๐—จ๐—ก๐—œ๐—ฉ๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—ฆ๐—”๐—Ÿ ๐——๐—˜๐—–๐—Ÿ๐—”๐—ฅ๐—”๐—ง๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก ๐—ข๐—™ ๐—›๐—จ๐— ๐—”๐—ก ๐—ฅ๐—œ๐—š๐—›๐—ง๐—ฆ

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) is a milestone document in the history of human rights. Drafted by representatives with different legal and cultural backgrounds from all regions of the world, the Declaration was proclaimed by the United Nations General Assembly in Paris on 10 December 1948 (General Assembly resolution 217 A) as a common standard of achievements for all peoples and all nations. It sets out, for the first time, fundamental human rights to be universally protected and it has been translated into over 500 languages. The UDHR is widely recognized as having inspired, and paved the way for, the adoption of more than seventy human rights treaties, applied today on a permanent basis at global and regional levels (all containing references to it in their preambles). 

ARTICLE 1 of the UNIVERSAL DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS reads as follows:

All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.

ARTICLE 19 of AFRCAN CHARTER ON HUMAN AND PEOPLES RIGHTS agrees by saying, โ€œAll peoples shall be equal; they shall enjoy the same respect and shall have the same rights. Nothing shall justify the domination of a people by another.โ€

ARTICLE 3 of the UNIVERSAL DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS says:

Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person.

ARTICLE 20 of AFRCAN CHARTER ON HUMAN AND PEOPLES RIGHTS agrees. It says, โ€œAll peoples shall have the right to existence. They shall have the unquestionable and inalienable right to self-determination. They shall freely determine their political status and shall pursue their economic and social development according to the policy they have freely chosen.โ€

ARTICLE 5 of THE UNIVERSAL DECLARATION OF HUMAN RIGHTS SAYS:

No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.

ARTICLE 24 of AFRCAN CHARTER ON HUMAN AND PEOPLES RIGHTS adds that โ€œAll peoples shall have the right to a general satisfactory environment favourable to their development.โ€ 

ARTICLE 6

Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law.

ARTICLE 7

All are equal before the law and are entitled without any discrimination to equal protection of the law. All are entitled to equal protection against any discrimination in violation of this Declaration and against any incitement to such discrimination.

ARTICLE 9

No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile.

ARTICLE 12

No one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to attacks upon his honour and reputation. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such interference or attacks.

ARTICLE 19

Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.

ARTICLE 27

  1. Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.

๐—ข๐—ฆ๐—Ÿ๐—ข ๐—ฃ๐—ฅ๐—œ๐——๐—˜ ๐—ฃ๐—”๐—ฅ๐—”๐——๐—˜ 2023

Osloโ€™s PRIDE PARADE 2023 was held on Saturday, July 01. It was a massive, happy, incident-free event attended by a record 90 000+ people; a rare event putting the beauty and love of Osloโ€™s human diversity in world display without fear or favour. Norwayโ€™s national television transmitted the event live. The huge turnout was defiant of the possible terror attack threat similar to that carried out outside the London Pub in central Oslo, June 25, 2022.

Itโ€™s Monday, July 03, 2023 as I write this section of the essay. Iโ€™ll bet my last penny that the USA risks yet another day of shooting massacres across the nation on July the 4th than Norway shall any day soon endure satanic fires for being pro-LGBTQ+s right to exist happy and free in the country.

On Monday night, June 07, 2010, I reluctantly agreed to join a diverse group of some friends of mine for a beer at the London Pub, Oslo. I have never been into partying on weekdays, a fact my close friends know well. However, on this one night, my friends applied all the tools of the charm to get me to come along with them. We had to celebrate the final exams success of Greg, a younger, super talented jazz singer from Cape Town, South Africa. Ok.

All went well at the pub until I noticed that time was fast approaching midnight. I really had to go. A long working day was awaiting me ahead.
โ€œOh, no, no, no, please, Simon, just wait another few minutes and we shall all leave this place together as a group and then go our separate ways home,โ€ cried Beya.
โ€œArgh, man, ok! You guys are impossible!โ€ yours truly.

In the ensuing laughter amidst group amicable comments/ inside jokes like, โ€œBlack Jew Simon just thinks money, money, money. He doesnโ€™t have a social life!โ€, the DJ suddenly plays full blast Stevie Wonderโ€™s iconic Happy Birthday song. Before I knew it, I had been yanked onto the dance floor, and this group of between 20-30 men were singing along and dancing all around me. These men were all gay. That was the most wonderful surprise and kick-off moment for the subsequent series of parties marking my 50th birthday, which fell on June 08, 2010. A truly moving experience that I cherish to this day.

