A peaceful Sunday morning turned chaotic for Azizi as he was brought to the emergency room. He was in agony, bleeding, and had huge bite marks on him, mostly on his arms and legs. He claimed it was a Boerboel that attacked him, but the doctors doubted the validity of his story due to the size of the wounds.
Meanwhile, the police received an anonymous tip suggesting that a wild animal might be on the loose in the city after having bitten someone. The tipster provided the police with the address of an apartment in Langa, Cape Town. Upon arrival, the police heard a menacing growl coming from inside through the front door. Eager to investigate, they made their way to the apartment next door, grabbed a drill, and started making tiny holes in the wall to peek inside. To their shock, they were met with the unexpected sight of a 200-kilogram African lion lounging in the Langa apartment. The pressing question was: How on earth did the king of the jungle end up there?
Back to Azizi, a 31-year-old part-time driver for a ride-sharing company who had a strong love for animals. He went to the extent of illegally acquiring an infant Cape baboon and a lion cub from an exotic animal trainer in Cape Town and bringing them to live with him in his government-subsidised apartment in Langa. Azizi already had a ball python named Sly living with him in his apartment, and now he also has a Cape baboon and a lion. What could possibly go wrong?
When Azizi acquired the Cape baboon, it was unwell, leading to a short life span. Sadly, the baboon passed away shortly after, but the lion cub survived. Azizi named the cub Shiba and raised him in his apartment, providing him with his own room, a sandbox to play in, and transitioning him to solid food. Their bond grew strong, making them the best of friends.
After two and a half years had passed, Shiba had outgrown his cub days. He had transformed into a 200-kilograms king of the beasts, yet he still resided in that government-subsidised apartment with Azizi and Sly. Azizi supposedly fed him 8 to 10-kilograms of chicken daily, considering his massive size. Lions sure do have an appetite!
If you thought a man and a giant lion sharing an apartment was a recipe for disaster, you wouldn't be alone. However, against all odds, everything was actually going perfectly well.
It was a regular day until Azizi encountered a stray house cat lingering right outside his doorstep. Driven by his affection for animals, he welcomed the cat into his home, adopted him, and lovingly named him Shadow. To ensure Shadow's comfort, Azizi arranged a special room for him, away from Shiba.
After about three weeks, Azizi and Shiba were playfully wrestling, their usual way of playing together. Suddenly, Shadow emerged from his room, and Shiba, catching a glimpse of him, immediately switched into wild animal mode. He sprang into action, pursuing Shadow relentlessly around the place in an attempt to capture and eliminate him. Azizi quickly reacted by positioning himself between Shiba and Shadow, only to end up being tackled by Shiba. Azizi held onto him tightly to prevent him from going after Shadow, but that's when Shiba latched onto Azizi's neck, then his arm, and finally clamped down on his knee, refusing to release his grip.
Azizi found himself in a precarious situation when his knee ended up in the mouth of an African lion. The tense standoff lasted for two long minutes before Shiba decided to release him. Feeling remorseful, Shiba quickly sought refuge in the bathroom. In great pain, Azizi was forced to dial for paramedics, who quickly transported him to the hospital. It was then that he fabricated a story about a Boerboel attack, worried that they would uncover Shiba and take his lion away.
Back at the neighbour's place, the police officers gazed through the hole they had created in the wall and were startled to find a fully-grown lion lounging inside. "Yoh, yoh, yooh!" the officers exclaimed in disbelief. Now, they needed to brainstorm a strategy to safely remove this 200-kilograms beast without becoming its next meal.
A police officer rappelled down the building with a tranquillizer gun in hand. Upon reaching the apartment window, he glimpsed Shiba inside. Taking aim through the bars, he fired a dart, striking Shiba on the shoulder.
Shiba's reaction was clear: he was not happy with the situation, leading him to get angry and charge at the window, repeatedly slamming against it. Fortunately, Shiba eventually succumbed to the tranquillizer, and the police were able to safely remove both Shiba and Sly from Azizi's apartment before relocating them. As expected, Azizi was taken into custody.
Charged with reckless endangerment and keeping wild animals without the proper permit, he was convicted and handed a fifteen-month prison term after a court hearing.
Sly, the ball python, was rehoused in a snake sanctuary in Cape Town, and Shiba was moved to an animal sanctuary in Paarl, where he had the opportunity to run and play with other big cats, including lions.
Until the age of nineteen years and four months, Shiba lived in that location, a significant lifespan in lion years. Sadly, he eventually passed away from natural causes.
Shadow was never seen again.
