book preview: epigraph

8/13/2019 Book Preview: Epigraph

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EpigraphMy Heart Is My Alibi

Khaya Ngoma Prudence Ndala Joy Bongani Mathebula Lulamile SifubaMbali Mavundla Vincent Mmusakgosi Malatsi Patamedi Jonathan Lebea Naledi Chirwa


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EpigraphMy Heart Is My AlibiLefoko La Kgosi Publishing

[email protected] 162 3430

Layout and Typesetting Copyright Lefoko La Kgosi

Cover Design Copyright In Art Graphics

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without

the prior written consent of the authors.Short extracts may be used for review purposes.

Published and printed in the Republic Of South Africa.

First edition, 2013

ISBN 978-0-620-58949-9

Copyright Naledi Chirwa, Khaya Ngoma, Mbali Mavundla, Lulamile Sifuba, Prudence Ndala, Joy BonganiMathebula, Patamedi Jonathan Lebea, Vincent Mmusakgosi Malatsi and Masingita Mzilikazi Masiya.

www.epigraphbook.blogspot.com


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I collect whispers and anchor memories in the sand aer I have cleaned the

hour glass. I am a connoisseur of moments and words, a seed whose genealogy

is of scribes who did not just alter lines to hammer phrases, but scribes whopermied meaning to mean something. M. M. M.


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Index

Introducon VII

The Space In-Between Khaya Ngoma 9Variaons Of Amy Prudence Ndala 16Nomthandazo Joy Bongani Mathebula 22Vision So Great Lulamile Sifuba 28

The Things I Lost Mbali Mavundla 36Leadership And Love Vincent Mmusakgosi Malatsi 52Dark White Patamedi Jonathan Lebea 61The Mask Naledi Chirwa 68Bonus Read 75


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Introduction

Epigraphis dened as

a

phrase,

quotaon,or

poem

that is set at the begin-

ning of a document or component. The epigraph may serve as a preface, as a

summary, as a counter-example, or to link the work to a widerliterary canon,

either to invite comparison or to enlist a convenonal context.

Epigraph My Heart Is My Alibiis a collecon of whispers. It is a collecon of

short wrings from eight dierent writers spread across three provinces. It is

the introducon of writers to themselves, to one another, to the publishing

world, and to the reading public.

Epigraph came about as a result of me falling in love with the writers

thinking and wring. When I approached all of them with the idea of publish-

ing their contribuons, their rst response was that they are not writers, and

I stopped trying to convince them that they are when I saw that we all agreed

that they are thinkers. I wanted to publish their thoughts. That got them in-

terested. I also wanted to assist them in building a reference for a wring ca-

reer, should they decide to take it up.

With no single theme, I asked the writers to write about the proof in their

hearts topics they relate to and feel comfortable with whether con or

non-con, prose or poetry and with no limits beside word count.

It is Vladimir Nobokov who observed that We live not only in a world of

thoughts, but also in a world of things. Words without experience are mean-

ingless.As you page from one heart to the other through this book, you will

be confronted by ghosts, regret, loss, victory, rape, leadership, love, heart-

break, humour, pain, tears, identy, teenagehood, adulthood, adultery, lust,

vision, dreams, greatness, architecture, space, relaonships, death, hope,

faith, spirituality, beauty and yourself.

Epigraph will go on to become a plaorm for the unearthing, developingand presenng of writers right through to their rst books. Through Lefoko La

Kgosi and envisioned partnerships, I endeavour to introduce a brand of new

VII
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quotationhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poemhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poemhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canon_(fiction)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canon_(fiction)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poemhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quotation


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writers to South Africa and the rest of the world.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the rst volume of Epigraph My

Heart Is My Alibi.

P.S. Epigraph is NOT free. Epigraph is a GIFT.Your Word Is King,

Masingita Mzilikazi Masiya (@masingitamasiya)

Lefoko La Kgosi Publishing (@teamlefoko)

Managing Director


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The Space In BetweenKhaya Ngoma

@khayangoma

Aspires to be an ambassador for architecture and to bring to the human race theunderstanding of The Space In-Between. He is an Archetectural Designer by

profession and hails from Ekangala, Gauteng.

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I am a man who operates in a space that cannot operate without him the

space between atmosphere and utmost fear. Thus I invite you to my space

a place of storage for my creave opinions.

Before I reveal these spacious thoughts, I would like to plead with you to

bear with me while I reveal my reasons for vising your library this season.

The rst reason is that I have been quiet about my true thoughts ever since I

entered this space called life. The fear of being incarcerated in meaningless

disputes is the primary culprit. It ends here, now. In as much as I am a fan of

the "silence is golden" movement, that golden skin worn by this silence has

been rather heavy on my heart; I can even feel the concrete foundaons of

my stomach resng carelessly on my pancreas.

This reminds me of how I kept quiet when a certain woman came to my

oce one Saturday aernoon. I was working alone that day overme, asthey call it in the nine-to-ve world, in the quest to escape my deadlines. She

used to frequent the oce, it was her daily roune in fact. She was part of

the interior decor. She decorated my every thought. Anyway, aer her very

friendly handshake, she stared at the drawing board for about two minutes

and then, while she picked up an old drawing sheet, she exclaimed, Wow!