After the dance, a Champagne bottle was popped. For a moment I found myself sitting alone, as if my friends had made a quick dash and left me without any good-byes. Argh, just as well, I thought. I was set to go away, anyway. Suddenly, an unfamiliar, exuberantly perfumed, finely attired, beautiful young man sits next to me on the right, and makes as if to want to snuggle with me. As I turn to look at him, he looks me deep in the eyes and says, โ€œBut, Simon, you ARE hetero, arenโ€™t you?โ€
โ€œYes, I am,โ€ yours truly.

The disappointment wave emanating from the boy was palpable. As he apologetically and cautiously pulled away from me, a surge of paternal care cut through me, and the flirt in me woke up. So, I reached out, gently grabbed his hands, and pecked his left cheek, saying, โ€œYes, I am heterosexual, but I love you for that!โ€

In Norwegian, โ€œ๐˜‹๐˜ถ, ๐˜š๐˜ช๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ, ๐˜ฅ๐˜ถ ๐˜Œ๐˜™ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ, ๐˜ช๐˜ฌ๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต?โ€
โ€œ๐˜‘๐˜ฐ, ๐˜ซ๐˜ฆ๐˜จ ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ. ๐˜”๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ซ๐˜ฆ๐˜จ ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ด๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜จ ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต!โ€ yours truly/ โ€œโ€ฆ But I love you all the same!โ€

After my words and moves, I have never seen anybody waltzing away from me onto a dance floor in as glamorous and as joyful mood as that young man. Numerous eyes were on him. I hoped heโ€™d find someone to love him then. That made me happy. I rose and quietly left the pub with the thought that, had that situation involved a girl, and I was in the mood, Iโ€™d have gotten laid that night.

The terror attack tragedy outside the London Pub last year upset me at least as much as it did anybody else. Oslo gay groove house London Pub is a viable business entity. Public records show that it was registered in 2007. Itโ€™s 2022 revenue was NOK 35 million, over twice as much as the previous year. During the said financial year, there were twenty-six employees. With outsourcing of security and other auxiliary services, thereโ€™ll be even more people earning a living working here.

The gay joint, London Pub is 50-50 owned by two gentlemen, Avni Fetisi and Selassie Desta G E G. I have reason to believe that the latter is of Ethiopian origin. And, last time I checked, Ethiopia was an African country. Just saying. Whilst living in South Africa as a child sometime in the late 1960s, my father once reminded a๐˜ฏ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ญ๐˜บ overbearing White car salesman that โ€œMy money is NOT black!โ€

Money knows no gender, no sexuality, no skin colour. Money just loves good business. If money makers are fair, theyโ€™ll pay their workers well regardless of non-professional considerations such as gender, sexuality, race, and all. Hopefully.

Violence against LGBTQ+ people and institutions will never succeed in ridding the world of people who love outside the narrow heterosexual stream. Launching surprise attacks on unarmed, peaceful people is a sign of sheer cowardice; idiocy supreme.

Real men fight men of their own sizes in real, bloody battles. At any one time, there are scores of wars played out in the world for trigger happy fools to go and play their silly, fake-manhood games. Prigozjin and his Wagner Group has room for soldiers of fortune he can use to feed the Putin-created meat grinder in Ukraine, for ๐˜™๐˜ถ๐˜ด๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ฏ & ๐˜Š๐˜ฉ๐˜ช๐˜ฑ๐˜ด on South African oligarchโ€™ State Capture braai coal flames. Check out Sudan too, if not the perennial DRC bloodbath.

It boggles my mind that a so-called man can run away from genocidal conditions in his country of origin – Iran, Pakistan, and others; find protection in Norway. Thrive. Grow up into a big and supposedly strong man. Is, or gets unhappy about the liberal, globally uplifting Norwegian way of life. Then decides to play the devilโ€™s executor role and kill innocent people in/ of Norway; shooting them as if they were dummy targets in a shooting range.

There is no courage in fleeing from the fight for liberty in the land of your birth. There is no honour in killing your innocent, new landsmen only seeking to love who they love in the free world.

From the point of view of harnessing and growing a productive manpower resources base vis-ร -vis attainment of sustainable national developmental goals, there can be no bright economic future for Uganda in its use of state resources to persecute the LGBTQ+ community in the country.

As Uganda is not alone in this counter-progress tendency in Africa, I really do not see the continent coming out of the Africa Screwed. Africa Raped quagmire I mention in one of my earlier talks.

Africaโ€™s future is doomed. All for leaders caught up in the ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฌ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ด syndrome. The techno-socio-economic future of the world is shaped by forward-looking, problem-solving leaders. These apply contemporary tools available and relevant today, addressing needs for a successful push into the future of ever so rapidly changing and growing understanding of the workings of nature.

