Pradeep, a police officer based in Benoni, South Africa, grew weary of his monotonous routine. In search of thrill, he devised a bold scheme to rob a bank.
He booked an early flight from Johannesburg to Durban, rented a car upon landing, and made his way to a nearby bank. Before leaving his vehicle, he put on a wig and a fake beard. Once inside the bank, he pointed his gun at the teller, insisting she fill his bag with cash. After successfully obtaining the money, he quickly left and caught the next flight back to Johannesburg.
The robbery went off seamlessly, leaving Pradeep buzzing with excitement. This thrill ignited a series of plans for more bank robberies, one after another, until he was frequently flying to Durban on his days off to execute yet another daring theft. He even started hitting up local banks in Johannesburg during his lunch breaks. With his ingenious disguises, he could pull off the crime and then seamlessly return to the area, leaving witnesses completely unaware that he was the very person they were describing.
Pradeep had honed his skills in bank robbery to perfection; he was intimately familiar with the intricacies of bank security systems, allowing him to dodge capture time after time. Over the course of four thrilling years, he successfully executed heists at around 30 different banks, with each adventure delivering an adrenaline-fuelled thrill.
One fateful evening, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. At a vibrant party, he indulged a bit too much in the drinks and struck up a conversation with his buddy Larry. Fuelled by a surge of confidence, he started bragging to Larry about his latest bank heists, insisting he was a master in the art of robbery.
Larry worked for SAMBO, a branch of the South African Police Service focused on combating organised crime, economic offences, and corruption. Bound by his oath and the responsibilities of his role, he realised he could not stay silent about the secret and chose to bring it to the attention of his superiors.
Upon Pradeep's return from Durban, having just pulled off another bank heist, the police were poised and ready at the baggage claim. He was taken into custody and sentenced to 18 years in prison. However, Pradeep wasn't about to give up; he began devising his escape plan even as the judge delivered his verdict.
While he was incarcerated, he crossed paths with a man named Mpande, and shortly thereafter, he met another fellow inmate named Fanie. Both were serving sentences for robbery, and before long, the trio developed a solid friendship that would see them through their time behind bars.
After nearly three years of incarceration, the trio concocted a bold escape strategy. They initiated their plan by having Pradeep and Mpande feign injuries, successfully persuading the prison guards to escort them to an external physiotherapist for care. Upon arrival, they seized the moment, overpowering the guards and taking their firearms. Armed with the guards' weapons, they commandeered the physiotherapist's vehicle and made a thrilling escape. Following their flight, they opted to lay low for some time.
Several months went by, and they launched a daring assault on the prison where Fanie was held captive, guns blazing, and managed to break him out. Now that the trio was back together and on the run, they had to find a place to lay low.
Pradeep was filled with restlessness, craving the thrill of robbing banks once more. He, along with his two accomplices, set off on a daring escapade, starting with one bank and swiftly moving to the next, then a third. Their spree continued as they hit bank after bank, all while sporting ridiculous disguises: giant sunglasses, bushy moustaches, and fake beards. They may have looked comical, but their synergy was impressive, allowing them to complete a heist in under five minutes. On some occasions, they even managed to rob several banks in a single day without being apprehended.
As their exploits gained notoriety, news of the bank robbers spread like wildfire through the community. Surprisingly, many locals began to rally behind them, captivated by how they outsmarted the police. Pradeep, Mpande, and Fanie found themselves in the spotlight as unlikely heroes, affectionately dubbed "The Invisibles" by their growing legion of fans. The frenzy surrounding them was palpable, and their faces were splashed across every news platform, igniting discussions far and wide. They untimately became South Africa's most wanted.
Over a span of several months, the crime spree showed no signs of slowing down. The gang found shelter in various safe houses, seized every chance to rob banks, amassed a significant amount of cash, and filled their leisure time with a parade of escorts.
