Who Is Maseko

Amangcamane Ayakhuluma!

So I have finally come to deal with the subject of my immediate family. For so long I have been engaged in trying to raise the consciousness of Africans, trying to understand the situation we are all in in order to discover solutions for our emancipation. Emancipation, Freedom, Liberation…all these words mean the same thing, but they are used so frivolously these days, so much that they appear to have lost their original meaning.

Of course we celebrate freedom day on the 27^th of April in S.A., Africa Liberation Day is increasingly celebrated on the 25^th of May in Africa and the Diaspora, and questions of whether we are truly free keep coming causing more frustration.

Some of us are taking the liberal perspective by saying that we can either keep complaining and remain complacent or we can join the celebration of the small yet significant freedoms we have won and do the best we can with what we’re given. It seems there are many people who just like myself are concerned with about the lies that are told daily to them by the so called powerful, here’s a sneak preview of what one ‘family’ or nation is up to:

From the Amangcamane Facebook Page:  Facebook:

Bongani Jakes Maseko: “There's no better tribe than the other but that doesn't mean that we shouldn't tell or write the truth about our history and its origin.Shaka,Mzilikazi and all the other known and then emerging leaders had come from the descendants of the great Nguni founder King Ndlovu(800-900 A.D).The ruling Kings of the time b4,during and after Shaka were all following the Maseko Ngcamane Kings who carried the royal heritage at the centre of the oldest monarchy in the Southern Africa.Shaka(1787-1828) is d founder of the Zulu nation only. When he was born the Maseko's were ruling in Swaziland(SD)under the rulership of King Khabangobe Maseko,the son of King Maphanga kaNgcamane.We, as boMaseko, have taken our surname after King Maseko who lived approximately 1009 to1100. So,if u still feel Maseko's are Zulus, think again! Maseko's in Malawi, are Swazi's. They're the direct descendants of Prince Ngwane Maseko who left SD before the Mfecane wars. Ngwana was the son of King Maphanga and Ngwane was a Dhlamini. Like Abraham,of the Bible,King Ndlovu became the father of many nations,the Xhosa,Zulu,Ndebele Shangane,Thonga,Ndawu & others.Historians have tried to suppress and bury this rich and solid fact of the Nguni's. (over a year ago · Report)”

Ntokozo Siyabonga Maseko: “Sorry for super late reply. School really has me busy. Haven't been get much info on the net hey so Im kinda stuck, but thanx to everyone who has bin sharing the history with us. Its way more informative than the net I tell u. I need someone who will help me out with group admin so inbox me if u'd like to assist. Thanx .Over a year ago · Report”

The interesting thing that can be observed here is how few and far between these exchanges between the Maseko’s are. I also have heard a lot and even read a book about the supposed royal Ngcamane’s, being a Ngcamane myself I seem to have been both emotionally and intellectually drawn into this story of a people who are denied their rightful place and territorial inheritance. The story of the Maseko’s may not be as well known as the one between Palestinians and Jews in Israel, there is no international or even national condemnation of the Swazi regime by the African Union, infact it seems that the AU has accepted as unchangeable all the borders and nervous condition sthat were imposed upon us by colonialists. This is unacceptable and as a Maseko and a human being I cannot sit back and be complacent, many of our African master teachers taught us better than that.

When I first read the book the Return of the Ngcamane Swazi* I had was moved yet just like a lot of people my age who are more focussed on building a better personal life and earn more money, I just did not take it as a priority. Yet as the Swazi people remain sufferers in their own very rich land, impoverished and ruled by a charismatic lunatic who is not even their rightful king, it appears that these days these people have finally grown tired of the status quo. The Swazi kingdom is becoming more and more unstable and it seems like this is the perfect time to re-establish the true nation of the Ngcamane Swazi. But as all this is happening I realise that it would be doubly difficult to gain popular support for the emerging Ngcamane people simply due to lack of accessible information. The Facebook messages from the two Maseko’s I quoted testify to that fact. But in my research I also went to the world famous encyclopaedia called Wikipedia. So while this information is rather disjointed, the statement by sister Ntokozo simply warns that it is best to get together with the elders and find more knowledge from their wizened perspective, this is the generally accepted African way. But for what its worth, here’s a the official info on the Nguni history:

