#mbe mbhele

[mbembhele]

Ngahamba ekhaya ngimncane ngazi inhlonipho, ngabuya sengigugile ngazi inhluphekho.

Nyembezi zami zigcwele uthuli, zihlathi zami ziphihlika udaka.

Impilo yami? Ucwephe lephepha, ngine mfundo yeminyaknyaka kepha ulwazi lami luncane luyateketa. Ngilalele ngendlebe kwaze kwakhanya ilanga kanti kwakufanele ngilalele ngenhliziyo.

izandla zes'khathi azisafinyeleli umphefumulo udukile, indonga zidume kwazwakala, noma ngihleka kuvela ubala, sewasapa ezinkambeni amazinyo indoda.

Imizwa yami? ididekele, ime ndawonye ibindekile. ukube ngangazile ngabe ngavuma ukuba ingane kubaba kodwa ngakhetha ukuba ingane yezizwe.

ngakhetha inyuvesi ngafunda; yakhononda imizwa yakhihla es'kaShaka.

Sengihlala ngiyotyiwe, ngonyiwe, amanzi awasazigezi izithende zami, umphimbo wam', amakhala ami, amaphaphu ami, amaphupho ami, impuphu ekhaya, kugoqana unwele, esolwathamba ekwephuphu linethile.

Noma likhipha umkhov' etsheni kweyami inhliziyo likhithikile. ngigula okwangempela, kaze ngiyolitholaphi ikhambi? mhlawumbe ebhodleni, nginekeni ushevu - ngiphile. nginiken' ikhambi - ngife.

esami isono ngiyasazi, ukugijimisa ulwazi kodwa iqiniso ngalishiya ekhaya. mama, mama, uqinisile uqinisile, ngezenzo zami ngikubulale usaphila.

kungaphela izinkulungwane zeminyaka, ihlazo lami linomsindo okweqaqa. unembeza wami soze walifihla. noma izandla zeskhathi zingathi umzimba wami aw'mbozwe inhlabathi, ngizolivuma icala lam'.

[sivemqikela]

WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE - Sive Mqikela

On 26 October 2019, the fire spitting, scamtho-lingoed-poet Makhafula Vilakazi together with his cohort of vagabonds who go by the name of Kokorumba (a euphemism for Cockroaches)  led by Koketso Poho’s velvet wailing and backed by Nhlanhla Ngqaqu’s zumba-ba-ba-zumba gwij’ basslines and Luyolo Lenga’s overtoned Umrhube and tickling Udu rhythms, dragged a stubborn bull by its horns into the kraal-cum-auditorium of Soweto Theatre. As usual for a ceremony of this manner, a call was made to the people to come bear witness to what was promised to be a brawl with the beastly figure of Mandela depicted in Slovo Maphanga’s artwork. Makhafula is no flip-flopper of a poet; and I imagine no other depiction of the vivid images of his lyricism than what Maphanga has presented as the artwork and poster for this project. In Maphanga’s artwork  we see the ‘enchanting figure of peace’ transformed into an unbearable sighting. This beastly figure is donned in Madiba’s October 1962 court appearance swaggering Thembu royal outfit of isiyaca neck-beads nemibhaco. As if this is not enough beauty for the father of the nation, Maphanga insists on having another piece of neckwear to decorate Madiba, except that this piece of neckwear once reserved for those deemed to be traitors or witches is not so majestic for the Thembu royal. In the surround of this beastly face is a sketch of the map of South Africa, making Mandela/South Africa synonymous. The background is the colour of fire - gazole and matchsticks are on standby: 

“bamfak’itoss neparaz uKawu, bam’gasa nges’gubhu sika bab’ akasebenzi separafin. Bashay’igwijo l’ka Samora Machel. Zalilizel’intsyza zakhona, bashaya amafleyt ooMjoint. Bamfak’ esekileni bamlayta...Kwashukuma iAfrika ngobudala bayo” (Makhafula Vilakazi)

“Wenzeni? Bengeke bamshise engenzanga lutho?”

The best person to answer this question would  be Makhafula himself; but we must ask it in this way: what would make him go for what has become an easy target of scorn in the form of Nelson Mandela, in this stay-woke-type generation of ours? 