Pradeep had a disturbing tendency to target unsuspecting young women, posing as a professional photographer. He lured them to his hotel room with the allure of a photoshoot, only to take advantage of them in a shocking way. One brave victim mustered the strength to report his heinous behaviour to the authorities.
With the threat of being captured hanging over them, the three quickly formulated an ingenious escape strategy to leave the country. They decided to obtain a yacht, aiming to make their getaway by sea. They believed this maritime route offered a greater sense of safety.
Using a fraudulent passport, Pradeep headed to Australia to finalise the discussions surrounding the yacht sale. Meanwhile, back in South Africa, law enforcement was closing in on one of the gang's secret locations. It appeared that some of the gang's escorts had tipped off the authorities. At approximately 4:00 am, the police surrounded the location, with Mpande being the sole occupant of the hideout. Police ordered the gang to come out with their hands raised. In a surreal moment, Mpande, still dripping from his shower and entirely naked, reached for his weapon and found himself in a frantic butt-naked shootout with law enforcement. The police burst into the house, and gunfire erupted around him as he dashed from one room to another, firing back at his pursuers. When they finally cornered him, he made a tragic choice, turning the gun on himself and ending it all.
In the meantime, Fanie received a tip-off that the police were closing in on them. He quickly made his escape, using a counterfeit passport to catch a flight to Greece. By the time the police conducted their raid on the gang's safe houses, he had already vanished. However, in one of those locations, they discovered photographs of a woman whom Pradeep had assaulted several months earlier. This evidence not only corroborated her account of being exploited by him but also linked the safe house directly to Pradeep.
The safe house provided crucial information that directed the police to the yacht they had purchased. From there, they traced a crew member hired to navigate it, who revealed that Pradeep was meant to transport the yacht to Australia. This development led law enforcement to conclude that Pradeep might be in Australia. Local newspapers caught wind of the story and began featuring Pradeep's photo, causing residents in Melbourne to be on the lookout for him.
One fateful morning, everything began to unravel for Pradeep. He was browsing a used car dealership, eager to find a new car, worried that his old one might give him away. The salesman, having seen Pradeep's face in the local newspaper, kept quiet at first but later decided to alert the authorities.
That night, the police made their way to Pradeep's apartment, forcefully entering the premises. But to their dismay, Pradeep was nowhere to be found. But just when it seemed like they were at a dead end, one of the officers spotted him whizzing by on a bicycle. There was no doubt about it; he recognised him instantly. The police officer dashed over to confront him. Realising what was happening, Pradeep jumped off his bike and made a run for it.
The police officer pursued him relentlessly until he finally caught up. Pradeep, who had been feigning surrender, suddenly lunged for the officer's shotgun. In a split second, the officer reacted by drawing his secondary weapon and fired four shots into Pradeep's chest, resulting in his immediate death.
Fanie, the sole remaining member of the trio, ended up in Brazil, where he tried to pull off another heist. Unfortunately, his plan failed spectacularly, resulting in his arrest and a life sentence without the possibility of parole.
"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."
Africa Africa Africa!
Oh the once mighty and heroic Africa
Why has thou grown so cold?
Why has thou remained thus numb?
A fremd is here in thy enclave
Battling thy home without mercy
And battering thy all in thy all
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!
Thy peace is stolen
And fear injected in thy veins
With thy activities all at halt
All by same unwelcome visitor.
Thy hands are caged
And thy mouth silenced with mask
While thy children die in numbers
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!
Hunger is dire in the land
Yet thy children are home and docked
For the fear of the fremd
And thou dost nothing.
Thou keepest quite, oh Africa!
In the midst of all these
Waiting for the Whites to solve thy puzzle
And the world to come to your rescue.
When hast thou grown lazy, Africa?
Where are thy ecumenic powers?
Where are thy roots and thy foods?
What happened to thy herbs?
Why art thou dependent on the Whites?
Why hope on them for solution?
Why look akimbo, oh Africa?
Can't solution come from thee?
Are thy bushes there in vain?