“The ancient history of the Nguni people is wrapped up in their oral history. According to legend they were a people who migrated from Egypt to the Great Lakes region of sub-equatorial Central/East Africa.^[1] They migrated southwards over many centuries, with large herds of Nguni cattle, probably entering what is now South Africa around 2,000 years ago in sporadic settlement, followed by larger waves of migration around 1400 AD. Nguni peoples are pastoralist groups, ethnically part of the greater Bantu group occupying much of the East and Southern parts of Africa. Many tribes and clans were forcibly united under Shaka Zulu. Shaka Zulu's political organisation was efficient in integrating conquered tribes, partly due to the age regiments, where men from different villages bonded with each other. The Nguni tribes kept similar political practises to those used by Shaka Zulu. During the southern African migrations known as mfecane, the Nguni peoples spread across a large part of southern Africa, absorbing, conquering or displacing many other peoples.”

So it appears from this bit of information that even the people of the South actually came from the North. This fact which has been attested to by many historians including the famous Magema Fuze who wrote history from the perspective of the oralists is also supported by archaeologists and scientists.  It now rests on our shoulders to connect the dots. There is also a lot of misinformation and this is fuelled by our civilisations obsession with money and other material gains. Humanity cannot thrive in such a situation and there needs to be Innovative, Creative and even Spiritual activism to transform our lives, it means bravely changing the way we think of ourselves.

 My involvement in the Ancient Egyptian initiation system seems to make more sense when viewed from a perspective of real African history, the test is in making it work for myself and for the larger number of people who love justice and are tired of living a lie.

Further reading into the Wikipedia information reveals another more disturbing yet no surprising fact that history is mostly written by the powerful while the mostly subordinate ‘public’ remains unassumingly complacent. This is an unhealthy situation and it is one of the causes of the on-going lack of Liberation and personal freedoms. The governments of the world have proven in many instances that contrary to what they say and what we are told by mass media, they are not acting on behalf of the people that vote them into power.

Although it seems like it has nothing to with this topic, the new documentary film by the famous David Guggenheim called Waiting for Superman is one of the signs that Truth shall set us free. This story tells us how the American education system is clearly failing the children and therefore the future of our world. We can no longer live within these unjust conditions because the divinity within our humanity will not allow it. “The schooling system is built to make adults happy…to create competitive people…”* says the director in an interview for Moving Pictures.

The outrageous celebrations on our freedom days are silly wastes of money when people are still impoverished materially and ideologically. None of our schools teach us what it means to be a complete human being. One of the famous African shamans (Credo Mutwa) has this to say:

“There is not a single university in Africa, even now which teaches our people the truth about themselves. There is not a single school in South Africa even now which teaches our people about what it means to be an African. Our children who will stone a Sangoma to death, who will burn an Inyanga to death with a petrol soaked car tire even now, do not know, and were never, taught that Africans were once kings of the Americas. They were founders of the amazing Olmec Civilization, whose breath taking relics craved in eternal stone still amaze visitors in museums to this day.

Our children who would gladly spit at the face of a sangoma, who hate the traditional dress of their people, would gladly put on a highland kilt, not knowing that amongst the founders of the Scottish nation were black men and woman and that the surnames of some of these Scotsmen, confirm this. Sholto-Douglas, what does this word mean? What does this Surname mean? Sholto- Douglas. It means Behold the black man. Black knights once fought for the kings of Scotland, and the Danish people who are fraudulently represented in the history books as blond and pink skinned Nordics, had large numbers of black men in their ranks.”

In an age that we proudly call the information age, how can all these facts escape the people who once ruled the world without repose to money? How can we use the internet to keep feeding irrelevant information to our children, have we fallen that far down from our state of grace? To close this topic for now, let us see what else has been said about the Ngcamane Swazi:

 “Following Zwangendaba's death in 1848, succession disputes split the Ngoni people. Zwangendaba's following and the Maseko Ngoni eventually created seven substantial Ngoni kingdoms in Tanzania, Zambia and Malawi.”- Wikipedia.