Did you actually draw this with your hands? Obviously I did, but to survive

the confusion, I answered and quesoned, Yes, I did. Why? What do you

see? With an impressed look on her face, while caressing the lines on the

sheet with her black polished nail, she replied, My God! Your hand is as ac-curate as a machine. I cannot only see your ideas, but I can feel them too.

Of course, at this point I was aware of the fact that she had not come to

pay her usual visit. So, as I was blushing (this is very natural for black men as

well, regardless of what they told you), I quickly expressed my gratude,

changed the subject and connued working. She worked with me to the point

of innite ecstasy and creavity.

I am not one to give in to temptaon that easily. No, this is neither arro-

gance nor condence it is simply a fact. That woman was my pencil. Yes,

she seduced that space in my brain where creavity reigns. She in turn sur-rendered to every stroke on paper as I gently rubbed her straight curves with

the foreskin of my index nger.

The second reason is found in the book of percepon. Even though count-

less books have been wrien about relaonships, you sll nd many un-

healthy relaonships out there. Is it because people dont read these books?

Do these books really oer sound advice? Or is it that people just choose to

stand rm in their failing ways? The answers to these quesons are prone to

be more subjecve than objecve. This is exactly what I dont want us to

waste our precious me on.

10 Epigraph


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We need to understand the fact that the spaces we occupy, whether by liv-

ing, or working, or playing and everything in-between, are as alive as we are.

If they were not, how would we be able to live inside them? Could a dead

space contain a living, inhaling and exhaling creature? By spaces I am refer-

ring to architectural spaces. I am talking about architectural relaonships.

Welcome to my story.

This is where we are: every component in a building has a relaonship of

some sort with other components. Every component is shaped in a way that

will allow the adjacent component to t in that space, and the space between

such components is called relaonship. Every colour stands next to a dier-

ent colour. The paramountcy in the relaonship between colour and shape is

that none of these two elements can occupy any space in the absence of the

other. Space, therefore, is dependent on the relaonship between these twocomponents a good relaonship. Colour gives visibility to shape, and shape

gives magnitude to colour. This is inarguably a good relaonship. Whoever,

whatever and wherever you are, you are occupying space. Therefore you are

creang a disturbance or, in some cases, a good contribuon to the relaon-

ship between shape and colour.

This brings me to a certain way of thinking I want to challenge. In our de-

sign oces, we oen spend me arguing about form and funcon when de-

signing buildings. There is a huge space between designers who love to mini-

mise the cost of buildings by ensuring that no single brick is used in a super-uous manner and those who put more care in aesthecs than cost. I, myself,

am sll struggling to decide as to which side I belong. Nonetheless, I believe I

am that space in-between.

On one hand, I carry the concern of cost, while on the other hand I ghtly

hold on to the ambion of making a statement. Aer all, who would want to

live in an aordable hideous environment? Who would want to marry a spir-

itually mature unbeauful wife? Geng carried away? I dont think so. Re-

member, we are talking about relaonships here. The relaonship between

colour and shape is the same as that of aesthecs and funcon; love andbeauty.

Therefore, it is uerly disgraceful to walk on streets shouldered by bad

relaonships; to see doors and windows opened in the quest to bring some

fresh air into sour spheres. If the air could speak for itself, it would refuse to

occupy some of these spaces. Some of these faces are even shy to brag about

their open spaces. They look like they are asking me the queson Im trying

not to ask them. While Im sll not enjoying that walk, another street would

be screaming an uninving shout, and yes, I wouldnt visit. At that me, all I

am yearning for is some kerb appeal...

11The Space In-Between


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Dear Amy,

Ive never told anyone this because its one of those things you just dont

share, you know? We girls keep so many things hidden, even from our circle

of friends. I should have told you this a long me ago. Perhaps you could have

avoided some burns.

A friend of mine once said, an older sister really, that with some situaons,

she wouldnt speak of. She would just let me burn a lile. Burn, I did.

A girl I knew, Amy, lets call her Amy Yellow, was quiet and sweet. She met

Amy Blue. They werent close right away, but with their friendship growing,

they individually grew too. Amy Blue met a boy tall, dark and handsome. I

know it sounds cheesy, but he really was that good looking chocolate skin,

heavenly voice and a bowl of talents. It was love at rst sight. Another cheesyentry, but nonetheless true. Amy Blue and... lets call him Bass Boy ex-

changed numbers. They began geng to know each other.

One Sunday service evening, Amy Yellow and Bass Boy were talking rather

cosily and Amy Blue noced but ignored it, thinking nothing of it. Within a

week, Amy Yellow and Bass Boy were dang. Amy Blue was admiedly

caught o guard, but of course you know boys do this all the me as if there

isnt anything wrong with it. They irt and call it innocent; they cheat and call

it nothing; and they hurt and call it a mistake.

Amy Blue admied to her sister that she was hurt and torn, and does notknow how to be a good friend to Amy Yellow. Her sister then shared some-

thing ridiculous with her, that she had a bet with Bass Boy that he could nev-

er get Amy Yellow. He went out with her just to prove a point and win a stu-

pid bet. If youre smart of course, this is the part where you think to yourself:

Thank God I dodged the bullet, but Amy blue was sixteen. You and I both

know smart is almost unknown when youre sixteen.