Thy creatures and powers to create
Africa, recall thy deeeds in the past
And mights and beauty in the days of old.
Arise, oh Africa, to save the world
For a fremd has trapped the earth
And the key with the earth remains
Arise oh Africa, and find ye the key.
Arise, Africa, Arise
Leverage thy powers and flowers
The world is waiting for your
Arise, oh Africa, arise
Relationships can be tricky, and breakups can be worse. While most of us learn from hindsight, it often comes at the cost of making some mistakes. In this book, Toni Tone shares brilliant advice and enlightening wisdom to help you avoid some of these mistakes and improve the way you navigate love life, dating, and heartbreaks.
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.
I Write What I Like features the writing of Steve Biko, a well-known activist and leader of the Black Consciousness movement. He played a crucial role in uniting black Africans in the struggle against the apartheid government in South Africa until his untimely death at age 30.
This poetry book is filled with all things sunshine without ignoring the storms. Pain is real. Anxiety is real. Depression is real. Hardships in life are real. I hope when you pick up this book you feel heard and comforted. Even if it doesn't seem like it right now, your sun will rise once again.
Kristin Uys, a strong-willed Roodepoort magistrate, lives alone with her cat and is determined to eliminate prostitution in the town for personal reasons. Despite her failure to convict the Visagie Brothers for running a brothel, she manages to charge Stevo with contempt of court and gives him a six-month sentence. Outraged, Stevo seeks revenge against Kristin with the help of his brother and Aunt Magda. Kristin receives threatening phone calls, her home is invaded, and even her cat is threatened. The chief magistrate assigns a bodyguard, Don Mateza, to protect her, much to her dismay. Don's girlfriend, Tumi, is not pleased with the new arrangement, and Don soon realises that his new assignment comes with unexpected complications.
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.
Chameleon Aura combines personal anecdotes with insightful advice in a collection of poems centered around the common emotions of love and grief.
This powerful novel is based on the actual history of 'Farini's Friendly Zulus', men who were brought to Britain and then to America as entertainment. The story starts in 1885 with the main character, Em-Pee, in cold New York, disliking the exaggerated 'savage' performance of 'The Wild Zulu', which is very different from his own true history, not well understood in this foreign land: 'His Zulu colleagues call him Mpi, which has become Em-Pee to the English-speakers.' His real name is not the only thing lost in this distant foreign country, and he is viewed as nothing more than a sideshow act, although at least he is not kept in a cage like the beautiful Dinka Princess, owned by Monsieur Duval, the owner of Duval Ethnological Expositions. And so begins one of Zakes Mda's most powerful stories, a short novel but one that delivers a strong message and will evoke intense emotions in its portrayal of real injustices and indignities while also celebrating the strength and creativity of the human spirit and the transformative power of love.
Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be and how full of anger it is. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief there is about language, the failure of language, and grasping for language.
The best-selling author of Americanah and Half of a Yellow Sun shares with us a personal and powerful essay on loss from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.
From the award-winning author of Kintu comes a stunning story of a feminist coming-of-age.
"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."
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.
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!
Africa, Our Africa
Africa of Green and Black, of colors in between
Africa of people, of love and light, from within
Africa of ethnics and languages, of long told history
Africa of cultures and traditions, a rich tapestry.
Africa of strife and victory through colonial time
Africa of struggle through imperial crime
Africa of war, both tribal and civil
Africa of peace, condemning evil
Africa of hope, freedom and liberation
Africa of growth, of change and innovation
Africa of then: men, women - slaves to capture
Africa of now: men, women - reclaiming our valor!
Colonialism in its last moments is pushed to the centre stage -
the recoiling phenomenon intensely illuminated
by The Flame Of Liberty.
Roused by the prospect of emancipatory freedom,
from the shadows of Servitude, nations rise.
Their demand for a dawn long on hold
brings an end to the colonial yoke.
Her soul refreshed with a breath of new life,
Africa thrills at the sight of the expanding horizons -
an euphoria feelings that veiled 'Danger Signs'.