Again we might have to look at Maphanga’s artwork for one last time, bearing in mind that Mandela and South Africa are represented to mean the same thing. In the absence of a working title let’s call it Amandel’Afrika, referring to both the artwork and the synonymous relationship between Mandela and South Africa as depicted by Maphanga. In Maphanga’s Amandel’Afrika, an earnest smile with missing molar teeth, clenching on a smoking pipe is imposed on Mandela’s face. Second only to Louis Armstrong in deceitfulness, this pipe smoking smile demands its own face, but only manages to sneak in just that - a smile. The owner of this smile - the sound of whose voice Makhafula Vilakazi and his cohort desires so much to hear as evidenced in their opening cry - “Sobukwe ulele kanjani? Siyakukhumbula. Sobonana kwelizayo” - remains only a memory to those who were there to see and hear the man. Unless the excavationists of Amandel’Afrika decide the time to air out this muted voice; Makhafula and Kokorumba can only hope to see him kwelizayo (in the next world), and that is if when they go to the next world, they won’t be met with Mandela acting as an intermediary for all that lived life in his South Africa. The tension between Madiba magic and this man with the smile is far more serious than we can imagine, and it is not by coincidence that the Madiba dance ended its tenure on earth on the day of this man’s birthday (05 December). Think for a second that other outworldly battles are possibly happening.

For the boxer that we see in pictures, Mandela is definitely poking thorns (uRhol’ihlahla) and throwing jabs on Sobukwe’s resting spirit. We are in Africa anyway, these things happen.

There is another figure demanding space in Maphanga’s Amandel’Afrika; his gaze, the opposite of the mona lisa effect, stares obstinately with one eye. His eye is not shaded with the colour of fire as is the rest of Maphanga’s figure. He is probably putting on a fight as he himself says:

“My attitude is, I’m not going to allow them to carry out their program faithfully. If they want to beat me five times, they can only do so on condition that I allow them to beat me five times. If I react sharply, equally and oppositely, to the first clap, they are not going to be able to systematically count the next four claps, you see. It’s a fight.” (Biko) 

His offspring in the form of groups like the iPhupho L’ka Biko (Biko’s Dream) jazz band are also making attempts to put on a fight and to testify to the potency of his weapons. However, judging by the current situation in Amandel’Afrika, this man might, as Mbe Mbhele suggests in his poem, Biko is Dead,  be in need of some introduction to black consciousness. One will have to visit Mbhele’s poem to fully appreciate this problem.

In this world and the other one, it seems that the Madiba magic glitters as an emblem of many possibilities for what looks like an eternity. Think of how Mandela Bridge spits people in and out of the two worlds it separates, day and night.

Mandela is unwilling to die alone in the necklacing carried out by Maphanga and insisted by Makhafula and Kokorumba. With him will be his beastly comrades in eye and smile.

“Witchcraft you’ll never win me. He’s here! He’s here! Ula. Ula” (Makhafula Vilakazi)

As an African people, what do we do to an (un)holy spirit of our departed kinsmen that is a menace to the living and to the departed? 

Perhaps the motive for Makhafula to title this gathering “Mandela is Dead”, is to precisely answer this question. He seems to know what he’s supposed to do, but complains about the difficulty of the task and the labour it requires:

“Ngizihambe zonke izinyanga zaseSpruit, ngigquma, ngichatha, ngiphalaziswa ngobisi lembuzi, ngiqiniselwa wena nalomgorho wakho” (Makhafula Vilakazi).

As if the stay-woke children of the city of gold needed any more reasons to justify their contempt for sleep, the 120+ seater kraal-cum-auditorium was filled to capacity with everyone wanting to catch sight of this (un)holy ghost. If they knew what they were getting themselves into, that one you will have to ask them. The singing along whenever the Kokorombas invoked a familiar selection in the struggle’s discography is evidence that they were however, consenting participants. 

Wazi Kunene, who did the difficult task of master of ceremony, jokingly bestowed Makhafula Vilakazi with Mzwakhe Mbuli’s long held title of ‘the People’s Poet’ and the crowd approved. Old age will not make the fight fair for Mzwakhe Mbuli to defend his title; I suggest he retires it, but only if Makhafula is interested in having it. 