"Now that I knew fear, I also knew it was not permanent. As powerful as it was, its grip on me would loosen. It would pass."
With promise of job,
he lured her into a cane field.
His gentleness a veil of sanity.
Lurking in his mind,
a perversion of sex instinct:
'Bind her! Torture her! Kill her! '
Deep within comfort zone
suddenly brandishing his bludgeon,
countenance wearing mercilessness -
sight of which imported terror into her spine.
Desperate plea for mercy fueling his excitement.
Menacingly, her clothes he demanded.
Hissing in agony like pine tree,
gnashing her teeth before the incubus, she stripped.
Her nudity assaulting his senses,
eyes flaming with lust,
he took stock of the bared flesh:
'Beautiful! Submissive! Horrified! '
Bound and gagged,
fantasy translating into reality,
all hell broke loose...
Urge gratified,
with her undergarment around her neck,
he sealed her fate.
Sixteenth victim of the unhinged mind:
Single mother of two horrendously maimed.
Not quite long,
no sooner had he got home
than long arm of the law tapped his shoulders:
DNA found on victims had matched his.
Karma forced to be lenient,
he lives albeit in confinement.
No Death Penalty In Mzansi.
With a focus on self-love, self-acceptance, growth, and healing, "Dear Self" is an effortlessly flowing compilation of kind reminders and affirmations. This collection takes you on an introspective and contemplative journey that leads you to discover all the layers of yourself that are just waiting to be loved.
In this book, readers will find a unique exploration of the struggles faced by black South Africans in relation to land, labour, dispossession, and violence over the years. Mbuso Nkosi uses the 1959 potato boycott in South Africa as a starting point for thinking about the meaning of land and ancestral connection.
Born White Zulu Bred narrates the experiences of a white youngster and his brother brought up in poverty in a Zulu community in rural South Africa during the apartheid period. Creina and Neil Alcock, their exceptional parents, abandoned a life of privilege to live and serve the impoverished people of Msinga, making their welfare their primary concern.
A comprehensive account of South African history explores the time frame spanning from 1852 to 1918, emphasising key moments that impacted the diverse population of South Africa from the era of four distinct states to the era of unity and beyond. Engaging narratives showcase the complexities of our society, illustrating the struggles of forging a unified community from our varied cultures and people. The central theme of the title recurs consistently.
Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism.
With clarity and compassion, Robin DiAngelo allows us to understand racism as a practice not restricted to "bad people." In doing so, she moves our national discussions forward.
Dive into this collection of poetry and prose inspired by modern dating and broken relationships, perfect for fans of Rupi Kaur and Orion Carloto.
"You'll Come Back to Yourself" examines issues of depression, infidelity, lost love, body image, and ultimately the ability of women to make their own decisions.
The Land Is Ours describes the journey of South Africa's first black lawyers during the late 1800s and early 1900s. Despite aggressive colonial expansion and land dispossession, these men believed in a constitutional system that respected individual rights and freedoms, and they used the law to fight against injustice.
An assortment of Chinua Achebe's short fiction, composed north of twenty years and drawn from scholarly diaries and magazines.
This compilation showcases 34 potent narratives crafted by the finest emerging and award-winning African writers, offering readers both enlightenment and enjoyment. Furthermore, the anthology includes nine new stories that delve into the enduring struggles stemming from colonialism's legacy, nations ravaged by civil war, and the escalating AIDS crisis.
A poetry book that will simultaneously make you laugh and cry. Gabrielle G. portrays various love stories in her debut collection of poems, from the first spark to the final heartbreak, and she puts the agony we've all experienced into words.
"If sharks were men," Mr. K. was asked by his landlady's little girl, "would they be nicer to the little fishes?"
"Certainly," he said. "If sharks were men, they would build enormous boxes in the ocean for the little fish, with all kinds of food inside, both vegetable and animal. They would take care that the boxes always had fresh water, and in general they would make all kinds of sanitary arrangements. If, for example, a little fish were to injure a fin, it would immediately be bandaged so that it would not die and be lost to the sharks before its time. So that the little fish would not become melancholy, there would be big water festivals from time to time because cheerful fish taste better than melancholy ones.
"There would, of course, also be schools in the big boxes. In these schools, the little fish would learn how to swim into the sharks' jaws. They would need to know geography, for example, so that they could find the big sharks, who lie idly around somewhere. The principal subject would, of course, be the moral education of the little fish. They would be taught that it would be the best and most beautiful thing in the world if a little fish sacrificed itself cheerfully and that they all had to believe the sharks, especially when the latter said they were providing for a beautiful future. The little fish would be taught that this future is assured only if they learnt obedience. The little fish had to beware of all base, materialist, egotistical, and Marxist inclinations, and if one of their number betrayed such inclinations, they had to report it to the sharks immediately.