As I use the expression, the ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฌ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ด syndrome refers to the inclination towards reliance on knowledge that may have prevailed once upon a time when society was high and mighty during, say, the Stone Age. Useless.

When progressive countries of the world are investing heavily inArtificial Intelligence (AI) Research and Development (R&D), Uganda is applying scarce resources in the hunt for Whoโ€™s sleeping with who? At the same time Dead Aid keeps flowing into the country. Morbid.  

๐—œ๐—ก ๐—–๐—ข๐—ก๐—–๐—Ÿ๐—จ๐—ฆ๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก

Iโ€™ll happily engage with anybody that reaches out on this topic. Do write your comments below. But I am not in any way interested in any crap talk about God and religion. ๐˜‘๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ป๐˜ป๐˜ถ๐˜ป๐˜ป๐˜ป, God is the most divisive, most lethal of manโ€™s responsibility escapism creations. Religion is a weapon of death in the name of God. Religious texts are murder prescriptions.

Neither am I interested in “๐˜๐˜ต’๐˜ด ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ค๐˜ถ๐˜ญ๐˜ต๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ” reasoning. The moment I hear expressions like, โ€œ๐˜ˆ๐˜ง๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ข๐˜ฏ ๐˜ค๐˜ถ๐˜ญ๐˜ต๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜ต ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฐ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜น๐˜ถ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜บ!โ€ I see insular, static cultures oblivious to, or dismissive of local or global societal paradigm shifts with time. These insular, static cultures inhibit growth of curious, innovative minds. The latter being capable of, and ever willing to explore new frontiers of knowledge in efforts to find solutions to existential challenges facing society on all fronts.

Spearheaded by the ruling elites, parochial, conservative African cultures kill liberated human beingsโ€™ creative potential. Myths intended to create perpetual fear and uncertainty in peopleโ€™s lives are applied as effective oppressive tools, much like the holy scriptures in organized religions.

Bring me science of consistent, universally applicable, infinitely testable principles that effectively contribute to mankindโ€™s efforts in the never-ending pursuit of bettering the quality of life for all on earth. I have no time for Conspiracy Theories bs-talk. Show me numbers. Thatโ€™s all that interests me in this topic here.

This here is my voice. The voice of an independent, free spirit with no fear for the unknown, or peddlers of untruths and negative endeavours to the detriment of society. I speak for myself, reflecting the workings of my one-man intellectual and creative powerhouse.

I represent no particular interest groups anywhere. Neither do I speak on behalf of any special influential individual. I neither receive nor solicit any monies from any individual or groups, as a motivation to be their mouthpiece or speak favourably about them. Nobody owns me. No one owns my brains. I owe nobody no favours.

My take on the LGBTQ+ rights violations in Uganda and elsewhere is founded on universal Human Rights tenets. I neither hate nor disrespect the people of Uganda. My reaction is against appalling, out-of-tune-with-the-times, power abusive, oppressive, leadership. If the latter is fronted by Yoweri Museveni in Uganda, the heat shall be on him by default; it comes with the territory. Iโ€™ll lash out at any regressive national leader, be they Zuma, Mugabe, Putin, Trump, or whoever.

Purely from a Human Rights standpoint, I feel very, very strongly about the LGBTQ+ right to exist case. If I could have just one cause to fight for in my life, this would be it. As a matter of a deep-felt principle, persecution of LGBTQ+ people the world over touches the core of my injustices-against-humanity sensitivities in a profound way. This is a struggle for freedom. Any struggle for freedom is my struggle.  

My pro-LGBTQ+ right to life is humanist, and is as solid as a rock. Those of my so-called relatives, friends, and other social relations across the board wishing to cancel me for my views on the LGBTQ+ question and other ludicrously controversial issues such as a womanโ€™s rightto access abortion as she deems fit according to her life circumstances, may do so now. The time has come for hypocrites and cowards to stay clear. Good riddance.

It is okay to have differences of opinions on anything. In fact, it is absolutely natural that people all over the world will have certain commonly shared instinctually broadly and/ or narrowly defined proclivities according to their respective individual neuroendocrine systemsโ€™ wirings. The latter being a function of both inheritance and infinite, known, and unknown immediate and distant environmental factors of short or lasting terms.

But it is not okay to hate. It is not okay to, by all means possible, actively work to exterminate people labelled as ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต and ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ด by those individuals or collectives wielding societal power. 

For as long as I can breathe, Iโ€™ll speak and write for justice and fairness. Iโ€™ll stand for the weak and vulnerable. Amongst other motivations, I do this for our children for them to not be afraid of the future, no matter how weird and unconventional they might be viewed to be, and treated as adults. I have this vision that, given the superior knowledge and courage we impart in our children today, theirs will be a better world for all tomorrow.