According to Wikipedia these are some of the Maseko Nguni’s that can be found in Malawi and the Swazi borders:

• Maseko Ngoni of Dedza under Paramount Chief Kachindamoto and Kachere

• Maseko Ngoni of Ntcheu under Paramount Chief Ganya (Successor of Chief Gomani)
• Maseko Ngoni of Thyolo under Paramount Chief Vumbwe

In the Mfecane, the Nguni mixed with the peoples they defeated on their way north. They brought their own military organization and strategies with them and reached eastern Africa between Lakes Tanganyika and Nyasa (today's Lake Malawi).”

All this information is very good, but until I speak to the elders I shall hold my peace and be contented with cultivating my Ancient Egyptian inspired Initiation so that we the time is ripe, I and the rest of the Maseko’s I will to lead will bring justice to this part of the world. I say that I will myself to lead them because it is clear to me that it takes Spiritual, Political and Supernatural Will to take on established prejudices, lies and emerge victorious with the Truth. But I am not Superman, I am a divine man who knows where he is from and soon you will too.

Menzi Maseko ©

References

• Ngoni by Nwankwo T. Nwaezeigwe (The Heritage Library Of African Peoples)
• Mpezeni's Ngoni of Eastern Zambia, 1870–1920, Ph.D. dissertation by William Eugene Rau, 1974
• Bauer, Andreus. Street of Caravans.
• Iliffe, John. Modern History of Tanganjika.
• Mankind, the Illustrated Edncyclopedia of
• Reader, John. Africa, a biography of the Continent.
• Tew, Mary. People of the Lake Nyasa Region

POETrY

The New Poem

It rises to the occasion of the emerging sun

Reports the progress of a people, a season and a warrior who decides to run

The new poem speaks loud about that which is kept secret

Announces to everyone the basic mysteries of interconnected, cosmic existence

There is nothing hidden

Be it from above or from below

The New Poem sings the half forgotten songs of childhood

Adding nothing but the wisdom of fresh experiences

The New Poem is the essence of Conscious Hip Hop

The pause between the break beat

The friction before the heat

The melody that hooks you, so sweet

Sweet because the tongue of the skilful is wilful and bashful while humble

Sweet because while Truth hurts it also opens the wound for cleaning

Against the fragile house of gossip the Truth is never leaning

But searches out the matter and emerges with the better

In Higher Learning the teacher shouted

“I am looking for evidence of Original Thought…”

And a hush fell upon the whole class

Some thinking, ‘What a stupid thing to ask”

While others said

“Original thought is something of the past.

Because what I may think is new, may have already come to pass…”

This is the Mdw Ntr

The writing on the wall, the mystic language of nature…

Is the leaf that’s fallen today the same as that of yesterday?

Is the baby born tomorrow the same as she that’s been sacrificed?

In all the hot pursuit of My Time and No Time, Me Time and even the sublime

The New Poem doesn’t even need to rhyme

It stays inclined

To the listening ear

Dispelling the fear

Removing the tear

Replacing all complaining with clarity

Knowledge

Laughter

Offering

Giving

The New Poem is not concerned with giggles

But with the people it mingles

Searching for the warmth of innocent smiles

The touch of the loverly

The kiss of the friendly

The politics of language, culture and style

It is a poem that sees the cries of slaves

Imprisoned in caves of hate and instead of crying shame, simply and silently works for change

Common Politics

Another Egg, another Chicken…

It is disheartening to see how much time is spent by intelligent people in arguing about things they can barely understand. The debates, counter-arguments and propaganda over the similarities between Ancient Kemetic religious texts and that collection of religious texts from Palestine called the Holy Bible are counter-productive.

Unless no one has noticed, the earth is barely breathing due to mankind’s incompetence or blatant disregard for nature and the will of God. To insist that the Supreme Being has only spoken through Israeli, Arabian and Asiatic prophets is both childish and arrogant at the same time. How can an eternal and Omnipresent Being limit Itself to such personalities, people who are clearly biased and interested in their own puny minded territorial victories?

