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𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀.𝐊.𝐀. – 𝐀 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐦

REST IN POWER

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑

I never got to know AKA personally. Other than via his multimedia presence, I’ve never seen him live even at a distance. Neither do I personally know any of AKA’s family members, friends, colleagues, and others that closely connected to him. My tribute to him is unsolicited. I publicize it with only the best of intentions; in admiration of yet another gifted, inspirational artist gone too soon. Had I had blood children of my own, some of them would have been about AKA’s age. The sadness I feel about AKA’s demise is not only of a fan or from a creative’s perspective, but of a man with much intrinsic paternal instincts sentiments also.

People die all the time under all sorts of circumstances. The thought of hundreds, if not thousands, of people dying daily in the ongoing Ukraine war, stupefies me. Starting with my mother in October, 2018, in the past four years since I returned from a five-year’ stay in South Africa, 2013-18, there has been a significant number of deaths in my family and friends circles in both the already-mentioned, Zambia, other parts of the world, and Norway. This has been an emotionally challenging time in that regard. But no fuss.

A total stranger of a colossal socio-cultural influence at a global scale dies, and everyone near and far makes a fuss. Cynics look and rebuff, “What the ‘𝘦𝘧’ is this? Some famous person dies, and the whole world is out on tantrums. And yet, right within our midst, ordinary people die under the worst of human conditions every day. Some die in solitude only to be discovered years later. Nobody raises even an eyebrow. ‘𝘌𝘧’ the famous! ‘𝘌𝘧’ the rich!! ‘𝘌𝘧’ vanity worshippers!!!”

When I fuss about AKA or some other phenomenal global socio-cultural personality’s demise, it’s not so much about the person and their riches. It’s more about how outcomes of their works impact, or have impacted me as a creative and one who is ever drawn towards beautiful, uplifting material and conceptual things. All the better if Rock Stars’ human values can be appreciatively compatible with mine. When people like these die, circumstances, age or time, and space regardless, I am ever reminded of my own vulnerability and mortality. It is a humbling experience.

I fuss as a means to confront and work with my fears in the face of my smallness against creation and my fate. Hoping that I shall succeed in living every day of my life as a decent human being inspired, imperfections granted, by lessons learned from the observed deeds exemplified by dearly departed. Deep felt condolences to AKA’s family, friends, colleagues, fans, and all others that value his work and humanity in South Africa and worldwide. May His Soul Rest in Eternal Power!
SC. 03/03-2023

In my books
𝘌𝘪𝘴𝘩, 𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘧𝘢 𝘯𝘫𝘦
Like they never had meaning
No value
That’s 𝘯𝘨𝘰𝘣𝘢
My life stories
Are rooted
In the land of my birth
𝘔𝘻𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪 𝘧𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰
Made hell on earth
Where at a
Blink of an eye
People fall and die
Daily
Like we are all
Bodies of houses of cards
Trivialized
From one game of cards
To the next
Gambling
With our lives at stake
Souls made cheap
Like we have no meaning
We have no value

When blood is ink for my pen
When each Word letter
On my computer screen
Streams blood Perfect
Sure as bullets in guns spell death perfect
People in my books
Can’t help but die
In the reality of murder
Executed perfect
As a tool for
Settling scores
Eliminating enemies
The detested
The envied
Disruptors
Troublemakers
Call them rabble-rousers
The corrupt and Rock Stars alike
Thinking that people exterminations
Solve problems in the living
Good riddance
As in books
Where people die on the one page
Forgotten in
Storylines on the next fiction page
People never learn perfect

Next chapter
Enter the police

Storylines change
Exonerated or
Guilty as charged
Closing chapter

Vengeance looms in
Urban jungle law
Last chapter open
Infinite
Another body of many
Shall bite the dust
All tomorrows ahead
Born naturally
Destined to perish
Due to
Unnatural death causes
In the hands of
Natural born killers

Hitmen dying as they lived
Life and death
Humping and bumping
On the circumference of
The circle of existence
To the extent that
We can breathe
Smell
The Rands and the Nairas

I dip my pen in blood
Blood smudges my writing papers
Sight of words
Weeping blood
On my computer screen
Hard to bear
Been too many deaths lately
𝘈𝘳𝘨𝘩, 𝘯𝘹𝘳𝘩𝘩, tell me something new