The MAGA movement bans and burns books, curtails liberatory education for enlightenment provision for American children today. I shudder to think about how primitive the future world would be would MAGA ever dominate fully the American society. That would also spell hell on earth for American LGBTQ+s. And mine will be one of the loudest resistance voices. You ainโ€™t heard nothing yet. The biggest global freedom storms are yet to come. To the oppressed, the persecuted of the world: ๐–ณ๐–ง๐–ค ๐–ฅ๐–ด๐–ณ๐–ด๐–ฑ๐–ค ๐–จ๐–ฒ ๐–ก๐–ฑ๐–จ๐–ฆ๐–ง๐–ณ. Believe me.    

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
July 03, 2023    



๐€๐‘๐“๐–๐Ž๐‘๐Š๐’ ๐€๐‹๐ˆ๐•๐„

Reserve Husband in House of Beautiful Things

In my Tumbuka tribe in Zambia, a man is his brothersโ€™ wivesโ€™ reserve husband. Traditionally, this is an informal but serious involuntary and platonic bond that commits the reserve husband to taking care of the sisters-in-law and, especially, the children, should some incapacitating or fatal misfortune visit the brother.

I am a single, never-been-married man with several wives from a few select blood brothers and bosom friends. I introduce one of the wives as I invite you on a day at my work place of beautiful things.

Our vehicle is the poem ARTWORKS ALIVE, which happens to be the very first piece in Onslaught 1 in the MACHONA GRIT poetry book.

Poems in Onslaught 1 reflect some aspects of my defiant intellectual, philosophical, and spiritual Personal Integrity Fortress against those that hate me.

๐€๐‘๐“๐–๐Ž๐‘๐Š๐’ ๐€๐‹๐ˆ๐•๐„
Separated
By the pond
Wife from another husband
My Dear Brother Ricky
Son Bolokiyoโ€™s
๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ข ๐˜๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ต๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ข and I
Met in the face of a book
In cyberspace
Celebrating her birthday
We took mikes and sang
We Djโ€™d
We danced
Fell on our backs in joy and laughter
We dropped the mikes
Went our separate ways
In the perennial dollar chase

๐˜ˆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ถ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ˆ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ข
Blazing in my head
Yandikani Lunguโ€™ spirit
With me in
๐˜”๐˜ถ๐˜ป๐˜ถ๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ถ ๐˜”๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ
In the north
From where lost souls never return
Black Diamonds
Hustling to bling
In the land of
Black gold

Got to work
Iโ€™m so happy
I feel
Artworksโ€™ eyes
On the walls
On me
I clear my head
I see
Artworks on the walls
Dance for me
Artworksโ€™ subjects
Come to life in the frames
[…]
๐—˜๐—ก๐——
ยฉSimon Chilembo 14/12-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO  
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +92525032
April 07, 2023

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๐—จ๐—ฆ๐—ฆ๐—ฅ ๐—ข๐—ฅ ๐—ช๐—›๐—˜๐—ฅ๐—˜? โ€“ ๐—จ๐—ž๐—ฅ๐—”๐—œ๐—ก๐—˜ ๐—ช๐—”๐—ฅ ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿฌ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿฎ

๐—˜๐˜…๐—ถ๐—น๐—ฒ ๐—˜๐—ฑ๐˜‚๐—ฐ๐—ฎ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ข๐—ฝ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป๐˜€: ๐—ฌ๐—ผ๐˜‚๐˜๐—ต ๐—ค๐˜‚๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐˜†

During my stay in Lusaka, Zambia, 1975-88, some of my most memorable social interactions involved meeting older and veteran, mostly male South African freedom fighters. These were ANC members. Then in their mid-thirties and above, some of them had travelled the world. They would have been in pursuit of various goals, which included:

  • Mobilization of international support for the South African liberation struggle efforts
  • Military training
  • Education

About all the veterans exhibited the abhorrent traits of arrogance, tribalism, bullying, cantankerousness, outright stupidity, and violence endemic of South African kassie/ township life. Hard partying involving huge consumptions of alcohol and drugs and all that it entails were an integral part of the deal. Needless to say. Shebeen culture carried with into exile. Not that Zambians were any less of party animals.

These veterans were people of all sorts, with all sorts of familial backgrounds. They, or we, as individuals or as special-interests sub-groups were motivated and threaded together by the collective higher dream of the attainment of the liberation of South Africa from Apartheid oppression.

Much as they loved to party by default, the majority of these people took their liberation struggle work very, very seriously. They were highly knowledgeable in the various fields of Social and Natural Sciences, including Mathematics. Some had had guerrilla operations experiences within South Africa in the 1960s; also, Mozambique and Zimbabwe in conjunction with fellow freedom fighters in those countries. Others had participated in major international wars, such as the Vietnam war, and in Latin America. These were hard people.