She's been bequeathed dreadful webs of intrigue:
Uneasy amalgams of multicultural colonial territories,
hitherto upheld through coercive mechanisms.
With price tags of 'patriots' hanging on won Liberty,
they bicker over the vacated Seat Of Power.
In their snobbery of honour in favour of greed,
strategic realignments of comrades produce
The Strongman: A tyrant - backed by 'jackals'
and supported by gullible public.
In a cruel twist of fate, hopeful assertion of self-rule
soon becomes the anticipation of a gaudy illusion.
The exit of Foreign Powers has delivered the people
into the grasps of Democratic Mobs:
Cabals fueled by putrid sludge of Kleptocracy,
devoid of political visions to transform into realities.
With no intent of restructuring imposed alien models,
cabals pursue joint criminal enterprises:
Good citizens are sieved out of the system,
party loyalists take over their place.
Key positions go to ruthless operators,
who translate decisions into actions.
Vast network of political jobbers across tribes are bought;
Political parties become private estates;
Police remains agent of The State;
Legislative bodies are subdued;
With the Judiciary effectively hijacked,
the oppressed has no where to seek redress.
Ultimately The Liberators Turn Into Oppressors.
Haven subverted Power Of The People
which has raised them to unfair dominion;
In frenzied torrents of greed without care,
Opportunistic Banditry is institutionalized.
In a matter of months raging economic crises follow.
And attempts to curb budget deficits upset lives,
sending an already violated citizenry
on a sad voyage into poverty.
In their scheme for hegemony, struggle credentials with
membership of the ruling party, are made the
prerequisites for political and economic ascendancy.
Their capitalist tendency reinvents imperialism.
With nepotism and sectionalism proclivity, parochial
appointments skewed towards specific groups are made.
Ethnic rivalry is promoted as one tribe is favoured above others.
Serious conflicts are provoked with diverse interest groups.
The Freedom Party once the pride of the nation
has turned public enemy number one.
With the powder keg too close to the naked flames,
BANG! It explodes. And the fire burns with a vengeance.
Turmoils of Democratic Anarchy usher in The Military:
Demagogues with perfect sets of iron teeth -
Whose stern miens wore the semblance of an undertaker.
They bait on sentiments of the masses to legitimize regime;
They promise to steer The Ship Of State
to berth on a safe harbour;
They pay lip service to their anti-corruption crusade.
They're the raiders of public treasuries!
They're the violators of Integrity Of The State!
They're the embodiments of rot!
Strategic alliance is built with oligarchs of crafty pretense.
The marriage of convenience symbiotic in its nature:
'You Rub My Back I'll Rub Yours.'
The wooed spiders, with a keen knowledge of the web
assume an oversight for the junta - reinforcing its hold
on power. Their administrative tasks keep the wheels
of government-owned enterprises turning,
thereby maintaining brazen squandering of resources.
In the quest for total control,
with the delusions that match their effronteries;
They unleash an assemblage of horrors:
Prison cells are packed with innocent citizens
picked on the flimsiest of excuses;
Rendition of dissidents tagged 'terrorists' becomes normal.
Curfews are enforced; Checkpoints are mounted;
Visible policing is achieved; With free speech punished,
displeasures are carefully altered in whispers; And
brutality is sold as pragmatic response to increased crime.
The cowardly populace petrified in its sullen expression,
in degrading submission blindly accepts Slavery.
Assets of nations are then plundered with impunity;
Ill-gotten moneys are laundered to different offshore heavens;
Treacherously, patrimonies are secretly being transferred
abroad, and governments turn around to ask for loans
on the very funds illicitly moved.
Post-colonial Africa is a continent marred with endemic conflicts;
Human Rights abuses of monumental proportions;
The entrenched lack of accountability within governments;
Shameful history of nationalized thefts by those in high places;
Quests for power at all costs - with Heads of States
holding on to power even when circumstances dictate otherwise.