In the world of the living
My new book
Says to give it a break

In the dead silence
Of my solitary work space
I breathe
Something
Finer than thin air
Oxidizes my sorrow
Slow
I feel peace
Inside
Outside
All over
If there was a time for me to get hit
This would be it

I’d die without a pain
No complaint
No resistance
Stoicism in death
Waste of yet
Another fuckin’ life
Shoot-to-kill slain
In broad daylight
The Rands and the Nairas
Don’t matter no more now

The greenback
Going to America
With Nyovest
Leaving 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘮𝘦 alone
Mahotella Queens wailing
Work for your money, son
Cease criminality
American guns shoot
Numerous folks at once
In the hands of one man
In eyes-wide-open
Prejudicial fellow human’ slaughter
Whereas methodical knee-on-neck
Executes
One man at a time
On the street
In full world view
Under the sun
Just an aside

Dark clouds
Looming over
𝘔𝘻𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪 shall never die 𝘧𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰
Eskom the loadshedder ain’t no accident
We can’t hide even in the dark

And then
I hear a voice in a song
Do the rap lines
𝘔𝘰𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘧
𝘏𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘺 𝘪𝘴 ‘𝘯 hero
Thinks them reduced me
To worthless
House of cards fallen apart
Them don’t know
My center holds
Which is all I need
To root me
Six feet under
For me to rest in power
For my spirit to soar
Higher in the sky
Than in my living days

Check it out
I’m on billboards
Now
Larger than life
Ever
My arms open
To the heavens
All eyes on me
As ever

Your story’ll be over soon
One way or another
No billboards for you
No smartphone screen saver pics of you
Pages of your story book’s
Gonna burn
In every 𝘔𝘻𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪 home 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘷 𝘴𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘭𝘢 𝘧𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰
𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺
Going out of fashion
But for Eskom
From Cape Point to Beit Bridge
Ethekwini, I don’t wanna talk
All flames on you

Supa Mega is
Forever mega
Ain’t over
Till you’re over
Y’all haters
The mike’s dropped
Peace
END
©Simon Chilembo 19/02-2023

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THE CHILDREN’S FUTURE

FATE TRAP

Hard to count
When now
They are in fixed
And then
Criss-crossing groups

Repeat
Again, and again
Here, there, everywhere
At the same time
In this closed space
Playing games of all sorts of
Running, jumping, falling, rolling
This moment orderly
The next erratic
Repeat

In the pandemonium
There’s laughter, there’s crying
Commands, corrections
Arguments
Singing
Whistling above
Melodies of birds
Claiming space here too

Dogs in this land don’t bark
Neither do cars hoot
Just as well

Balls bouncing off the ground, walls, and boards
Rattling chains
Shrieking voices
Squeaking metals
Waiting for glass to smash

Total chaos repeating itself
Day after day
Yet the world
Does not go under with these
Eighty-eight
Could be ninety-nine
Perhaps one-hundred-and-one-plus children here

The happiness
The love
The freedom
Reflecting harmony
In the chaos
The children splash
Into my eyes
I can’t quantify

Now, let’ see
This one child here’s going to be a doctor
When grown up
This one to the left, a pilot
To the right, an engineer
I see a firefighter over there
There are bankers and bakers as well

That one standing across the plaza is
An army general
A warrior type
Resonates with my spirit

Yonder is a rock star for sure
Those three under the oak tree over there
Shall be bus drivers
Taxi drivers
Aha, that one running towards the drivers
Is Prime Minister material
President or monarch where applicable

I can bet my last penny that
That lot over there shall be
Billionaire investors
Boss kids
From whom
A Godfather shall rise
Gangsters have been children too

I see an engineer here
A scientist there
A philosopher here
A preacher there

The future is bright

When grown up
These children here
Shall fix climate change troubles
No more natural catastrophes

These children here
Shall fix global economy issues
No more poverty
No more inequalities

They shall fix world peace troubles
No more wars
No more displaced people
Wading treacherous rivers
Running into hell fires
Drowning in the seas
Roasting in the deserts
Whilst
Fleeing tyranny
In their homelands
In vain
Seeking to taste
Heaven on earth
In other lands
Hope in every heartbeat
Before they die
As they die
Hope lives on

These children here
Are going to be the finest people ever
When grown up
They can be nothing
And everything
At the same time