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2016

There were three distinct individuals with whom I shared intense mutual dislike for one another. Each in their own ways reminded me of some older guys and grown-up men that were generally not nice people back in my kassie, Thabong, Welkom. These horrible guys hated especially the ever vocal and visible little boys like myself then. It didnโ€™t help my situation being son of an envied foreign man from Zambia. I had already been in Zambia for several years when I heard that, on separate occasions, five of the horrible guys got stabbed to death by younger boys on the streets. Good riddance. For the obnoxious people these men were, their souls deserve neither rest nor peace wherever they may be in after-deathland.

Regarding the three older exiles that didnโ€™t like me very much in Lusaka, I imagine that a mortal confrontation would have ensued at some point had we been in South Africa then. The likely murdered wouldnโ€™t have been me.

Zambiaโ€™s relatively laid-back culture had a way of dampening our wild South African township streaks. Otherwise, I got along fine with everyone; particularly those that found me โ€œinteresting to talk big struggle issues toโ€; their words, not mine.

My favourite was Comrade Mjaykes. He was Commander for a unit of younger, recently arrived immediate post-1976 Soweto student uprising exiles. Overriding objective here was to debrief the traumatized youth with various available and relevant medical and therapeutic methods. Intense and continuous conscientization political education was an unavoidable part of the package. And this was the fun part for me. Much of my fundamental geopolitics principles understanding was founded here.

Contrary to many a senior veteran, on the outset, Comrade Mjaykes was an unassuming personality. But he was one the most highly trained and educated around, both militarily and academically. He trained a lot, often alone late at night. He was very fit. And he read a lot too. Of his few personal possessions other than his books, he treasured a satellite radio that he had bought on one of his travels abroad. Commanding English, French, German, Russian, Spanish, and Swahili languages, the super veteran used the radio to listen to current affairs programs from all corners of the world. He was a well-informed man.

Being an exemplary leader with superior oratory skills, Comrade Mjaykes was a complete warrior in my eyes. An enduring source of inspiration that I last saw in 1981. Sadly, he was one of the earliest victims of the scourge of HIV/AIDS pandemic that began to ravage southern Africa and the rest of the world from the 1980s onwards. Comrade Mjaykes died in the newly liberated Rainbow Nation, South Africa, in December, 1994. No doubt, his soul is resting in eternal power. I canโ€™t help but often wonder as to what he would have thought of the South Africa of today.

Acknowledging my Karate prowess already in 1977/ 78, Comrade Mjaykes said to me one day, โ€œMuch as I know youโ€™d make a much better soldier than all these young comrades here, Iโ€™d rather you went to school first. You have the kind of brains there is a shortage of in our political leadership structures, see? We should be able to organize for you a scholarship for studies abroad. Iโ€™ll talk to your parents about this.โ€

            โ€œThat would be nice, thank you! You know, my fatherโ€™s biggest wish for my two siblings and I is that we could go and study overseas. But thatโ€™ll remain a pipedream because he could never afford the costs of an overseas education for us. Life is really hard for our family in Lusaka, as you know well.โ€

โ€œYes, I know! Your father is a good man. He deserves all the help we can afford him in that regard.โ€

            โ€œThank you, Comrade! My parents would be extremely happy and grateful if mzabalazo/ the liberation movement can help.โ€

โ€œIt should work out for sure. But, unfortunately, currently available scholarships for full education up to university level are from Yuseserese/ the USSR (The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics). However, no, I donโ€™t want you to go there even if you could leave tomorrow. My analysis of you and how you think tell me that you obviously are not Yuseserese material.โ€

            โ€œWhy? Howโ€™s that? All I want is to be a doctor. A doctor is a doctor, no? There are Russian doctors at the UTH/ University Teaching Hospital, right?โ€

โ€œCorrect, a doctor is a doctor to the extent that he or she thinks only within the context of being a doctor and nothing else beyond.โ€

            โ€œI donโ€™t understand!โ€

โ€œLet me explain, Sae: you see, being a doctor, or any other modern, academically attained profession for that matter, is but just one of the multitudes of tools available for us to apply in the overall growth and development of society. Youโ€™ll, of course, recall that growth refers to the actual physical expansionary attributes of society; infrastructure, for example. Whereas development refers to the total conceptual and practical work that goes towards visualizing and realizing measurable qualitative and quantitative transformation of society.โ€

            โ€œYes, growth or lack thereof is a function of ideas and tools constituting a societyโ€™s developmental visions as espoused by the incumbent national leadership.โ€

โ€œAbsolutely, Sae. Do remember that the developmental visions are promulgated in national development plans over specific time periods. Your brilliant explanation is further proof that sending you to Yuseserese will be a waste of what I see as one of the most promising of future leadership brains in our soon to be liberated South Africa. You must go to the West. Most of our smart ANC leaders in exile send their children to the West, anyway. Thereโ€™s a good reason for that.โ€ 