Amy Blue didnt know how to deal with this. A mature and good friend

would consider telling Amy Yellow that Bass Boy was a fake but also consider

that it might not look genuine pertaining that she herself was aracted toBass Boy. Amy Blue, however, acted as the perfect teenage girl stupid. She

kept quiet about it but sll pined over Bass Boy. Aer someme, Amy Yellow

and Bass Boy broke up. Amy Yellow tried very hard to mend things while Bass

Boy pretended to be the perfect vicm. He refused to give it another try,

claiming that she had hurt him quite deep. Boohoo!

Amy Blue thought the best way to help Amy Yellow and to help herself

get over Bass Boy would be to help them get back together. Honestly, this girl

was the worst kind of puberty bliss. Amy Yellow said yes, which clearly

showed how they were both very awed and childish. Unfortunately, Im sure

17Variations Of Amy


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even you can guess it didnt quite work out that way. Amy Blue just ended

up spun in Bass Boys web of charm and deceit. Amy Yellow moved on with

her life, deciding that perhaps it was never meant to be.

Amy Blue and Bass Boy had an aair of sorts. It was neither a relaonship,

nor a friendship. You could call it a ing. This would be expected by you and

me now that we are older from a guy like him, but Amy Blue knew no beer.

Soon aer, Amy Blue met Amy Gold Bass Boys girlfriend. This was a very

weird situaon. On her way to her sisters house, Amy Blue learnt that along

the way she treads lives Amy Gold. She had found out recently that they were

ocially dang but had hoped it was untrue or would change soon. Amy Blue

got to her desnaon a passage leading to the taxis taking her home. Just

when she got to the end of the passage, a taxi halted in front of her and the

door opened. Bass Boy walked out, smiling, and closed the door. He nocedAmy Blue and his face turned to the colour of ash. Have you ever imagined

something like that happening? I mean it obviously was not a ing for him

and Amy Gold. What twenty-something year old guy travels joyfully to see a

girl who does not mean all that much to him? Amy Blue knew that that was

when she should have le. Any girl knows you cannot win in such a situaon.

You shouldnt even try.

A while aer this incident, Amy Yellow calls Amy Blue telling her that

someone told her Amy Gold and Bass Boy were geng married. Although this

turned out to be untrue, it was the nal knock-out punch Amy Blue needed to

get her ass moving.

The thing I want to stay in your head while I tell you all of it is this: alt-

hough it was an absolutely horric me for Amy Blue to get over Bass Boy,

she got spiritual enlightenment. Her daily prayer was for God, if He could

hear her, to please take away the feelings she had for Bass Boy. She prayed

that the remnants of care and aracon she had would just dissolve because

the more she felt these feelings, the more she remembered she had disap-

peared behind this guys charm.

A year later, Bass Boy re-emerged, claiming to just be checking up on an

old friend. He conded in Amy Blue about his father being sick, and she be-

came a listening ear. I know youll agree with me when I say there should

have been a big banner on her face with the words DO NOT ENTER, maybe

then she would have been careful

18 Epigraph


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NomthandazoJoy Bongani Mathebula

@joymathebula

Aspires to tame two beasts: the stock market as a trader and the business worldthrough the markeng industry. He is an Assistant Brand Manager by occupaon

and hails from Ekangala, Gauteng.

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For some of us, love has to struggle to pin us down before it can claim victo-

ry. It has to summon all its strength before it can rest peacefully knowing it

has introduced us to its ways.

She looked at me and said, Please promise me that you will let me know

should you not love me anymore. I smiled because I knew that day would

never come. See, I met this girl, this mist, as those around me put it. I had

seen many from her clan but this was the rst me I came so close to any of

them. She lured me in. She was a dierent species a creature deemed vain

because appearance maered to her; a mistake that didnt know what the

word ambion meant; an error that didnt believe man could run with horses;

she was the exact opposite of me and man did I love her. We were insepara-

ble: we had spent so much me together that we shared a face, shared a

walk, shared struggles and a few victories.

Somemes I would leave my place in the morning with the intenon of

seeing her for ten minutes, only to come back running hoping my folks would

sll be awake to hear me knock way aer dark. We were young and we were

in love.

No, my friend, I dont think you understand what I am talking about. This I

am condent of because not many of us have seen a man in love. A mighty

steed in its carelessness would not deter a man in love. He spares nothing;

absolutely nothing. The fuel that fuels the fuel in spacecras runs through the

veins of a man in love. There was no beast I wouldnt face to prove my love;no weapon waging war would I not face to fulll my role as her shield. It was

not a mystery, I was in love.

I tell you, without any formal training this young girl taught me the

paerns of manhood. Without trying, she kept me on my toes, kept me com-

mied, and kept me wanng more. I think it could be the way she looked at

me or the way she addressed me. I am not sure what it was but she had me

and she had me good.

She said to me, Promise me that you will let me know should you discov-

er that you are not in love with me anymore. Spring rose and fell. Gcina hadpermeated my every pore and I didnt wish it any other way.