The whole world is
Dancing under the children’s feet
With their hands
They shape
Future of the world
As to their dreams
In play today

But then again
At some time, some place
A fool shall emerge
From nowhere
Molest a child here
Molest a child there
Molest a child in places unknown
Forever change the child’s life trajectory
Destroy the future
Cease the child’s life
Erase the future
As do weapons of mass destruction

A volcano erupts
In my head
My primordial instincts take over
I could kill a man
Weren’t it for
The law of the land tying my hands

I better run
Get away from here
I never know
Who’s watching me …
(Continues in the book MACHONA POETRY: Rage and Slam in Tigersburg)
©Simon Chilembo 12/09-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032
September 20, 2021

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

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

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

MANDELA, KAUNDA LEGACIES

Unilateral Tug of War

Just in terms of numbers, South Africa and Zambia cannot be equated. Of course. The former outstrips the latter by far: from territorial boundaries dimensions, population sizes and overall demographics, natural resources endowment, optimal economic potential and actual performance, to military power. Numbers don’t lie.

It goes without saying, therefore, that at any one time, any one variable or all highlighted above considered, South Africa will, in real terms, be a much more complex society relative to Zambia. Meaning that politics in South Africa will, correspondingly, be a more challenging enterprise for those involved in the national political leadership arena, whether in ruling power or in the opposition.

Needless to say that there are, indeed, countries smaller than even Zambia, but happen to have much more intricate political intrigues than South Africa. Another time and another place for the last observation raised.

A simple Google search will either confirm or debunk my assertions above, much as it will do with many of my postulations throughout this presentation.

Politics is the science of government. Government is the collective of institutions, including their constituent leaderships and functional personnel. They are created to enforce societal progress rules and policies that are arrived upon by the representatives of the body politic.

The government, or the state, will often reflect the interests of the dominant political parties. However, through corruption and greed, the dominant, ruling political parties may themselves be subtly steered by peripheral influential, manipulative economic forces. These may either be local or international actors, if not a combination of both. In South Africa, the concept called “State Capture” describes the collusion between the powerful economic elite and the government.

Notwithstanding the “State Capture” phenomenon, the interests of the respective political parties are often shaped and differentiated by their cardinal ideologies. An ideology is the summation of ideas based on theories and policies of political and economic engineering of society.

Ideologies are applied in varying ways to indoctrinate particular societies to address and find solutions to existential questions and challenges in certain pre-determined, and non-variable methods. Therefore, ideologies are not only critical for shaping individual countries’ internal living conditions, they also influence individual countries’ international relations premises; i.e. which countries will have mutually cordial diplomatic relations with one another, which supranational institutions the countries will be members of, which international solidarity causes countries will engage in and at what cost, etc.

In contemporary times, historical factors leading to the creation of specific nations often contribute to the kind of ideology adopted, developed, or redefined to suit local conditions. A nation’s wealth, often with particular reference to its relative strategic significance to the major economic and political nations and power blocs in the world, will also have a bearing on the nature of the dominant ideology. A subservient country’s geographical location on the globe can further add to, or reduce its strategic value.

At any one time, a quick reality check will show that relatively newer and smaller nations with both perceived and real strategic importance to the major political and economic giant nations, e.g. the industrialized Western world, have a hard time determining their own, sovereign national ideologies.

Old ties bind some of these emergent states with their former colonial masters from the Western world. Others will be held in infinite indebtedness to comrade states from the Eastern socialist, or communistic countries that helped in their liberation struggles for independence.

It is in the light of all the above that I choose to look at the comparative legacies of Nelson Mandela of South Africa, and Kenneth Kaunda of Zambia. Comparative because of the many critics of Nelson Mandela, who, in my view is unfairly battered in relation to the critics’ view of to whom real Southern African statesmanship ought to be accorded contra Kenneth Kaunda’s legacy too. I specifically address myself to Zambian critics.