"If sharks were men, they would, of course, also wage wars against one another in order to conquer other fish boxes and other little fish. The wars would be waged by their own little fish. They would teach their little fish that there was an enormous difference between themselves and the little fish belonging to the other sharks. Little fish, they would announce, are well known to be mute, but they are silent in quite different languages and hence find it impossible to understand one another. Each little fish that, in a war, killed a couple of other little fish, enemy ones, silent in their own language, would have a little order made of seaweed pinned to it and be awarded the title of hero.
"If sharks were men, there would, of course, also be art. There would be beautiful pictures in which the sharks' teeth would be portrayed in magnificent colours and their jaws as pure pleasure gardens, in which one could romp about splendidly. The theatres at the bottom of the sea would show heroic little fish swimming enthusiastically into the jaws of sharks, and the music would be so beautiful that to the accompaniment of its sounds, the orchestra leading the way, the little fish would stream dreamily into the sharks' jaws, lulled by the most agreeable thoughts.
"There would also be a religion if sharks were men. It would preach that little fish only really begin to live properly in the sharks' stomachs.
"Furthermore, if sharks were men, there would be an end to all little fish being equal, as is the case now. Some would be given important offices and be placed above the others. Those who were a little bigger would even be allowed to eat up the smaller ones. That would be altogether agreeable for the sharks, since they themselves would more often get bigger bites to eat. And the bigger little fish, occupying their posts, would ensure order among the little fish, become teachers, officers, engineers in box construction, etc.
"In short, if sharks were men, they would for the first time bring culture to the ocean."
O fleece, that down the neck waves to the nape!
O curls! O perfume nonchalant and rare!
O ecstasy! To fill this alcove shape
With memories that in these tresses sleep,
I would shake them like penions in the air!
Languorous Asia, burning Africa,
And a far world, defunct almost, absent,
Within your aromatic forest stay!
As other souls on music drift away,
Mine, O my love! still floats upon your scent.
I shall go there where, full of sap, both tree
And man swoon in the heat of the southern climates;
Strong tresses be the swell that carries me!
I dream upon your sea of amber
Of dazzling sails, of oarsmen, masts, and flames:
A sun-drenched and reverberating port,
Where I imbibe colour and sound and scent;
Where vessels, gliding through the gold and moire,
Open their vast arms as they leave the shore
To clasp the pure and shimmering firmament.
I'll plunge my head, enamored of its pleasure,
In this black ocean where the other hides;
My subtle spirit then will know a measure
Of fertile idleness and fragrant leisure,
Lulled by the infinite rhythm of its tides!
Pavilion, of autumn-shadowed tresses spun,
You give me back the azure from afar;
And where the twisted locks are fringed with down
Lurk mingled odors I grow drunk upon
Of oil of coconut, of musk, and tar.
A long time! always! my hand in your hair
Will sow the stars of sapphire, pearl, ruby,
That you be never deaf to my desire,
My oasis and my gourd whence I aspire
To drink deep of the wine of memory.
Bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son
'n spieel het gebreek
tussen my en hom
Soek ek na die grootpad
om daarlangs te draf
oral draai die paadjies
van sy woorde af
Dennebos herinnering
dennebos vergeet
het ek ook verdwaal
trap ek in my leed
Papegaai-bont eggo
kierang kierang my
totdat ek bedroe
weer die koggel kry
Eggo is geen antwoord
antwoord hy alom
bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son
Mama Africa!
Welcome to Africa,
Mamaa! Mamaa!
Mama Africa my Homeland;
She is Mama Africa!
Welcome into the jungle,
Welcome into her jungle,
Welcome into my world so sweet with the muse of my mind!
Mama Africa's Identity,
My Homeland,
My identity,
With the muse of Africa!
North, south, east and west;
With the muse of Mama Africa.
She is Mama Africa!
Facing the world,
Her muse is for you and me!
The muse of Mama Africa;
Cried the Beloved Child!
Mamaa! Mamaa!
Cried the Beloved Child of Africa.
Hear my voice,
My choice is with my mind;
Hear the echoes of Mama Africa!
The cry of the jungles,
The cry of the streets!
Oh! What a beauty she beholds;
The beauty of Mama Africa.
Africa! Africa! Africa!
Mama Africa my Homeland;
Mamaa! Mamaa!
Oh! What a beauty she beholds;
Oh Mama Africa!
Riches and beauty,
Colours and Natural Resources!
