It did not start with Donald Trump

Frogs in the global pot en masse globally. The State is Out of Date. Period.

Gregory Sams

This did not start with Donald Trump. It is good that he is barefaced and honest enough for people’s eyes to snap right open and realise where we have come to. The world reacts in anger as millions take to the streets to protest at his temporary ban on immigration from seven nations. That the previous president was already bombing Muslims in seven nations had somehow been acceptable. Surely bombing people is as bad as banning them. The groundwork for Trump’s ban had been put into place before he came to power, in the Terrorist Travel Prevention Act of 2015 . To paraphrase Isaac Newton – If Trump has oppressed further than others it is because he is standing on the shoulders of tyrants.

It is not only the leader but also the system that oppresses, with a militarized police force, tyrannical application of laws and the criminalization of countless…

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not the typical singer/pianist duo

Durban’s Jazzy Rainbow’s live preview of Demi “DemiMa” Mseleku’s upcoming EP came as an unexpected and rare new year’s gift, delicately and most sensuously gift wrapped to reveal an unusual package of surprising treats.

For this pagan writer, the New Moon’s ushering in of the New Year of the Hen could not have been celebrated better.

With the grace of a demure high priestess, DemiMa’s first fruits were a mix of spoken word, soul, jazz, indigenous melodic chanting and looping freestyle that came together rather spectacularly. Her emotive and seductive vocals were accompanied by Alex MontaQue’s decisive and exuberant pianism. Our verdict: We Want More.

As the granddaughter of the late Pinkie Mseleku, the elder sister to jazz legend, Bheki, DemiMa’s own show was bound to create an air of anticipation among the young, music-savvy audience in attendance. (We say own show because DemiMa is no stranger to the Durban stage, having performed with local artists in the past, most notably her grand uncle Bheki Mseleku and Madala Kunene).

Arriving just in time to be fashionably late, but not impolitely so to the audience of mostly naturally hair-styled women, DemiMa and Alex quickly took to the stage, starting promptly and performing a medley of three items. The audience did not stand a chance as we were lured into a web of mysticism, spirituality, introspection and wilful feminine expression. Spellbinding from start to finish.

DemiMa opened in spoken word about self-love and trust in what seemed to be a subtly crafted critique of western civilisation as characterised by the law of contracts, and patriarchal systems of governance. “Failed at being normal / Refused to be formal… / As they continue to formulate we regulate the service / They try to intimidate / From an imagined precipice / Let us re-evaluate this imbalanced patriarchy…”

Standing tall before us, barefoot with shaker in hand, eyes closed as if in devotion, she is adorned in aBantu beadwork, black cloth and golden brown skin partly revealing a blue ink  sacred geometry tattoo on her midriff. The wordsmith’s striking beauty and graceful movements make her easy to watch and enjoy. While the keys-smith skilfully throbbed away on piano.

The serious notes of the spoken pieces were lightened up with a flirtatious and upbeat own composition paying homage, rather appropriately for the time of year, to the New Moon and new love. The Moon, the Ocean, the Sun, Nature – all feature prominently in DemiMa’s electrifying and haunting offerings. As do the double entendres which leave you wondering: is she political? Or is she being a flirt? Or is she just a barefoot hippy preaching peace and love?

“We all have many aspects to our expression, so I’d say all three,” is the guarded response from this Old Soul who demands your attention as she channels  ancient knowledge and the Divine Feminine. Certain phrases are repeated, as if to make sure the message sinks in. “It’s a New Moon. I still want you. I do. It’s a New Moon. I still want you. I do.”  And when she’s certain you’ve got it, she moves on to the next message she has to share.

The one that still sticks to mind is that of submission to the Supreme All. “I submit to It. I submit to Love. I submit to It. I submit to Love.” I too submit. Willingly. Gladly. Eyes wide openly.

The covers provided a trip down memory lane, with some 80s’ soul classics, and gave the audience a chance to let loose and be noisy before the next DemiMa original sermon. The most popular item on the night was undoubtedly DemiMa’s a cappella vocal freestyling on her new looper.