KK-Mandela

Nelson Mandela  attends the lieing in state of ANC president OR Tambo at FNB stadium, Soweto, South Africa. (Greg Marinovich)

Before I proceed, I wish to make a few salient personal points:

  • I must declare that this is a non-solicited presentation. It is only an outcome of the involuntary workings of my critical thinking mind and its creative processes. It is my subjective, free world intellectual response to the foul anti-Mandela vis-à-vis Kaunda sentiments I have seen expressed in the various social media platforms, particularly Facebook, for many years. It is not my goal to want to be malicious against anybody. Neither is it my intention to seek or expect approval, favours, or rewards from anybody.
    This is an honest, independent expression of my thoughts and feelings with nothing but the very best of intentions. All this is done with the utmost respect both for Mandela and Kaunda, their respective families, and their followers through their respective foundations and other fora … (Continued in the book: MACHONA BLOGS – As I See It. Order Simon Chilembo books on Amazon)


Simon Chilembo
Welkom
South Africa
Tel.: +4792525032
February 13, 2018

38 YEARS AN EXILE: XXVII

HOME AT LAST! Part 27
Greek Tragedy – Tragic Diaspora Myths

Simon Chilembo, CEO/ PresidentO edl’ ihlaza! That’s isiZulu language, South African poetry at its most elegant for you: You are eating it while it’s still green (read: You’re eating it raw)! Ever eaten an unripe fruit? Sure not the best of tastes, not the best of chews; like getting caught in the act with your lover’s best friend by your lover, on their own bed in their own house.

Now, that’s one big screw up. Much as the acute diarrhoea and abdominal pains you’ll suffer after eating a green, unripe fruit. Assumption is that you don’t die. You dead, you fucked, it don’t matter no more. Wilfully eating an unripe fruit can also be indicative of the immaturity, ignorance, sheer stupidity, and lack of sophistication of the mind of the consumer, a green mind. Mind makes the person … (Continued in the book: “MACHONA AWAKENING – home in grey matter”. Order book on Amazon).

SIMON CHILEMBO
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
9469
South Africa
July 25, 2015

SMARTER ZIMBABWEANS, STUPID SOUTH AFRICANS?

IS IT TRUE OR NOT THAT ZIMBABWEANS ARE MORE SMARTER (sic), EDUCATED THAN SOUTH AFRICANS??
Asked somebody on a Facebook group, The SA Political Forum (no longer exists).

A clumsily formulated, but interesting question which has provoked extremely intense debate on the forum in recent days. The latter manifesting more the worst than the better of our views of one another in this part of the world: nationalism, racism, tribalism, bigotry, parochialism, xenophobia, ignorance, primitivity, nauseous arrogance, pettiness, immaturity, insensitivity, paternalism, mental derangement symptoms, lack of imagination, intellectual poverty, academic disorientation, non-culturedness, superstition, spiritual emptiness, insecurity, dumb-headedness, self-destruction tendencies, predator mentality, terribly developed language/ communication skills, cheap rhetoric, thick-headedness, anarchism, mistrust, misinformation, information distortion, history misinterpretation, manipulation, wilful ignorance of facts, e-kassie mentality, ill-defined defiance, profanity, foolish pride, as well as threats; including leadership/ rule by fear.

I do not quite recall how my first year, 1965, at school in Lesotho unfolded. What I do remember well, though, is that it was a hell lot of fun learning how to read and write for the first time. Returning from what I had then understood to have been Christmas holidays, January 1966 I discovered that I had completely new classmates at my school. The others from the previous year were in another class I heard called Padiso/ Sub B.

That didn’t bother me much, however; all I wanted to do was to continue learning how to read and write. It was ever such great fun, at the request of the class teacher, to stand in front of the class reading or counting for my new classmates. Nevertheless, I recall that at some point this whole thing began to bore me half way to death; I kept reading and counting the same things all the time. I felt it was time I went to join my old classmates who were now in Padiso/ Sub B. So, I stated my wish to the class teacher.

The school principal wouldn’t allow that to happen, I was told. Why??? “Because you are just too intelligent for your age, Simon. Boko ba hao bo tla bola …/ Your brains will rot if you go to higher classes while you are still under age. People who get too much education while young get mad, you see. Don’t worry, you shall go to Padiso/ Sub B when you are 8 years old” the teacher resolutely told me. So, I stayed in Grade 1 for three years, 1965-67, to keep my sanity together. Jeeezuz!

During the years 1967-69, the only meaningful school activity I recall are the almost daily after school fights arranged by older boys and girls. The idea was that boys my age should/ would beat the brains out of me because teachers at the school never stopped talking about how intelligent I was. Sadly for the matchmakers and my opponents, I would win absolutely all my fights. There was no way I was going to allow these dumb heads to kill my brains. I was also a street-smart kid.