Since Independence Africa has continued to stagnate
while the rest of the world have forged ahead.
But she ought to be thriving well!
She has an unrivaled wild life conducive to tourism;
Pristine ecosystem with endless stretches of fertile lands;
Rare incidences of natural disasters;
Resilient hardworking population;
Her prospects for hydroelectric supply is second to none.
She is hugely blessed with diverse mineral resources.
No other continent is endowed with as much!
Yet notoriously, Africa with such fortunes and potentials
relentlessly wallows in the throes of economic woes.
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.
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.
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.
We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
We are precious.
And one day our suffering
Will turn into the wonders of the earth.
There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy.
Do you see the mystery of our pain?
That we bear poverty
And are able to sing and dream sweet things
And that we never curse the air when it is warm
Or the fruit when it tastes so good
Or the lights that bounce gently on the waters?
We bless things even in our pain.
We bless them in silence.
That is why our music is so sweet.
It makes the air remember.
There are secret miracles at work
That only Time will bring forth.
I too have heard the dead singing.
And they tell me that
This life is good
They tell me to live it gently
With fire, and always with hope.
There is wonder here
And there is surprise
In everything the unseen moves.
The ocean is full of songs.
The sky is not an enemy.
Destiny is our friend.
Africa Africa Africa!
Oh the once mighty and heroic Africa
Why has thou grown so cold?
Why has thou remained thus numb?
A fremd is here in thy enclave
Battling thy home without mercy
And battering thy all in thy all
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!
Thy peace is stolen
And fear injected in thy veins
With thy activities all at halt
All by same unwelcome visitor.
Thy hands are caged
And thy mouth silenced with mask
While thy children die in numbers
Before thy very eyes, oh Africa!
Hunger is dire in the land
Yet thy children are home and docked
For the fear of the fremd
And thou dost nothing.
Thou keepest quite, oh Africa!
In the midst of all these
Waiting for the Whites to solve thy puzzle
And the world to come to your rescue.
When hast thou grown lazy, Africa?
Where are thy ecumenic powers?
Where are thy roots and thy foods?
What happened to thy herbs?
Why art thou dependent on the Whites?
Why hope on them for solution?
Why look akimbo, oh Africa?
Can't solution come from thee?
Are thy bushes there in vain?
Thy creatures and powers to create
Africa, recall thy deeeds in the past
And mights and beauty in the days of old.
Arise, oh Africa, to save the world
For a fremd has trapped the earth
And the key with the earth remains
Arise oh Africa, and find ye the key.
Arise, Africa, Arise
Leverage thy powers and flowers
The world is waiting for your
Arise, oh Africa, arise
What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?
So I lie, who all day long
Want no sound except the song
Sung by wild barbaric birds
Goading massive jungle herds,
Juggernauts of flesh that pass
Trampling tall defiant grass
Where young forest lovers lie,
Plighting troth beneath the sky.
So I lie, who always hear,
Though I cram against my ear
Both my thumbs, and keep them there,
Great drums throbbing through the air.
So I lie, whose fount of pride,
Dear distress, and joy allied,
Is my somber flesh and skin,
With the dark blood dammed within
Like great pulsing tides of wine
That, I fear, must burst the fine
Channels of the chafing net
Where they surge and foam and fret.
Africa?A book one thumbs
Listlessly, till slumber comes.
Unremembered are her bats
Circling through the night, her cats
Crouching in the river reeds,
Stalking gentle flesh that feeds
By the river brink; no more
Does the bugle-throated roar
Cry that monarch claws have leapt
From the scabbards where they slept.
Silver snakes that once a year
Doff the lovely coats you wear,
Seek no covert in your fear
Lest a mortal eye should see;
What's your nakedness to me?
Here no leprous flowers rear
Fierce corollas in the air;
Here no bodies sleek and wet,
Dripping mingled rain and sweat,
Tread the savage measures of
Jungle boys and girls in love.