In arguing his case, Comrade Mjaykes repeated a summary of standard rhetorical statements I had heard numerous times before:

  • The Soviet Union is a Socialist state.
  • Socialism is a transition state. Socialism puts together all the building blocks leading to Communism attainment.
  • Socialism shall build a strong state designed to enhance optimal economic growth and protection of society and all that guarantees perpetuity of the imminent march to Communism.
  • Communism is the highest state of existential wellbeing attainable for society. Under Communism, classes are non-existent; all are equal with equal access to all resources necessary and available for a life of non-ending abundance for all.
  • The state machinery, i.e. bureaucracy, has the function of managing efficacy of Communism towards the full satisfaction of societal needs. Under Communism, given certain specific skills according to different levels of societal engineering and resources production and distribution administration, all are at the service of society first and foremost and last.
  • Communism has no room for individualism, the basis for societal stratification, or classes creation. When Christianity and other religions talk about heaven, thatโ€™s another language for the perfect Communist state, actually. Only that Communism has no overbearing figures of God as portrayed in religious belief systems.

โ€œThat is the rosy picture of Communism, Sae. The reality is different. Just like the concept of heaven for the religious, Communism is utopian. The march to Communism starts and ends in the already dysfunctional Socialism, really.โ€

            โ€œBut I thought that attainment of the Communist state was more realistic because it was based on the dialectical material world for material human beings without mythical angels and gods in even more farfetched heavens above somewhere in the distant sky.โ€

โ€œCommunism attainment would be more realistic had it not been for Socialismโ€™s killing of the human spirit, Sae.โ€

            โ€œYou are losing me now, Comrade Mjaykes!โ€

โ€œI know that no one here has ever mentioned that last statement to you. I deliberately chose to prematurely take your political education to the next level now. Thatโ€™s only because I really want the best for you and the future liberated, non-Communist South Africa.โ€

            โ€œIf I may say so, you are beginning to sound like a sellout, Comrade Mjaykes. Arenโ€™t you risking condemnation by others should they hear you talking like this to me nowโ€

โ€œNo, my views in this regard are already known to even the highest levels of our command structures. My devotion to the struggle is known; I having been tested on many, many occasions over the years. But because we, the ANC, arenโ€™t hard-core Socialists yet, thereโ€™ still much room allowed to hold principled divergent opinions in the on-going discourse of how to establish a unique, workable developmental model for the future South Africa.โ€

            โ€œI see!โ€

โ€œAnd that is the point, Sae; behind the apparent success of Socialism in the USSR, North Korea, Cuba, and China, to name the most prominent, there are millions of robotized people whose senses of individuality have been broken to the core. Indeed, people may be provided with the best education in the natural and social sciences, producing top doctors, engineers, economists, and many more vocations. But thatโ€™s often as far as it goes.
Thatโ€™s because, through various political indoctrination methods, backed by extremely brutal national security forces trained to think and act as robotically themselves, the ruling elite ensure that the people cease to think independently and critically over existential questions.โ€

โ€œBut Iโ€™ve thus far been made to believe that people in Russia and all these socialist places live happily ever after. Moreover, Russiaโ€™s support of ours and othersโ€™ anti-imperialist struggles were for that the world must unite against capitalismโ€™s exploitative socio-economic relations subjecting us to lasting poverty and subjugation.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s a myth, Sae. The truth is that us South Africans we are just too free-spirited, too wild to tame for Socialism. It goes without saying that Communism isnโ€™t even worth talking about. Our allied South African Communist Party is a good platform for training in polemics and rhetoric more than anything else. Weโ€™ll discuss higher level Capitalism issues another time.โ€

โ€œI must say that this new side of Socialism has shocked me, Comrade Mjaykes.โ€

โ€œYou see, Socialism works for, and constructs linear thinkers; people who cannot think outside the box. People who think only in straight lines and right-angles in fixed operational spaces. Perhaps that may be one of the reasons Russians are superior chess players! I donโ€™t know.โ€

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

Itโ€™s at about this time that my interest in chess waned. I dreaded the idea of my brains turning square! Indeed, many a South African liberation struggle veteran is a formidable chess player. If they ruled todayโ€™ South Africa as exceptionally as they mastered chess, the country would probably be in a better place. But political leadership is an infinitely open field presupposing capacity for paradigm specific, or beyond as necessary, multifaceted thinking in problem solving and application of solutions derived thereby.