The thing is, while these age mates of mine were still working around getting the alphabet, and numbers, together, I was already reading to my class teacher and my grandmother some passages from the Lesotho Times newspaper. I am a South African child begotten of a Zambian father. At this formative school of mine in Lesotho, there were many other mixed ethnicity parentage children (representative of the ethnic and racial diversity of the Southern African sub-continent) from relatively more resourceful families in the major South African metropolis, including Lesotho itself.

In 1970, going onto my tenth year of age, I find myself in a South African school classroom for the first time. The academic excellence self-confidence developed in Lesotho got acutely shaken by my failure to understand what the textbook I was given by the new class teacher was about. Reading comprehension, of course. I struggled through the assigned reading passage, and then answered the subsequent 10 questions best I could. I got zero out of ten.

The teacher expressing dismay at my explicit lack of knowledge of Afrikaans, I couldn’t reveal that I had actually started schooling in Lesotho, where there was/ is no Afrikaans spoken or taught in schools. By the time of the mid-year exams in June that year, though, I was scoring the highest all-round grades in class

Upon return from winter holidays, my class teacher called me out to where she and other teachers were apparently discussing something serious together with the school Principal. I was told that all had agreed that I deserved to be promoted to the next class because I was just too intelligent for Grade 3, which I had in fact been forced to repeat in the first place. I declined. Why? I was afraid my brains would rot, and I would thus go mad from too much education while still young. Bummer! I kept scoring the highest grade point averages at school in South Africa till end of 1974.

First quarter of 1975 I am in Lusaka, Zambia. No school that year. Very depressing. I have never felt smaller, and more insignificant. Shattered medical studies dreams. But then again, just under 15 years of age, I discover, and enter into a space called library for the first time in my life: Lusaka City Library, British Council Library, American Library. Book, books, and books everywhere, including my Uncle Oliver’s private library at home, as well as later, the magnificent UNZA library. And there were so many magazines, journals, and other publications of all sorts to read. I became a bookworm that year. A whole new world of thinking and dreaming was opened for me; and thus began my daily English reading and writing journey to this day.

Back to school in 1976. Forced to backtrack again because, my father was told, the then South African Bantu Education Grade 7 academic standards were lower than those of Zambia. But, as soon as I had gotten into the rhythm of things at school, I was topping class grade average points, as usual. I could never understand the Grade 7 failure panic and hysteria characteristic of the time in Zambia. I, of course, passed the final exams with flying colours later in the year.

South African born, Zambian dad begotten man-child would show constant, and predictable, academic excellence throughout the entire Secondary/ High School career to university; crushing class- and schoolmates from many other countries/ nations of the world, including Zimbabwe. This, despite the fact that I didn’t know what a science laboratory was until I was 17 years old at secondary school. That Zambian school children had already been exposed to sophisticated scientific education for years had also greatly intimidated me at first. There was at that time an awesome Zambian youth scientific magazine called Orbit. The story would repeat itself in Norway, both academically and professionally in my adult years.

20 years ago, after failing a Drivers’ Licence theory examination in Norwegian language, a blue-eyed Norwegian young man, upon hearing that I had scored almost 100% in the same test, exasperates, “Fffæææn/ Ssshit, I never knew that there were in fact wise negrer in the world!” Another dick head bites the dust.

The moral of this story is that when you are hot, you are hot. Your origin, or Nationality, due to various objective and subjective factors, may have some, but certainly not, decisive bearing.

My initial response to the question on the forum went as follows:
NOT true! The 5 million or so … in SA should tell a lot about Zimbabweans’ smartness, with their country messed up by (one of) the most educated presidents in Africa. We have our Msholozi, we have our legacy of inferior, for Blacks, apartheid Bantu education. But, for one of many examples, and despite acute imperfections here and there, through SASSA, South Africa effectively distributes at least R 10 BILLION in various social grants a month. 

Ultimately, it’s not so much about how smart or educated Nation(-s/ -nals) are, it’s about how they apply these qualities to meet their people’s needs and aspirations as their nations develop and progress among nations of the world.

Simon Chilembo
Riebeeckstad
Welkom
9459
South Africa
Tel.: +4792525032
October 12, 2014