To sweep the fields for this (cleansing) ceremony was Nomashenge Dlamini with her electrified and sermon-like rendition of Ingoapele Modingoane’s epic poem Africa My Beginning, Africa My Ending. Under Silla Dulaze’s diligent cut with the lighting, Makhafula and Kokorumba brought the beast down, leaving the room in euphoria and nostalgia; you’d swear we had never known sorrow. But the beast rested only for a moment, only for us to return to the spell of our Amandel’Afrika an hour later. 

Khafula Makhafula, thina siloyiwe.

Culture Review link

https://www.culture-review.co.za/what-is-dead-may-never-die-makhafula-vilakazis-mandela-is-dead

[kukhanya-freckles]

So I wrote this piece published on the Culture Review Magazine website. I hope the reader finds it worthwhile. It's a deeply reflective piece and pays homage to some of my favorite people. My favorite writer, academic and dear friend, gave me a beautiful review of it, some of it reads

'Kukhanya this is a beautiful piece it bears testament to the fact that music, particularly jazz is important. At the most critical moments of our lives music becomes our sanctuary. This is articulated perfectly and clearly in the work.' - Mbe Mbhele

Thank you for the review, your honesty and encouragement.

[witseff]

Origins of SifundaNgenkani and Shiwelele by Mbe Mbhele

‘’This is a historical account and a political analysis was deliberately omitted. It is from a Wits EFFSC perspective and any omissions are in no way an attempt to discredit contributions made by other movements or individuals’’ 

Sifunda Ngenkani is a call for all students to militate against the commodification of education that has a tendency of denying students of a particular class and race access to education. The name comes from the Zulu language and the loose translation means ‘we are going to study by force’. The doors of education shall be opened for all, not only in books and poetry but in reality. The slogan calls for all students and prospective students to commit themselves to the realization of FREE AND QUALITY EDUCATION in our lifetime. It is also very important to highlight that when we speak of free education we do not only speak of a fee free education but we also speak of an education that is decolonized. This is to say that the education system of our universities must reflect those who serve it and those that it serves. We are in Africa and this must be evident in the kind of education that we receive.

The name was coined in February 2014 at Wits University by members of WITS EFF student command. It was the 14th, I remember this minor detail because it was Valentines Day and this might be a coincidence but it was out of love that members of EFFSC decided to do something about the inaccessibility of higher education. It was out of love that EFFSC members decided to declare war against all elements that seeked to deny the poor majority of South Africans an education that will equip them with the necessary skills to change the conditions of their society for the better. Lest we forget, Che Guevara teaches us that a true revolutionary is always guided by a great feeling of love and any revolutionary who lacks this quality is not a genuine revolutionary.

Fighters were garbed in their red t-shirts which also happened to be the theme of the day and were singing revolutionary songs, and it is on this day that the famous Shiwelele was composed. The song perfectly captured the mood and climate of the time. It was during the period where NSFAS failed to provide assistance to students who qualified for funding. This saw more than 10 000 deserving students being rejected by universities around the country on the basis that they are poor. Fighters took the fight to the department of higher education in Pretoria where they occupied the office of the minister of education. They were violently removed and this was not surprising, the government of the ANC only uses violence to respond to genuine demands of its people.  Fighters were not deterred by this, they continued with the fight in their respective campuses. Shiwelele became a song that gave them hope, this led to the suspension of five EFFSC members at Wits University. Koketso Poho, Ayabulela Mhlahlo, Tebogo Mabeso, Mbe Mbhele and Vuyani were amongst the students and were assisted by Commisar Floyd Shivhambu and advocate Dali Mpofu to institute action against Wits University. The suspension was reversed in the High Court where the judge expressed that the Vice Chancellor had infringed the right to education of the students.