โ€œYou have on many occasions demonstrated that you are a more independent and well-rounded thinker than your contemporaries here, Sae. I know that thatโ€™s why some of the older comrades here donโ€™t favour you much. They simply hate your guts. Highly educated as they are also, these guys donโ€™t take it kindly when they are pushed out of their intellectual comfort zones, especially by a young comrade like you. They are Soviet educated.
โ€œIโ€™d hate to see you stagnate or degenerate intellectually as you get older. Thatโ€™s why you canโ€™t go to Yuseserese for studies, Sae, you see? One or two young comrades of your calibre have died out there before. Some have had mental breakdowns. It would break my heart to see that happen to you. Although the truth is suppressed in our organization, racism is also rife in the USSR. Encountering racism out there is tantamount to jumping out of the South African Apartheid pan into the Soviet racism fire, if you ask me.โ€

At own private initiative elsewhere, the first scholarship chance I got for an overseas higher education was to Social Democratic capitalist Norway in 1988. I got stuck here. Primarily out of idealism and for love. No regrets. Norway is the richest country in the world. All things considered, life is as good as can be in Norway. Of course, never perfect, never fully satisfactory for everyone, but Norway does deliver for its people.

And the country is a leading Foreign Aid nation. Norwegian Finance Ministers have for years been megastars amongst their global colleagues. No Communism here. The few ardent Norwegian communists around are but fringe individuals or insignificant groupings with inconsequential social change impact, if any at all.

I write books now. I am what they call norsk forfatter. โ€˜Forfatter Simon Chilemboโ€™ sounds ever so cool!  I write without fear or favour, freely following my creative fantasies to wherever they take me. I live happily ever after in an effectively non-Communist state. If Comrade Mjaykes could see me now! All gratitude due.

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2017

USSR-Socialist trained South African national leaders across the board fail to get the Rainbow Nation out of the mess theyโ€™ve plunged it in after the fall of Apartheid in 1994. In big geopolitics questions, the USSR yoke is sitting comfortably on South Africaโ€™s neck. Mzansi drowning with a sinking ship that is post-USSR Russia fo sho.

The USSR fall with the Berlin Wall in 1989 give rise to Russia. In essence, Russia is the ghost of the former USSR. Ghosts are no touch of reality. It’s therefore not surprising that, identical to South Africa contra Apartheid’s subsequent collapse five years later, Russia never could rise from the post Berlin Wall shambles. Oligarchs ruthlessly plundered the Russian state coffers, taking corruption to the next level.

Post-1994 South Africa created its own egregious oligarchic class through the State Capture phenomenon. This has shown many a Comrade from humble beginnings becoming millionaires to billionaires overnight. They have acutely incapacitated the South African stateโ€™s ability to optimally deliver the promise of a better life for all in a united, non-racial, non-sexist and democratic republic. The post-1994 South African oligarchic class has given the formally Apartheid state’s corruption colour. The former is living in the past. They have lost sight of the reality that Russia is not the USSR. Dismembering of the USSR is permanent.

In 2022, Russia invades Ukraine with chess moves mentality. Some things never change. It has turned out that Ukraine is not a chess board for Russia to play on as it wishes. Things have changed here. Parochial USSR legacy oblivious to this fact. Just for starters, young men of my age in the late 1970s are dying, falling like sacrificial chess pawns. The rest is a tragic war on a straight line trajectory ending potentially with a nuclear war catastrophe.

World in panic makes noise. USSR legacy ears are plugged. USSR marble eyes see imperial rebirth victory where the odds for survival are impossible to turn around. Meanwhile, Norway gives shelter and protection to Ukraine children and women running away from the ravages of Russiaโ€™s war on their country. No better place to be. Communism allergic. Progressive society as close to heavenly terrestrial opulence as can be.

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

PS
The pandemic is still in our midst. Fears and factual untruths havenโ€™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.

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2020

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

๐‹๐”๐๐€๐‘ ๐‚๐‘๐˜๐’๐“๐€๐‹ ๐๐€๐‹๐‹: ๐”๐Š๐‘๐€๐ˆ๐๐„ ๐–๐€๐‘ ๐Ÿ๐ŸŽ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ

๐“๐ข๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ข๐ง๐  ๐๐จ๐ข๐ง๐ญ

Looking at
The crystal ball
That was
The full moon
Last night
In the month of April
Revelation is that
If itโ€™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 menโ€™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:
๐˜Š๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ท๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆโ€™๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ด๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ค๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ
The ransom:
๐˜ ๐˜ฌ๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜ ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต
๐˜๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฎ๐˜บ ๐˜ด๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ท๐˜ข๐˜ญ ๐˜ด๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ค๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ญ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ
๐˜ ๐˜จ๐˜ณ๐˜ข๐˜ฃ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜ ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต
๐˜™๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ
๐˜ž๐˜ฆ ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ
๐˜๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฃ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ

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

ยฉSimon 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 wonโ€™t really matter
Anyhow

Total humanity decimation
Return inconceivable
Reincarnation ideas pulverized
When weโ€™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 donโ€™t even know
How to read
Upside down
Downside up
๐˜š๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜งรฆ๐˜ฏ

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

For Godโ€™ sake
We all gonna perish
Shit ainโ€™t gonna mean no shit
In post-nuclear war
Apocalyptic world
Bloody โ€™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
๐„๐๐ƒ
ยฉSimon 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 havenโ€™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 oneโ€™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.