When I first saw the notorious Zeitgeist films, I was disappointed at the speculative and conspiratory tone of the arguments and the narrator. This is not a personal attack on the creator of this work, which has its merits, especially with regards to its observations about the failed western economic experiment, but it is tiresome to see that both believers and atheists are still engaged in ancient wars of words and depressed wills. My worry is that all this emotive bickering is happening at the expense of many souls who could gain much more Spiritual food from sound judgments from science, religion and purpose driven industriousness. Here is what a serious writer has said concerning role of religion (I omit his name due to reactionary biases within the minds of some readers):

“Religion properly understood, is the science of evolving Man from his state of spiritual infancy – the Sahu state- to his/her perfected state – Ausar. We must recall that the word science comes from the Latin ‘scire’, to know’, denotes a system of knowing. A scientist is one who is involved in the study and practice of a subject following a set of rules that confirm and certify the fact that knowledge has taken place. When understood, religion is based on certain knowledge and not faith, belief, or mysticism. The followers of the Ausarian religion are not guided by doctrine or dogma, but by the scientific understanding of human behaviour and Man’s relationship to God. In comparison to Sahu Man, in religious matters the Ausar Man is to the educational system what the most illustrious Ph.D.’s are to primary school children. Properly understood, the religious process is a program of initiation. It is a developmental process to perfection by progressive awakening of the mental and spiritual faculties of the individual.” – ( Page 166. Mdw Ntr vol.1 Anuk Ausar )

An analysis of the arguments about the who is the original Life and Resurrection.

“These thoughts and questions may be applicable in other comparisons between the writings of Christianity and other ancient literature. But I have yet to believe that even the most probable parallels in this particular comparison (of Osiris and Jesus) pose any threat to the validity of the gospel. The possibility may exist that the Christian claims about Jesus are fictional and somewhat borrowed from the fictional writing about Osiris. As a Christian, I may be biased, but I believe that I may rationally believe that the Christian claims are true as I observe the alleged parallels that Jesus and Osiris share.” – A Sigh about Osiris by Brian Lawson

“Tom Harpur’s thesis in The Pagan Christ is attractive to skeptics of Christianity. Harpur uses unfounded and blatantly false information combined with linguistic gymnastics and creative story mosaics to support his argument. He employs strong rhetoric in an attempt to convince his readers that the early church fathers staged a big cover-up and suppressed the truth of a “cosmic” rather than literal Christianity, the hard truth he himself had to come to terms with. Closer investigation into his claim about a mythical Christ and a Jesus-Horus parallel shows that there is no factual foundation to his theory, something that credentialed Egyptologists from major universities attest to.” -  Is Jesus Christ a Mythical Entity Prefigured by Osiris-Horus Mythology? A Response to Tom Harpur’s The Pagan Christ, Part 2 by Mellisa* from the blog ( Hard-Core Christianity: Apologetics, Worldview, and a Pebble in the Shoe )

“According to Egyptian mythology, Ausar was murdered by his brother Seth then brought back to life by the love of his sister and wife, Auset (Isis). This myth describes the forces of destruction that initiated the process of mummification. The love of Auset is symbolic of regeneration and the promise of eternal life. The cycle of destruction, death and rebirth was repeated each year in the annual flood of the Nile, the river that provided the essential ingredients needed to sustain life, giving birth to one of the first civilizations.  Ausar (Osiris) and Auset (Isis) had a son named Heru (Horus). Together they represent a holy family: god, goddess and divine child. In the New Kingdom, the main temples throughout Egypt venerated a holy family modelled on the Ausar, Auset and Heru triad.” – from Googling the name Ausar and lifted from a book: The Complete Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Egypt - Richard H. Wilkins...

Where I End U Begin: As I have told many of my readers, I am not an academic intellectual, I just happened to be one of those free thinkers who know that Knowledge and Wisdom is a gift from God that is available to every willing seeker. In my seeking I have found that people tend to enjoy mud slinging and blaming one another for things which are not even remotely connected to them. There has been a plenty of such mud slinging and lower grade scholarship and subjective intellectualising surrounding the stories of Ausar/Osiris and Yehoshua/Jesus.