These are the major events that led to the nationwide #FEESMUSTFALL campaign which saw Chairperson Vuyani Pambo as one of the leaders of the movement. It must also be mentioned that these events did not happen in isolation. Other universities were also vigorously fighting against injustices in their respective campuses. The RhodesMustFall movement and OpenStellenbosch were unforgivingly confronting anti-black racism in their institutions. These movements were able to revive and bring back the discourse around unresolved race issues in South Africa. The EFFSC particularly at Wits University contributed largely to the fight against a decolonized education and this was documented in the revolutionary documentary ‘Decolonizing Wits’ shot by Aryan Kaganof.

Certain gains have been made but the struggle still continues and we are totally committed to decolonize and free our education. SizofundaNgenkani and Shiwelele will be our slogans of hope.

[mbembhele]

quite honestly i do not have a need to reinvent myself, there is something suspicious about that concept. it supposes that my reinvention has to be inline with the demands of the industry and i have no interest in bending to the desires of the industry. so i do not really care what people are writing about these days, i do not care what they are watching or what should be enjoyed. i just want to be comfortable and do what makes me happy or sad without being pressured. if that comes at the expense of becoming invisible, irrelevant and outdated bring it all out, that for me is the hill i am willing to die on.

[mbembhele]

The body always knows. Perhaps that is why I was not shocked when my sister came running to tell me that father had woken up from the dead. Many do not listen when the body speaks, my sister too. That is why she was crying, trembling and not knowing what to do. So I held her by the hand, felt the warm blood of her palms, gushing behind her confused flesh. ‘Do not worry sister’ I said softly to her, then we walked together slowly towards the house where the silence of bereavement had turned into loud whispers of puzzlement. When we walked in the mourners made way, perhaps for me or maybe the calmness in my eyes, but they made way.

There at the corner of the room my father lay, eyes wide open.

[mbembhele]

when making art i try to have fun as much as i possibly can & that frees me in a way. it releases me from having to perform even when i don’t want to. it allows me 

1. to say no, 

2. to be without anxiety around the quality of my work

3. to experiment

4. to be true to myself

5. to express without constraints  

[mbembhele]

when my children ask,

father what happened?

i will tell them that i bumped into art, dented forever

to my son i will say: i read too much literature

if i ever do have daughters i will look at them, smile then say

do not listen to jazz

[mbembhele]

it is honestly not that complicated, 

this art thing is about keeping your head down and actually doing the work.

[mbembhele]

i thought i had ran away, screaming, eyes closed. i opened them and looked up, the colour of the sky had not changed. still blue, even behind those black clouds the sky maintained its colour. blue.

[mbembhele]

mud all over my shoes

heels are heavy

feet refuse to carry me

sun bent on burning me

eyes gorged, no longer see no longer seen

throat dry, lips dry, the world is closing in

who will follow me; lead me

when my mind is escaping me

time still but anguish moves rapidly.

[mbembhele]

mind & body

this tiny body of mine

rough on the little parts that matter

ponders, why has the world been so cruel to me?

this restless mind of mine

forgetful of experiences that matter

responds, it is because you deserve it

[mbembhele]

kill the self

and right at that point i realized that i would have to die so that my work would live forever. 

[mbembhele]

right in the pit of shit

she appears,

gracefully in my life

like a goat in a desert, completely unexpected.

[mbembhele]

ceaselessly rummaging for a truth gone

the haphazardness always there

the indifference of the everyday sun almost impossible to bear

slowly shrinking, brittle as a drying bone

 grass grows grey

sun shines steadily over our sins

keeping even the scent of relief at bay

turmoil deliberately dancing with our decay

[mbembhele]

dancing to the wire

music eating up its sound

swallowing it the way foreskins swallow the penis

i sense that we are going to die

but not like yesterday, today we die a different kind of death.

we die knowing that something is killing us and that amongst us there is fire. we die knowing that among us there are those with arms strong enough crack open a crocodile's jaws, arms tender enough to heal sores (with a single touch). today we die knowing about yesterday, knowing that fear targets the knees then you kneel. no one has ever won a fight kneeling.

rather we die:

screaming, like when they tried to keep Biko silent.

fighting, like when they raped Uyinene, died but she fought.

writing, like when they locked Her in a cell and left to rot. she didn't rot, she found a home on our tongues. we call on her whenever we need answers.

singing, but what song? music is eating up its sound.

and we? we are just dancing to the wire