Cape Town, the Mother City, so beauful and peaceful, called. I was young

and full of life, I had just landed a dream job and creavity owed through my

veins like streams of water. See, I had always said that the adversing world

was for me but I didnt know it knew me by name. A Loerie nominaon and

pockets as thick as McDonalds South African burger I was living the life.

Short and dark, an accent designed to tame the wildest of beasts, so so

and yet so proud, a thinker I stumbled upon. She didnt have me at hello,

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no; hello was too expensive for me. I was crippled. For a man who spent

whole days devising communicaon strategies, I couldnt uer one word. She

knew what she wanted and was going for it. It was the rst me I felt like my

contribuon would be worthless in a conversaon. She inmidated me and I

think she was aware. She loved art and loved philosophy she was drawn to

all things that challenged the human mind; all of them except me.

Needless to say, me and chance happened. Nomthandazo was her name,

raised by a single parent. We met at a gala evening. It would seem she was a

close friend of a colleague of mine. I wont lie and say she was the most beau-

ful lady in the room she neither stood out nor was she the loudest. There

was something about her though that kept me entertained she was smart.

Her subtle contribuons and the care she took in listening to others during

conversaons really le my jaw on that navy blue carpet. She managed tokeep me quiet for well over een minutes. I know een minutes is not

long, but that is only because you have not met me. I watched her leave with

her friend and I smiled. Now this smile was not from a man smien, but it

was from a man who knew that no maer how much courage he displayed in

the past, miserably he would fail if he aempted to ask for a number.

As is customary, me elapsed but unfortunately memories didnt yield so

easily. It would be another eight months unl fortune forwarded an oppor-

tunity for a meeng with her. Things were a bit tough in my life as evidenced

by the fact that I was on my way to see a friend of mine who was in hospital. Idecided to use the train because my car decided to take leave from work. I

bumped into this soul and amazingly she remembered my name. That was

unexpected. We spoke unl I forgot I was going to the hospital. You have got

to try Cadburys latest oering, Chomp. It is beer than any chocolate you

have ever tasted, I said, trying to steal some me with her. Oh my word,

Chomp? Are you serious Mnqobi? Its beer than Lindt, I promise you, I

insisted. She agreed to get o with me and go try this great product. Maybe it

was the way the wind blew her hair or maybe the dimple on her le cheek,

but at that moment I had struck gold and I had no intenon of taking it to thebank. I wanted to keep her.

These meengs would connue for about six more weeks. She made me

think and I made her laugh. She had my head in the clouds and hers laid com-

fortably on my shoulder. We were like teenagers and at that point I had re-

newed strength and I excelled in all I did. Once again, I was a man. Yes, I was

a man in love. Of all the things that I love about you, your ability to make me

laugh stands out, she said looking at me as I gazed at her admiring the beau-

ty that she was blessed with...

24 Epigraph


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Vision So GreatLulamile Sifuba

@lulamilesifuba

Aspires to be a restaurateur, calligrapher, writer and Pope of the Apostles.He is a Junior Pastor by occupaon and hails from Daveyton, Ekurhuleni.

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You know as well as I know that each and every individual on planet earth has

a porolio of dreams dreams that need to be fullled. This, therefore,

leaves me with an impression that we all have silently whispered to our

hearts, I am fashioned for greatness.

I also know that aer you have scanned through your heart and have seen

the greater you, you become excited, ambious and determined, yet a few

minutes later aer you look away from your heart, you see the realies of life

and these realies take you capve in the chains of fear and that causes you

to queson the authencity of your greatness.

These realies vary with individuals: one person did not receive love from

his parents and thus thinks life is unfair and doubts anyone could believe in

them, while the other believes that the only way to make it in life is to have

all your nancial holes closed. Circumstances genuinely make it hard for us tobelieve that God has genecally fashioned us for greatness.

What puzzles me is that even if we dont believe that we are fashioned for

greatness, deep down in our hearts we know that this greatness is ours and

thats the irony of the maer. It takes knowing for one to break free from the

chains of fear. Jesus who is the expressed image of greatness once said: You

shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free. Its not the truth that

sets people free, but its the knowing of the truth that sets free.

Proverbs 4: 24 (MSG) Keep vigilant watch over your heart; thats where

life starts.If theres one thing that God wants us to keep watch and protectis our heart. Life and the greatness waing to unfold out of it begin in your

heart. You protect your heart, you protect your life. Life, therefore, does not

begin at forty, but it begins in your heart.

This life that you connually see in your heart is bigger and wider than the

life you know. The life you see in your heart is far more real than the realies

of life you have experienced. This life cannot be captured in words it can

only be felt and lived by you. Life is delicate; life is special; life as we know it

comes once.

What if this great life you see in your heart is Gods dream for you? Youshould clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the

unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious to God. 1 Peter

3: 4 (NLT)Other translaons call this inner beauty or the hidden man of

the heart. This supposes that there is me underneath me and this me is pre-

cious, beauful and complete. This inner me refers to my heart.

The reason God wants me to keep watch over my heart is because He is a

heart-God and connects with me at heart level. My heart is the deepest

sense of me therefore my heart is the real me. The inner me, my heart, is

brave enough to always look at life through possibilies. The moment I sup-

press the realies of my heart, the more I look at life through fear because I

29Vision So Great


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will be allowing the world to dene me through my externals (qualicaons,

background, and race).