It is a lamentable sign of the times though that 90% of the arguments hardly ever penetrate any more than the surface in this most crucial of debates. I often find myself wondering where on Earth are the real scholars and the real Wise men and women of our age, why can’t they calm these unquiet waters so that Wisdom and Common Sense should prevail.

What I have also discovered is that there is always a secret agenda behind those that want to discredit the Christian texts, which to my knowledge are capable of being self destructive without any assistance from outside stories. There is also lack a reasonable explanation for why so many people repeatedly mistake Heru for Ausar as ‘types’ of Christ, but then again, most of the apologetics are not initiated into the Inner knowledge of KMT/Egypt, and due to their Christian disposition they never even acknowledge the massive historical destruction of Ancient Egyptian texts by both Christians and Muslim barbarians.

There is also no acknowledgement of the Biblically insinuated connections between all the most significant Characters of Israel with Egypt. These connections are taken lightly and I have heard no one making the connection between the prophetic development of JHWH worship in On/Anu/Heliopolis.* I often find myself wondering which Bible are some people really reading, or maybe its just that we all have differing perspectives?

Here is what I have gathered: A lot of people just cannot read symbol, as Ishakamusa Barashango said, modern man has almost completely lost the ability to interpret symbols. A lot of people tend to confuse the reality with the metaphoric, and this is where the real problem lies. We wouldn’t be having such debates if this basic knowledge was already common sense, this is also where the Western imagination differs from the thought patterns of traditional Eastern and Southern hemisphere peoples.  The reason I mention this is because there are far more similarities in the Ancient Egyptian holy texts and the Holy Bible than the simple Ausar and Heru ones. There are parallels from Enoch/Thoth/Tehuti, Jacob/Israel all the way to the merging of all such symbols to the Coptic Church.

But for the sake of the present debate, let explore the real Khamitic texts written by actual priests who can be historically traced, it is clear that Osiris/Ausar is a Divine Principle, born of the symbolic meeting of Earth(Geb) and Sky (Nut) who is manifested in many appearances:

“In the temple of Denderah he is given his full royal titulary and personal details like size and ancestry:

“Osiris who has appeared as king on the throne of his father.
Horus, strong of arm.
Nebty strong by courage.
Golden Horus Osiris.
King of Upper and Lower Egypt Osiris.
Son of Re, Wennefer, triumphant.
This is his exact name.
Eight cubits, six palms, three fingers.
He was put in this world at Thebes.
His father was Geb.
His mother was Nut.
He has appeared (as king) at Heracleopolis.
While he acted as the lord (?),
Thoth acted as vizier,
Hu as general of Upper Egypt,
Sia as general of Lower Egypt”.

Anybody who has any knowledge of the Egyptian myths and history will understand that here we have an amalgamation of real history and semiology, or metaphysical realism. The Ancient Egyptians actually lived their daily lives in perpetual connection or communion with the creation stories found in the MDW NTR or divine words.

Furthermore; if one wishes to gain and unbiased understanding of the religious life of Ancient KMT, it is of vital importance to grasp their attitude to nature, the universe and Words in general.

Names meant much more than they mean today; without such an understanding we will all be going around spouting our personal propaganda as if they were the God inspired truth.

Afrika Awaits U!!!