“I was gifted this just a week ago. I’m still learning it. But I thought I’d do something with it for you anyway.” What followed next, Dear Reader, is not easy to describe; a mixture of Zulu chanting, poignant harmonies, sounds and sound effects that were looped together to culminate in a reverence to Sound. The reaction? Suffice it to say that at the end of it, the ecstatic audience demanded a repeat performance.

She complied graciously, pleased at our delight of her, but had to promise to come back to the looper later when we insatiably demanded even more. She did not get back to the looper, but perhaps the “priestess” wants to gently tease us before the EP release.

And then, as suddenly as they had began, the duo stopped and decisively left the stage, leaving us star struck and somewhat afraid to dare ask for just one more…

If the preview is anything to go by, the EP promises to be exciting and fresh, earthy and moony too. As a friend of mine put it, “it’s uplifting music that reminds us of where we want to be.” We anticipate and await the upcoming EP with baited breath.

In response to Bhekizizwe Thusi

Sad as it was to read about the disrespect of and disregard for Mama Phumlile Marawa by Bhekizizwe Thusi, it did not come as a surprise. Thusi exemplifies the highly misogynistic culture he represents and the reason the state of ubuZulu is in such disarray today.

Mr Thusi’s attempted public humiliation not even two months after Vanessa lost her father and Mama Marawa lost her husband is typical of a navel-gazing Zulu patriarch. He complains about being disrespected and ignored by his daughter’s boyfriend’s family and accuses them of lacking culture. Mr Thusi clearly sees Mama Marawa as being somewhat weakened now that her husband has died and she has no man to “represent and speak for” her.

Culturally, his actions are on par with what used to happen to Zulu widows. Customarily Zulu males pounced on  recently bereaved and therefore “weakened” widows. It may still be the case today that when her husband dies,  the good Zulu wife becomes the “property” of the dead man’s brother. The fact that a recently bereaved woman might need time to grieve and come to terms with her loss, was seemingly not a factor when the great nation  came into being and adopted its patriarchal customs. And yet Zulu people take pride in the story of when the father of the nation lost his mother, how long he grieved and how everyone else had to share in his grief or else.

In my own family, my mother was the strong breadwinner for her extended family including her long widowed mother and her siblings. The uncles whom I had seen as loving towards her while she was a strong, above-solvent and highly articulate woman, turned on her when she was hit by a stroke that left her half paralysed and without vocabulary. When she was in that indefensible state, my uncles decided to pounce and attack their sister for issues dating back to their childhood. One of them even had the courage to threaten her with a machete when he was a guest at her home! Such strong Zulu descendants of brave warriors of old!

My question for Mr Thusi and other Zulu men (and women) who agree with this sort of behaviour is: does our culture not have any room for compassion? I thought ubuntu was what defined us as a people,  but I fail to find ubuntu in kicking a woman who is already on her knees. Mama Marawa just six weeks ago lost her companion and life partner of more than half a century! Surely a little decorum is called for when making points to the tabloids.

Thusi also complains that he was not informed about Baba Marawa’s passing and contradicts his own assertion that the Marawa Family does not know its (whose?) culture. In Zulu custom, until ilobolo has been discussed, Mr Thusi does not exist to the Marawa (not a Zulu name) Family. So how could they inform him that his daughter’s boyfriend’s father had died? Perhaps the Marawa Family knows and understands its adopted culture more than some of those born into it.

There is no point in chastising the publication responsible for this cheap strike at Pearl Thusi but one wonders whether it is required of all contributors to that publication to drop any cultural affiliations and civil norms when they take up work there. I expected the author of the piece to have a Zulu moniker and that is indeed the case. The lack of respect for women amongst members of my Tribe is so commonplace, it is no wonder that a foreign publication can make huge profits from non-stories by us about our self-loathing, with vivid pictures for those who cannot read.

Those of us who admire and care about Vanessa Marawa hope that she and her mum know that we still think about them during this difficult transition in their lives. Losing a father is not a small thing. I can only imagine what losing a husband must feel like. Other people’s anger and feelings of being less-than should really not concern them right now. And to those Other People: stop looking at your navel and take a look at the world around you. It could be so much better if you played your part.