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2020

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

๐†๐ˆ๐•๐„ ๐Œ๐„ ๐“๐ˆ๐Œ๐„

๐๐ฅ๐š๐œ๐ค ๐„๐ฑ๐œ๐ž๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ž๐ง๐œ๐ž ๐‘๐ž๐ฌ๐ข๐ฅ๐ข๐ž๐ง๐œ๐ž

Please
Give me time
Walking a straight course
Is not
A given for me

Given are
Obstacles
From the first step to the last
Iโ€™ve got sores
Under my feet
I walk
Spiked metal
Carpeted roads
In my time

Iโ€™ve danced through
Landmines in my time
Bombs clapping sounds
In my ears
Donโ€™t stop

Scars on my body
Donโ€™t heal
I eel through
I scale
Razor wire fences
To get anywhere

My muscles are wasted
Iโ€™ve walked through fire
Itโ€™s a wonder
I can move at all

My eardrums hurt
Itโ€™s a wonder
I can hear
Birds sing
My will is intangible
It cannot be isolated
Cannot be broken
I move as I will
I get there
The elements
Give me no easy task
To set my roots in the soil

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2022

Hostility
Above and below
The ground is
A given for me

I must fight
All the time
I must fight
Absolutely
For everything
To reach the top of
The mountains
I climb
As a given
To sustain my life
Even just to serve

From a mountain top
When Iโ€™d rather
Rock and roll
Down to home base
In satisfaction
Iโ€™m ever thrust over the edge
To tumble โ€™n roll
Over โ€™n over
In pain

Hitting home base
Body twisted
A bone or two broken
Iโ€™m taken
Back in time
Back in space
More obstacles
To overcome
Another mountain climb
To the top
Where keys to
My well of joy lie waiting

If love
Blanketed the earth
Iโ€™d reach for you
My joy
Every step I take

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

Give me time
I cannot breathe at your pace
I carry
Weight of the world
Laden with hate
On my shoulders

I fight bigots
Hating me
For colour of my skin
They demean me
They seek to dehumanize me
Every step I take

They twist my words
Slander me
Project myths that
Colour of my skin
Facades evil in man
I get enemies for free

They muddy my paths
Spill oil over roads I walk
I slide and fall
I get up
Burn the midnight oil
Keep moving on
One step at a time
Against the clockโ€™s
Sixty tick-tock seconds steps a minute
Sixty tick-tock minutes steps an hour
My steps have time tick-tocks
Of their own
As a given
In my precarious existence

Bigots
They seek
To break my spirits
Every step I take
I am indomitable
My spirit terrifies them

They shoot me
I die
They created Jesusโ€™
Resurrection story
To cover their
Confoundment over
My resilience

Give me time
Youโ€™ll see in time
That I really am human too
Everything they can do
I can do better
As a given
I must work
Ten times as hard
Anytime
In my time

There are times
The agony inside
Is unbearable
My head
Wants to explode
At not only
The bigotsโ€™ cruelty
But their horrendous
Outright stupidity

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2021

When reason doesnโ€™t work
When prayer doesnโ€™t work
Because their God is made
In the image of them bigotsโ€™
Collective derangement
I have to stop and cry
From time to time
Please give me time
For my tears to dry

Starting from below zero
With zero privilege
Against these meanest odds
Iโ€™ll rule the world
It ainโ€™t for nothing
Iโ€™m the oldest
Human being on earth

They created Adam
To sideline me
Doesnโ€™t work
Iโ€™m here
As a given
On the eve of
My victory

Itโ€™s beyond hatersโ€™ imagination
But
I shall blanket
The world with love
As a given
Some day soon
Nothing can stop me
Itโ€™s only a matter of time
Brace yourself
My love
๐˜ˆ๐˜ช๐˜จ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฌ๐˜ช ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฎ๐˜ฃ๐˜ช
This Black donโ€™t bend
๐˜ˆ๐˜ช๐˜น๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ๐˜ป๐˜ฆ๐˜ฌ๐˜ช ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ฎ๐˜ฃ๐˜ช
This Black donโ€™t crack
๐„๐๐ƒ
ยฉSimon Chilembo 06/04-2022

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
April 13, 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.

ยฉSimon Chilembo 2020

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