MM

Liberation Time Mculo: Each One Teach One

Liberation Time Mculo: Each One Teach One

HEAL yr self

A Blues For Zim

Sagcina sesibizana ngama zimu zimu
Obabamkhullu besixoxela ngesimo sabase Mzansi
Sagcina sesithi singabase Ningizimu
The stories were told and retold and the drum interpreted
Whispering our half forgotten names
Gondwana – Azania – KwelikaMthaniya
And since that first misunderstanding
We’ve been drifting further and far from each other
Lending our minds, body and souls to the confounding ways of invaders
We’ve been drifting in-between wombs and unmarked tombs
Doing other peoples heavy lifting
We’ve been drifting with no direction
Until the discovery of our Souls purpose
Through song
But not just any oold rock-shuffle and roll
Not just any bubble-twiddle-the thumbs – gum
We were as ghosts trapped in concrete and bricks
Until we recovered Jazz, exhumed Jazz…
And our Jazz prophets and apostles became
The ARCH- Anthropologists – the Ebony Egyptologists
The translucent psycho-analysts of our time
This time of perplexity where our children’s bodies pave the corners of stone cold cities
These Jazz messengers showed us where and how to dig
Because Jazz is not just for listening
You’ve got to not just like it but u got to dig it
Dig it like Simphiwe Dana travelling through digital spaces
Arm in arm with Biko or Tiro, Taiwa – the Troubled Soldiers
In the know – u got to dig it like Miles doing
Digging it for Tutu, Trane digging Naima and Alice Coltrane digging the Spirits of the Ancients
U got to dig it like McCoy eyiphonsa ngasemva…!
Jazz showed us whose got the map so that we can run the voodoo down from Pillar To Post…

short story by Menzi

Peace, Love and Prosper
Background:
This is an allegorical story concerning a family of triplets who are raised with equal opportunities yet find themselves drifting further from their expected destinies. The triplets don’t only suffer from the lack of their own names sakes but specific unforeseen circumstances also cause them to drift further apart from each other.
By the end of the story there are possibilities for redemption but it is all depending on each of their ability to accept each other as both flawed and potentially divine (gifted). There are some characters in the story who come to remind them of their parents who passed away early I their lives, but not before bestowing upon them their ‘telling’ names and a clue to finding and maintaining relationships filled with Love, Peace and Prosperity.




