In us God desires to exhibit the priceless treasure of Christs indwelling;

every naon will recognize Him as in a mirror the unveiling of Christ in human

life completes mans every expectaon. Colossians 1:27 (Mirror BIBLE) God

wants to exhibit Christ not from heaven, but from within our hearts. He also

wants to awaken us to the truth that this Christ completes every mans ex-

pectaon. Christ meets every demand of our dreams. If we can come to the

point of realizing that Christ is experienced in the heart and not in church, or

in revivals, or even in the pages of the Bible, only then we will experience the

life of our dreams.

Gods desire is to transform us. There is a dierence between transfor-

maon and change: change is always external I Change because I want to tin and the more I change the more depressed I become. Transformaon on

the other hand is an opportunity to exchange percepons with God. God

wants us to view life as He views it. Gods percepon about me is that I am

beauful. Gods percepon about me is that am precious. Gods percepon

about me is that am complete. The vision that God laid in my heart is the

truth about me.

Im not experiencing this truth about me because Im not accessing my

heart through Gods percepon, but Im accessing my heart through my own

percepons which I learnt from the world or my reality experiences. I can on-ly experience the realies of my percepons. I live out whatever I chose to

believe.

This engraved greatness provokes us to the point where we nd ourselves

asking quesons like What is a vision?; What is important about a vision?;

What purpose does it serve? We ask these quesons because this vision is

heavily laid in our hearts, because its in human nature to gure things out,

and because we have heard too many success stories and have grown an am-

bivalent feeling towards them. One thing our hearts are afraid of is mislead-

ing informaon, and thus such quesons pop up solely to protect us from anylie we are prone to believe about ourselves. This read might help us to discov-

er why we are desned for such a greater, happier and freer life.

VisionWe all have been inundated with too many denions of what a vision is. This

happened either from the centre of the pulpit or from self-help books weve

read or even from great philosophers like Plato and Socrates. Some say vision

is the ability to imagine the future, some say it is the bridge that connects

the future with the present, and others say vision is set goals...

30 Epigraph


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The Things I LostMbali Mavundla

@fabianirose

Aspires to be all that words can be through wring and recing poetry. She is aperformer by occupaon and is currently studying journalism,

and hails from Kwa Zulu Natal.

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I never wanted to burn poems, but the day I started losing things, I set my

heart on re.

I know what its like to be without God to be le dead at your front door,

grasping for a hand to bring you back to reality. I never cried because tears

reminded me of saltwater in oceans that lay naked facing the open skies

where thirsty eagles take advantage and lost souls scream for help from sink-

ing Titanics.

I wanted to be a girl soldier, but not to be met with pity either. My sacred

object was someone I did not just lose her, I lost myself. She was home and

I was her favourite everything. She had her being intertwined with my own,

yet I ed the scene leaving her null and void. Yet again, my heart was numb, I

never meant to, but I did. All it took was a matchbox and a willing heart.

Down that scrappy road I led her and watched as she took her last breath. Ilay there sll, pain riddled, my heart puzzled non-stop as I wake to realise

that I never meant to. I p toe around this house like she is sll coming back,

trying to wake something from these ashes the pain le behind. I wonder

how the phoenix does it. The scars will not heal my lungs wont stop breath-

ing. For that life You took from me, its been a cold shoulder ever since.

Her memory stays with me though. Its been a dierent kind of me noth-

ing good came out of it but they say He knows best. Id trade You anything for

that number to heaven to hear her voice and thank her for the life she gave

me such a precious gi.Ive seen boys feel pain like scarred bellies of pregnant women about to

give birth to dead children, so I know I am not alone. I kept wring, but the

rhymes were never the same and the metaphors were broken. My heart can

tell you more on a Sunday morning than it can on any day.

I saw her as pale as the shirt she taught me to bleach. Ive been crawling

here since with empness. I fell in my brothers arms and he said, You are

stronger than these rubber bands on your wrists; take them o, they are

holding you too ght. I held Melodys hand instead a bit too ght. She

looked back at me with eyes like falling icicles. I felt her drown in my pain.These are the things I have lost.

37The Things I Lost


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Camoulage

One day I will sit on top of all these poems and cry

The only odds and ends Ive ever learnt to hold close

Somehow nd a way to leave me without hope or warning signs like

STOP! STOP! You are geng too close

And when you hold things too close they get suocated and nostalgic

Dont hold anything too close

Touch nothing but yourself

Pray with your eyes closed, knees bent and heart open

Breathing like the Abu Dhabi women covered in black veils

And allow nobody but God to see them at chaste

I am red of smiling but

I am not always sad

I prefer counng clouds as if there is something singular about

Raindrops oang on an open sky

Do children understand the prayers they recite

To a God that stays hidden behind that sky?

When somebody stumbles on your heart, they step on dead weight

Leaving distorted footprints this is not the moon

Nobody wants to go on being reminded of every scent

Of a somebody they have forever desired to hold and some have not let goAnd even when they had to let go, we never wanted to let go

We should all just Let go

Of the hurt, the anger we fasten around seatbelts

When accidents happen well get thrown out of windshields

Forgeng glasses are meant to break

And maybe we will break with them

Because we are walking massacres

Stumbling across mouse traps we set in our own houses

Cung through every grip of hearelt pain

From empness when our loved ones sleep forever

Doesnt that feel like suicide?