What is last year's snow to me,
Last year's anything? The tree
Budding yearly must forget
How its past arose or set
Bough and blossom, flower, fruit,
Even what shy bird with mute
Wonder at her travail there,
Meekly labored in its hair.
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?
So I lie, who find no peace
Night or day, no slight release
From the unremittent beat
Made by cruel padded feet
Walking through my body's street.
Up and down they go, and back,
Treading out a jungle track.
So I lie, who never quite
Safely sleep from rain at night--
I can never rest at all
When the rain begins to fall;
Like a soul gone mad with pain
I must match its weird refrain;
Ever must I twist and squirm,
Writhing like a baited worm,
While its primal measures drip
Through my body, crying, "Strip!
Doff this new exuberance.
Come and dance the Lover's Dance!"
In an old remembered way
Rain works on me night and day.
Quaint, outlandish heathen gods
Black men fashion out of rods,
Clay, and brittle bits of stone,
In a likeness like their own,
My conversion came high-priced;
I belong to Jesus Christ,
Preacher of humility;
Heathen gods are naught to me.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
So I make an idle boast;
Jesus of the twice-turned cheek,
Lamb of God, although I speak
With my mouth thus, in my heart
Do I play a double part.
Ever at Thy glowing altar
Must my heart grow sick and falter,
Wishing He I served were black,
Thinking then it would not lack
Precedent of pain to guide it,
Let who would or might deride it;
Surely then this flesh would know
Yours had borne a kindred woe.
Lord, I fashion dark gods, too,
Daring even to give You
Dark despairing features where,
Crowned with dark rebellious hair,
Patience wavers just so much as
Mortal grief compels, while touches
Quick and hot, of anger, rise
To smitten cheek and weary eyes.
Lord, forgive me if my need
Sometimes shapes a human creed.
All day long and all night through,
One thing only must I do:
Quench my pride and cool my blood,
Lest I perish in the flood.
Lest a hidden ember set
Timber that I thought was wet
Burning like the dryest flax,
Melting like the merest wax,
Lest the grave restore its dead.
Not yet has my heart or head
In the least way realized
They and I are civilized.
Optimism is a happiness magnet. If you stay positive, good things and good people will be drawn to you.
"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?
Women Who Love Too Much
This bestselling relationship self-help book investigates and reveals how powerfully addictive unhealthy relationships can be - but also gives a very specific programme for recovery from the disease of loving too much, a problem that plagues women everywhere.
Beyond the land question: Claims and resistance
This book delves into how environmentalist and developmentalist ideas affect the indigenous population and their socio-economic status in the DRC. It specifically looks at the Batwa pygmies, who were displaced from Kahuzi-Biega National Park in the Eastern DRC and now reside in the mountainous region. The book also examines how they currently obtain natural resources like land, forests, and water and maps out the conflicts that arise.
African Tales
Awesome adventures of African children with colorful drawings
Ulli finds a friend at the Saturday market, where he sells oranges.
Amina learns from her aunt how to make tie-dyed material.
Ojo the dream monster
Dondo saves his village from a terrible sandstorm.
Nandi meets her grandma in a dream.
Chinere receives seven magic stones on her wedding day.
Ali helps build a new schoolhouse in the middle of the jungle.
Saku stumbles on a magic medicine man who can read his thoughts.
Punji falls from his canoe into the lagoon and almost drowns.
Miriam dances for Grandma at the big family party.
Wayfarers' Hymns
With its infusion of rhythm and melody, this novel will transport you from Lesotho's Mountain Kingdom to the City of Gold as it delves into the history of famo. Famo music first emerged in the drinking establishments of migrant mineworkers in Lesotho, where they would unwind after work by singing, often with the accompaniment of an accordion, a drum, and sometimes a bass.
Things Fall Apart
A masterpiece from a giant of African literature. Things Fall Apart recreates African tribal life before Christianity and shows how the coming of the white man led to the breaking up of the old ways.