The 1st STORY
The orphan-age
The clouds melt away portentously as the sun comes out swiftly like a groom at the sight of his bride. The day seems to be in a hurry to begin. But what could be so important today, that wasn’t so eagerly awaited yesterday? Prosper appears to ask himself as he looks out at the sky, beyond the drifting clouds. Her thin and tiny fingers with traces of smudged red nail polish on them are drumming against her fine wiry sideburns. She is a rather plump girl of six who doesn’t remember thinking about anything else but plain yogurt with a spoon of honey, and oh maybe a sign from her Mama. Is she alive, does she love her, and why does she have to live in this place?
Aside from the fact that the St Beatrice’s Home for Orphans is situated at the edge of a mining town, in the middle of nowhere significant, the wind in this place smells like turpentine in the mornings and the calm breeze of the afternoons often descends on them with thin wisps of ash. The sisters always tell the children that the thin grey ash is coming from the burning of sugarcane fields. Prosper know the difference, but keeps quiet for fear of catching another hiding. Knowing something and speaking out about it is not encouraged at St Beatrice’s, so in the almost two years that she’s been here; she learned the hard way that she should keep her uncomfortable peace.
Although she doesn’t have many friends, at least she is not alone in this tough old place; her brother Love is just all the way in the other-side by the boy’s dormitory. She loves her brother dearly even though he can be a bit erratic, always getting in trouble for fighting with the other boys and sometimes even the teachers. But the Sisters say he’s going to have to calm down next year when he begins attending the real school. They only get to see each other during breakfast, lunch and playtime which they always try to make the best of.
Prosper just cannot wait to begin proper school, she finds pre-school classes so boring and thinks what they teach is irrelevant. “For what-”, she thinks to herself would I need to herself “Do I need to know those silly English songs they make us sing all day, I want to learn how to sing like my Mama and how to make yogurt out of milk, to sow nice warm jerseys and to dance like a Zulu girl…?”
“You’re only six and already have such a hot head; I don’t know what you’ll ever pick up in school.” One of the Sisters would lament as she prepared them for bed. Prosper had to feign being sick for a whole week so that she could get the bed that had its head facing east, she didn’t know why but she simply loved the golden glow of the sunshine, it reminded her of home and vague reminiscences of her mothers stories.
Love was a nice little boy, tall, handsome with a dark chocolate complexion. Almost everything about his face looked like his sisters, except for the nostrils which appeared to always flare up and vibrate whenever he was piqued, which was often. But Love had not always been this aggressive little man; in fact he was everyone’s favourite among the triplets until his brother Peace was adopted by a family of Europeans. Being so close and suddenly and cruelly separated really bore down on Love’s head, he would just snap at anyone with the slightest provocation.
During their first year at the orphanage, the triplets were not separated as they kept everyone awake at night if ever they were forced to sleep on separate beds. The staff at St Beatrice’s would try their best to calm them down but nothing ever worked until they called in ‘specialists’ who first took away Prosper for only few days a week. Gradually the boys learned to be at peace with their beloved sister’s absence and they also begun to make friends, but no one could separate the two of them.
This orphanage was run on donations and funds from special grants but the bulk of the money came from their regular business of adoption. They were reputedly the best adoption institution in that area for distances. Couples and even whole families would come from all over the country to sometimes just look at the children playing on sitting in class, sometimes they be allowed short interviews or on ones with their choice little ones and then they’d go away with photographs with fancy filed profiles and sometimes brief bio’s of their selected children. This is how Peace won the hearts of the August European couple, the Greene’s.
Mrs Greene had been unable to conceive a child of her own, even though Mr Greene had had several in secret, being particularly fond of the corpulent local women who tended for the needs of their suburban homes. He did his best to hide his lecherous habits at first but time proved efficient in bringing everything to the light of day. Soon after the birth of his third bastard, his Mrs took him for a drive down to the township where to his pretentious shock; he was introduced to a cute little green eyed version of himself. But what came the real shock was that Mrs Greene had decided to adopt this bundle of joy from the rather shy shack dweller who did not waste any time accepting the offer. This disturbed Greene for a whole month while his wife was preparing the necessary papers, so much so that he decided to pay a visit to the African lady who happened to be his neighbours domestic servant.
“Prudence my dear.” Mr Greene gushed out letting go of some of his usual proud demeanour. “My dear…I don’t know where to begin, but are you sure you want to give us your baby, just that easily?”
Prudence, who sat on her hollowed out single bed holding the sniffling pinkish infant, was a beautiful caramel skinned woman in her late thirties with her extensions matted down under some ghastly panty-hose head-dress. Her corrugated iron home was furnished with some of the gifts that Greene had given her through out their three year secret affair, but she also had pictures of her own family, stacks of Garden and Home and Cosmopolitan magazines on her sideboard and her kitchen was two large bowls on top of tall steel water drums and a wooden surface that passed for a chopping board and a dish cabinet at the same time.
Greene barely looked around at all these furnishings, he couldn’t bear to, he was after all a man of exquisite taste, even being in here was causing him to wince and although there was a smell of lamb stew boiling in the pot, he seemed to redden and appeared breathless.
Prudence, rocked the like a loving mother in her large arms, she was wearing nothing but a pale pink pinafore from which her voluptuous breast hung out for the child to sup on. This seemed to add to Mr Greene’s lustful woes, he found himself trying hard to vanquish the thought of dashing the baby away and replacing it on its mothers breast.
“Robert, this is your baby too.” Said she after what seemed to Robert Greene, like a torturous lifetime. He reeled back into reality as if from a stupefying hunger. He said
“Excuse me, what did you say…?”
Tucking back her breast after the child’s burp, Prudence spoke looked him squarely in the eyes and said.
“I said this is your child Robert Greene, I don’t know what you’re fussing about, besides you told me you’d never come by here again.” She paused and appeared to be thinking hard, her forehead creased in an effortless frown.
“I mean, I don’t see how you can keep getting away with these things. I love this child, look at her, she’s beautiful and she doesn’t even have a name yet. No one in my family wants to see me again, no matter how much money you have offered us. I’ve thought about it hard, I have even started going to church.”
“Now, wait a minute, I thought you always went to church. Whenever I wanted to see you on Sundays, you said you were busy at the church…?”
“Well, since everything is all out now, I might as well tell you the truth too, of course I have a lover or should I say, had a lover since Frankie left me a few days after he found out I was seeing you. He first beat me up so bad I thought I was going to lose this child.”
Greene was now so red, his face seemed to exude white heat. He said. “You told me you were mugged by two tsotsies after work, I even paid for your hospital bills, how could you lie to me like this, I thought we had something special…I, I, I’m so –“
“Hurt. Yes, at least now you know how I feel, but at least the Lord has answered your prayers or maybe its mines, who knows, they say he works in mysterious ways. Your wife has come up with a miraculous plan and you should thank her, she’s a good woman and all she ever wanted was a big family which you have failed to give her, so you see, now is your chance heh ?”
Greene was so enraged and got and sat down again, not knowing what to say, how to feel and he had to restrain himself from cursing Prudence, he wanted to call her a bitch but he knew better than to do that, this woman could bring this whole shack down in her rage, so he decided to plead with her.
“But, but, what will my neighbours say, I’ve given you so much, my wife has even offered you a good job…how much money do you want?”
Prudence, patted the on her back and laid it softly on the bed before coming over to sit on Greenes shaking leg, she stroked his sweaty chin and kissed him on the eyebrowns and whispered. “Oh, Mr Greene, my darling, all I really want is my peace. Isn’t that what you also want, just a little peace so you can live your life exactly how you’ve planned to, how you – want to?”
Even though, he was so rattled and his mind was in total confusion, Mr Greene was suddenly aroused by the weight and flesh of this bold black woman who was stroking his ego while crushing his spirit, he found himself strangely enjoying it. But when Prudence felt him bulging underneath her thighs, she slowly got to her feet and said. :You poor soul, I don’t want you, or your money, just leave in peace, and you can take your green eyed precious with you too. All I need is peace.”