Some peoples pain cannot be camouaged

38 Epigraph


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Casualties of carnageI have a lot of dirt under my nails

Its starng to look like I go around digging graves

My knees cannot support my weight to stand on this ground any more

so than they can help me crawl across to the next life

Do you really believe in the aerlife?

At the dawn of permanent scars

Le by lifes surprises and the devils paws

My father looks at me and sees my mothers eyes

He hates the decepon that people could look so alike

Reason why we have dried apart

When the sound of my laughter hits the roof

It kills him

His wife could laugh in sirens

That terried his heartbeat into beang twice instead of just once

Yesterday he said

I could give you ten reasons why I keep photographs in my wallet

But the third one is too sad so Ill let you keep guessing

Ever heard ambulances imitang black and white keys of a piano?

Blissful

Almost sounded like empty canalsWe cannot escape this war more than we can

escape the broken mirror glasses we use to look ourselves at

If I could dance, I would dance away the orphan stuck inside me

Jump so high I only needed God and a troop of Egypan angels to e me back

to gravity

From my belly buon and to my crippled toes

I need another Jesus crucied to save me from empty womens souls

Who leave their daughters before their wishes come true

I believe in heaven every me an image of her lls me with deep sighs

When did we start this war?

It doesnt maer

Are there stars on your night skies sll?

Or are you far from dreaming?

Just pass me the salt and forget the dynamics

39The Things I Lost


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Cold WoundsUnderneath the pieces of this shaered heart lays an ambious lover

Underneath these judgemental lips brews the words of a redeemer

If I pass up this moment with you

Ill be an underachiever

But you are broken

I couldnt x you, Im no good

Except when you were down

And needed the comfort

I never regret the life I chose for me

Holding on to things like Jacob held on to the angel

I wasnt even angry when he le, I was broken

His love made me cry

Somemes for all the wrong reasons

40 Epigraph


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EmptyDoes the moon glow every me the light inside your heart goes out?

Or is it just on special occasions when you really need a lamp in the darkness?

Or is it when the children have their eyes xed to God

on empty stomachs

asking if they are going to make it through the night alive

Or the next me heaven lets a Tsunami loose to sweep away the dust?

Make sure you leave a raincoat

or a bowl of leovers you were hoping to give to your neighbours dog

this aernoon when you pass by the church

I saw children waking up under a bridge they call home

their stomachs lled with bones as naked as your eyelids

Their hands like paws of a four legged beast

They dug out too many garbage bags

Hoping to nd the next decent meal

thrown away by some man in a business suit

because he did not like the salad

I watched them break roen bread to ll their mouths with something but

plasc anythingLile Janie kept looking up saying Im watching God

Her breath sounded like gunshots and her eyes on me felt like

ten thousand volts of lightning

She fell on her knees begging me to take her home

Her tears hit the ground like a hundred pounds of hunger wrapped in pain

I could see her ribcage through that old borrowed shirt

It made me think that winter felt like too cool a breeze

that will not surrender blowing hard on her already goose-bumped mother-

less unsheathed skin

My conscience wished it could shed a fur coat that could shelter

her bones, but mostly shelter my guilt

Her reality stretched my imaginaon for a second in empathy

I stayed up that night as her shadow followed me home

I woke up praying for forgiveness

I have never felt my hands held so ght in prayer

They built a cage

and I carried that cage with me unl the day I needed somewhere to belong

41The Things I Lost


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Contrary to popular belief, in its most natural state, leadership has very lile,

if not nothing at all, to do with hierarchical structures of dominaon and con-

trol. Leadership becomes something else of a dierent meaning when the

obsession is with headship and seniority of power than the concern of how

we can become beer and more maximised in our endowments. In fact, the

hallmark of true leadership is the ability to establish relaonships wherein

mutuality is appreciated and each individual feels essenally useful as a chan-

nel of inuence and value. The purpose of leadership, primarily, is not to se-

cure a designated posion but a determined seless atude to create condi-

ons where human excellence will be prerogave, individually, independent-

ly and mostly interdependently.

The impetus of leadership is the realizaon of the fact that humans share a

common desny, all are in search of purpose, one way or the other, and thatsuccess is not truly success when it does not prove to be dynamically commu-

nal, interlinked and transferable. The breeding ground for true leaders is in an

atmosphere charged to exude pure and sheer love for fellow mankind. Lead-

ership as a result rises to challenge individuals to acvely engage in a network

of interacve expressive iniaves to generate and distribute value within

the context of what has been agreed upon as common welfare, or, as I

choose to call it, the grand purpose.

Before leadership can be converted into organised structures of processes

and acvies, it must be birthed out of passionate love for the people, hencepassionate heart-to-heart relaons become the best carriages of inuence

aimed at human beerment and thus eorts to ascertain this are then called

leadership. When one begins to realize that human beerment can only be

fully achieved on the basis of our imperave interconnectedness, then a

spark is likely to kindle the ames of passionate leadership. Therefore, having

said the laer, leadership is birthed when one receives enlightenment of how

individuals can funcon corporately for the greater course.