Mama Africa we need you,
We need your sweet love,
Able to carry on our dreams.
The beauty of this continent,
Africa!
The beauty of your Name;
Mama Africa!
The colour of your skin and, the colours of your children;
Mama Africa!
We need your sweet love,
Able to carry on with our Talents.
No end of story has been told, several legends have been born; tiny runnels have wiped out into the Nile; massive water courses had gorged the Indian and the Atlantic.
Africa is the native land of all mankind species, our cherished fatherland is the continent of Africa; you are always welcome to Africa.
Jewels are found in the stain atop, pure beauty is found in our hearts; giving hope with full-blown vision.
For many people of the world, Africa is time and again seen through a spare monocle, purified curtain abodes of indigence, deprivation, illness, dearth, and blues.
Yes, we have our threat, it's true, but we are a people of physiques, resilience and faith; African elevation comes alive as a cloud nine.
Africa is a continent of countries, clans, of peoples; each with its olden days, its voice, its rainbows; its bounty of rituals, the diversity of its arts; and the charm of its civilization.
Africa is a nook of titanic conceivable of chow that is appetizing, fervent and sweet; Africa is not a spot of shadows, but a distance of light of a nightmare and opportunity; Africa is not a hole of pity, but a place of influence and self-respect.
We are the offshoot of a proud continent, Africa is where the sun steps up and bents with a scorching effulgence; making it a place where every day is a sunny season.
Don't let your heart stay broken
Do not stay fixated on what could have been
Focus on all that was deep
Be thankful you smiled
Be thankful you cried
And be thankful you loved and were loved
Because no magician is strong enough to conjure the magic you've created
So don't let your heart stay broke
Don't focus on the darkness
Or things that did not last
Don't look back at your pas
When your future is that bright..
Down!
But I believe in the truth;
Faith and hope,
Born and raised in Africa.
Growing up in Ghana,
To face the world today with my works;
Along the line to meet your love!
Miles away from my home.
Teachings,
Growing up,
To fall and to rise up again!
To follow after the truth,
Keeping the laws,
Righteous Laws;
To choose those things which are right and,
To seek for peace.
Born in Africa,
Born and raised in Africa;
Kiss, hiss, miss!
Literature from Africa;
Warm and Friendly,
To do my best for others.
Due, dew!
With the clue;
To agree to the truth,
Free like a bee! !
Seen around a tree.
Muse of love and life,
Side by side;
To pay my dues to Mama Africa.
Growing up,
Life in the Ghetto;
Inside Africa!
Literature from Africa.
Through the narrow path,
Through Creativity,
Hustle and bustle,
Table, stable, cable, able!
Sometimes unstable;
Muse from Africa,
And to respect Mama Africa.
Cultures and Traditions,
Born and raised in Africa;
Growing up in Ghana,
With the Challenges and the Changes around.
Literature of Africa!
Rivers of Africa,
Mountains of Africa,
Animals of Africa,
North, South, East and West!
With the muse of Mama Africa.
Plants and rituals,
Stages and sages,
Pages of life!
With the muse of Africa.
Born and raised in Africa,
My mind!
My love,
My identity,
My muse;
Closely related to my tribe;
The vibe!
With my works to the world.
A new day,
Sunshine love!
A new day in Africa;
Echoes of a new day with the muse of my mind,
Born and raised in Africa.
Peace and joy to all mankind without racism!
Realism;
With the truth,
With Natural Laws,
With the romance of nature.
Issue,
Tissue,
Reign! !
Oh Life! Give me what i want;
Able to touch the hearts of the people with the truth,
With righteous morals.
Inspired by the truth,
Living and learning always;
Under the umbrella of righteous morals,
Gain, again!
With righteous laws.
Chain and pain along the line,
Growing up in Africa;
Pray, ray, pay!
To heal the world with the truth.
A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt
Of Africa, Kikuyu, quick as flies,
Batten upon the bloodstreams of the veldt.
Corpses are scattered through a paradise.
Only the worm, colonel of carrion, cries:
'Waste no compassion on these separate dead!'
Statistics justify and scholars seize
The salients of colonial policy.
What is that to the white child hacked in bed?
To savages, expendable as Jews?
Threshed out by beaters, the long rushes break
In a white dust of ibises whose cries
Have wheeled since civilizations dawn
From the parched river or beast-teeming plain.
The violence of beast on beast is read
As natural law, but upright man
Seeks his divinity by inflicting pain.
Delirious as these worried beasts, his wars
Dance to the tightened carcass of a drum,
While he calls courage still that native dread
Of the white peace contracted by the dead.