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Chant and Dub

Dubbing At The Edges Of Greatness

“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked…
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” - From Kahlil Gibrain’s [i]The Prophet[/i][/b]


When I read these words on a blog-post from the Liberator Magazine, I was instantly reminded of the zeal and fiery energy that I exerted when I first became a Rasta-man.
There was absolutely nothing that could remove me from participating in the drumming and chanting, the meetings and the general irits (spirit) of the Nyahbinghi Order.
Although I always kept my objectivity, choosing to be of a more pragmatic instead of naively romantic mentality when it comes to all matters of scripture, history, organisation and other challenging stuff that went along with the lifestyle, I have to say that I have been disappointed, not just by others but also by myself
There are many reasons for this fact, but suffice to say that the grass is not always greener on the other side of religion, tradition or way of life.
There are always complications, compromises and conditions that cause one to step back and review the direction of ones life, to ask whether one is on the right path or simply travelling without moving.

The passage from the famous Kahlil Gibran is very good in explaining in very few words the way that I felt as a member of the Rastafarian movement.
There is always joy whenever I n I get together, yet that joy is underscored with a deep current of sadness as one who observes without prejudice realises that here is a group of men and women – young and old, who obviously have seen the light, yet are unable to exercise the fullest or even half their collective potential.
This to me is the reason why in my short trod within the movement there have been so many young women especially, who have come in and out of the Order.
The simplest reason is that they cannot find the proper spiritual discipline and even the activity that can transform them into the Divine Beings that they know they are.
While we gather for the ritual of the ancient Nyahbinghi drumming and chanting, the reasoning sessions which seems to yield no lasting or definitive results and for the joyous Dancehall or Dub sessions where we rejoice to the purifying sounds of Reggae, we all return to homes where there are the normal human challenges waiting for us.
Some of I n I have various psychological, health and deep seated spiritual problems which are sometimes visible yet no one in our joyous celebrations is able to rescue or help us overcome them and so we turn to the same system that we resent and know is inefficient.
Thus the joy of the lifestyle is stolen away by the inability to master ourselves or to protect our society and environment.

It is clear that the Rastafarian way is one of the solutions to most of Africa and the worlds problems, but the sorrowful state that it is presently in creates the impression that there is a lot of immaturity and lack of vision among I n I.
Even now, I write this after having resigned from being one of the scribes/secretaries of the local youth council; but I also have taken a step back from participating in the general lifestyle of the Rasta’s – I smoke less marijuana, I have shed my dreadlocks and I no longer refer to myself as a Rasta. I am now simply a man initiating his own divinity and praying for the resurrection of Godhood among mankind, this I see as achievable with both joy and pain.