Signicance and inuence nd weight in the sancty of heart-to-heart re-

laons. The universe is mechanized and principled to funcon upon an inter-relaon of systems. It is in the proper relaons of these systems that the uni-

verse is governed and kept in harmony. The law of relaons determines how

a unit or enty nds recognion and relevance in the whole puzzle of life. In

other words, the signicance of one thing is measured in terms of its relaons

to others. For this reason, nature provides with ample reasons to strive for

harmonious relaonships through the observaon of these cosmic laws. Ani-

mals relate insnctually whereas man is endowed with more noble facules

like spirituality, emoons, intuion, intelligence, conscience and so forth. To

necessitate and perhaps authencate harmonious relaons among people as

53Leadership And Love


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Dark WhitePatamedi Jonathan Lebea

@patamedilebea

Aspires to change who he is in the world. He is a News Editor and Talk Show Host

by occupaon and hails from Kagiso, Krugerdorp.

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It is a cold day in the old streets of the new South Africa. The weather has

been like this for some me now. Experts say it is expected to change soon.

Experts say a lot of other things as well. You will have to excuse me because

the wind blows strongly in the face of my opmism. Seasons don't just

change in its own me, one season simply saves us from another. This once

heroic season has overstayed its welcome.

7:45am on a Monday morning I nd myself in the chaoc mess of Krugers-

dorp's taxi rank trying to make meaning of my life in its hustle and bustle. My

charcoal grey pants, shiny black shoes and worn out school jersey with its

red collar are the only things that resemble purpose in my life. I am

Mahew. In this God-forsaken country, I am also, unfortunately white.

I don't know much about the history of how it happened, but I know my

kind is not the preferred to be walking the soil of this African land. I heard wewere a great people once. Legend has it that my forefathers came to the Dark

Connent to share the Word of God with its inhabitants. What we are taught

at school is that our forefathers were inially embraced by the dark-skinned

selers whom eventually betrayed them aer a dispute over power relaons

which forced my kind to use uncommon weapons against them. This is where

my older brother would always exclaim: If you can't kill all the animals in the

wild, burn the jungle.

On the other hand, our folklore tells a story of a humble, fairer naon that

lived in Africa for centuries unl the most powerful king in the southern partof the connent at the me aacked, overthrew and subdued it. I am sll not

sure which version of the truth I am least comfortable with and which lie I'm

scking to, keeping in my mind that one of these stories is from the darkened

lips of the oppressor and other from the self-vindicang tongue of the op-

pressed. History has never lacked facts, just truth. The truth is I do not know

how we got here, but the fact is that we are here.

Public transport is a mess it takes me one hour from our humbled home

in Krugersdorp to arrive at Zonk'izizwe College in Constana. "Aren't there

any schools where you come from?", a somewhat concerned teacher asksaer seeing a number of us white kids run into the school during assembly.

"It would make transport for you people easier." I wish I could explain to this

woman that the problem is with our transport and not our people. Mr Hen-

dricks usually collects and drops o een of us at school and later comes

back to return us all home for a monthly fee, but his taxi broke down again,

this me with no certainty if it will ever be xed. I really shouldn't fuss, at

least we're allowed into the school, this in more ways than one. I have heard

stories of other kids from my area being sent back home for being minutes

late. "If you want to aend our schools you will obey our rules. You whites

always have excuses". These are the words most of them returned to

62 Epigraph


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their families with.

Besides isiZulu or Sesotho as a rst language, these schools have educated

my kind on the basics and principles of hatred. As a white child in this coun-

try, years of schooling will teach you three things: that you are not as intelli-

gent; not as capable; and not as important as your coee-coloured counter-

parts. Yes, it is dierent in the schools where we come from. English in those

schools is oered as a rst language, and some, I hear, even allow you to take

Afrikaans as a third. The greatest dierence with these instuons, which ex-

plains the decision of many parents to send their kids into the gaping jaws of

racism, is that schools in our areas lack the facilies that most of these black

schools have. The schools where I come from are dilapidated with none of

the resources needed to compete with the quality of educaon found in the

richer black schools. The teachers in our white schools do their best to givetheir children good quality schooling but it means nothing if universies and

companies judge your ability and competency on the basis of the kind of

school you went to. My mother believes its a blessing we're allowed into a

school of such caliber. I queson whether equal educaon should be a bless-

ing. This is just one of the many of things that I hate about this country.

As I sit in class waing for the bell to save me from my daily dose of dis-

criminaon, I curiously wish I could experience African me. Africans, more

specically, blacks, seem to enjoy their me more than the rest of us here

and European me seems to be what we suer from as the light skinned pop-ulaon a sort of jet lag that delays our enjoyment of the supposed new

South Africa.

There has been great strides made with regards to fairness and equality in

this naon, undeniably so. The Rainbow Naon is what they're calling it. My

problem with the whole noon of a Rainbow Naon is that even on a rain-

bow each colour has its place.