Again brutish necessity wipes its hands
Upon the napkin of a dirty cause, again
A waste of our compassion, as with Spain,
The gorilla wrestles with the superman.
I who am poisoned with the blood of both,
Where shall I turn, divided to the vein?
I who have cursed
The drunken officer of British rule, how choose
Between this Africa and the English tongue I love?
Betray them both, or give back what they give?
How can I face such slaughter and be cool?
How can I turn from Africa and live?
Dance, dance!
With the muse of Africa;
Tap, tap!
With the rhythm of Africa;
Moving your body and,
Moving your steps;
To the sounds and cultures of the various tribes in Africa.
Dance, dance!
To the rhythm of Africa;
Tap, tap!
With the movements of the muse of Africa;
To a continent of nature's muse,
To a continent of multi-languages,
To a continent full of colours!
Fron North, South, East and West;
Come to Africa and see things for yourselves.
Rhythm of Africa,
Rhythm of various customs and cultures,
Rhythm of the various countries in Africa,
Rhythm of the animals,
With the beauty of nature as seen around.
Dance, dance!
Dance with the steps and shake your body;
To the rhythm of Africa touching your heart and soul.
Tap, tap!
With the movements of the muse of Africa;
Rhythm of Africa!
With the muse of various races in Africa;
Expressing their cultures and customs to the muse of the rhythm of Africa.
Millions queued in lines before Arbiter Of Disputes.
Hopes were high,
Duty and resolve holding firm.
Hearts dance with spirit of Emancipation,
Each with ammo stronger than bullet,
Ready to dislodge a fiendish cabal out of Power.
All conscious of the long night of tribulation.
Singly, the weapons were discharged
Into The Receptacle Of Liberty;
Upon which they received baptisms of Freedom.
Inside the altar tugs of war ensued:
Invisible fibres bound and aligned aspirations.
Popular Will prevailed.
Bearing the scars of Apartheid,
Indigenous people celebrate the birth of Democracy.
Ballot Box had come at a great expense;
At all costs its sacredness shall be preserved.
Those were the surviving heroes and heroines of Mzansi.
Pot of love,
Dot with life!
Spot of peace,
Hot like the sun;
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
My identity,
My continent,
My Country,
My land,
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
Mama Africa,
Africa! Africa!
My identity,
The Colour of my Skin,
The muse of life,
The muse of my mind,
Africa! Africa!
Cultures and Traditions,
My continent,
My Country,
My land,
My identity,
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
Mama Africa,
The continent of my birth,
With the muse of my mind to the world so sweet!
Poetry,
Way of life;
Presenting my works to the world,
From Africa!
Being an African,
Born and raised in Ghana,
My identity,
My life,
Love and art!
Love and life,
Peace and joy!
Mama Africa,
Africa! Africa!
Mama Africa,
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
With the fragrance of life and the romance of nature;
The beauty of creation,
The Harmony of life,
Mama Africa,
The Symphony of the truth!
With righteous morals;
Africa! Africa!
Mama Africa,
The colours of life,
With the aroma of creation;
Love Brewed In The African Pot!
Don't count the days, make the days count.
"One of the sayings in our country is Ubuntu - the essence of being human. Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity. We think of ourselves far too frequently as just individuals, separated from one another, whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity."
What To Read Next?
Dear Self
With a focus on self-love, self-acceptance, growth, and healing, "Dear Self" is an effortlessly flowing compilation of kind reminders and affirmations. This collection takes you on an introspective and contemplative journey that leads you to discover all the layers of yourself that are just waiting to be loved.
These Potatoes Look Like Human
In this book, readers will find a unique exploration of the struggles faced by black South Africans in relation to land, labour, dispossession, and violence over the years. Mbuso Nkosi uses the 1959 potato boycott in South Africa as a starting point for thinking about the meaning of land and ancestral connection.
African Stories
Doris Lessing, a 2007 Nobel Prize winner in Literature. This is her best collection of African Stories. It includes every story Doris Lessing has written about Africa - The Old Chief's Country; The four tales about Africa from Five; The African stories from The Habit of Loving and A Man and Two Women; and four stories featured only in this edition.
The First Woman
From the award-winning author of Kintu comes a stunning story of a feminist coming-of-age.
Bantu Knots
Young Naledi desires to trade her Bantu knots for Nonhle Thema's hair on the Dark and Lovely box. She hopes to resemble her light-skinned mother. Ledi lives in Pimville with her strict grandmother, Mama Norah, while her mother, Dineo, pursues a lavish lifestyle.