The bell rings. Students ceremoniously ood out of the classrooms onto

the eld faster than they drain into them. I love break me at school. This is

the one me during school hours where I am not expected to prove myselfworthy to my black teachers. Ironically, this is the same period of me where

one sees that racial discriminaon doesn't exist further than our minds on

the eld, we are nothing more than dierent coloured kids all taking a break

from the mind control of formal educaon. In the classrooms we are taught

who we are apart from each other, on the eld is where we learn who we

really are, together...

63Dark White


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The MaskNaledi Chirwa@naledichirwa

Aspires to be the rst South African female president. She is a freelance performerby occupaon and a BA Drama student who hails from Mamelodi, Pretoria.

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In the shadows of breath, treacherous ukes mimic death while swaying to

lifes hues in a desolate path. We mingle with intonate cues and wonder if we

can or cannot choose when nothing seems to be true. What is true remains a

clue and ones truth is a personal discovery of sort that cannot match the

truth of others unless it is worn as similar and or familiar fabric. Language, a

beauful thing, has become a barrier and stronghold against expression and

emoon, yet the they merge intricately even though one or the other is le

limping in the hope of having the other adorn beauty in its walk.

Becoming? I didnt see it coming. I didnt even know it was happening or at

least about to happen, but as I was taking in more oxygen and coming alive, I

was inhaling the death of self within the self that I hadnt yet discovered,

created or imagined.

Like most of us, I brought to life a mask I didnt even choose to wear amask I knew nothing about even as it covered my face and extended its limbs

to the rest of my body clinging closely to all the parts that are grounded and

sustained and not forgeng the sudden movement of the two. In the process

of changing the dierent masks life presented me with, changing the portray-

al of myself through each mask, the extreme belief of becoming who and

what God has intended me to be, I swayed even further from this primal cre-

aon that the Maker had molded from scratch because I had found and

formed a remedy that was already simmered and prepared for me and you

by another person who happens to be in the same maze like us. I have beenpart of a ea market as big as the earth, trying out things that I like but creat-

ed by someone else who does not know about me or my existence. Who

made all these decisions for me? Why is my favourite colour pink? Why do I

even perceive it as a colour and not an emoon? Being taught to be crical

and yet being cricized for carrying it out. Percepon maers: you can either

view it as rebellion or redempon.

I had oen thought I knew what I wanted from the world and vice versa,

and that too was part of the becoming of what the world had intended for

me to believe and set out for me to reap. That idea was a trap and it sll is inmy world of connement and imaginary liberaon. This is normal because life

is a cycle. Well, its supposed to be one unl the birth of certain individuals

who miraculously embody change and have it permeate the rest of the globe

with just an idea or a thought or a belief that can linger through the ears, lips

and hearts of billions of beings for countless generaons beyond their own

lifespan. Such legacies are le behind by the vision bearer before they even

manifest in the presence of the baton carrier. If the vision is bigger than you,

it will outlive you and live for you, asserts the subcontext conversaon be-

tween our fears and hopes, and our current seng and plot.

69The Mask


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I want to be big, but not so big that I cant be big enough. These are the

conversaons that linger within us and are witnessed by everything and any-

thing but ourselves because we do not admit to yearning for greatness and

nothing else and that even in a small world, being a small great would be

beer than not being one at all. The world knows what it wants from you and

you most probably have what you want from it joed in and on the veins of

your heartbeat... and that maers. It maers most when you consciously de-

cide that it maers. It maers for you, and that too is all that maers too.

We nd ourselves ghng against ghng because this world which we

have personalized has borrowed us so many things and has made us believe

that they belong to us; that they are a part of who we are; and that without

these things, we are void, empty and weak. Being real according to the

world we have created entails escaping emoons that bring us to despair be-cause embracing them could be driving us away from our repair. We nd our

existence to be rooted in a baleeld where the heart tries to speak; where

one can be a soldier but not be brave enough to have a sword to keep only

because we are vicms of silence whose ground-breaking noise is only rec-

orded in journals, diaries and notebooks. This mask was presented to you the

day you understood what how are you? really means and how it actually

means nothing unl you poise that queson to yourself for yourself. Just like

me, you wore this mask like a royal crimson chador that bears and carries

your inner-self in a cage. In our quest of discovering, creang or whatever

makes you feel you are being true to yourself, we le behind a signicant ex-

istence that was meant to embody itself and nothing else an existence that

is beyond discovery because it dwells in recovery of not being found. Yes, this

too might be a new idea forged into your senses, right from your hands,

through your eyes and to your everyday walk that is headed nowhere dis-

nct, or just like me, it has crossed your mind the day you refused to follow a

fashion trend. So you might just as well block this from corrupng the truth

which was given to you and is now truth that solely belongs to you because

you believe it to be yours. I mean, it was given to you, right? I believed thethought of nowhere being non-existent, but if that were the case, why is this

non-existence termed, dened and understood so much that its aesthec

sense lingers in our minds whenever we think or speak of a place or state that

is nowhere that it actually becomes a variety of places and asserng such

entails explaining it? The greatest genius is one who is able to replace failure

with a word that pounces and trounces with victory hanging from its heavens

because feelings are run by words, and words are driven by breath...

70 Epigraph


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BONUS RE Dwww.epigraphbook.blogspot.com

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