Izimbali Zebhalisamu. ( Balsam Flowers)

I've been in Japan two full years now. Okinawa to be exact, which really isn't Japan. It's very different. This next piece is one that is very special to me. Six months after I arrived in Okinawa, on December 6, 2012 I started writing a poem in Zulu. It was the first time I ever wrote anything in my home language that I felt was necessary for me. That I felt was profound. I was unable to express my feelings in any other language or way. A lot of thoughts had come together for me to realize how much I cherished my identity and  I felt like for the first time ever, I was connecting with who I really am. This is precious to me because it's one of the main reasons I had decided to go to Japan. It's not something I discuss with people, if I don't feel they're ready to understand it. Which is often, where I am now. It's a part of me that I feel that people who understand my context can truly open up to and share and enjoy. It also comes off a bit patriotic which wasn't intentional but I guess is also a shade of who I am. I like to think of it as just a celebration of my country and my people. I didn't publish it immediately because I knew I needed to add more to it that it wasn't complete. Not long after an Okinawan friend of mine, a music teacher whom I used to practice music with in our spare time, taught me an old Okinawan folk song which I have cherished since. It is in the Okinawan language called Uchinanchu and below the song I've put an English translation of it. I felt that it was the missing part of this piece since it resonates so much with me. So today I want to share this piece. 

I skipped a country to find secrets, beauty, wisdom, knowledge, courage, hope, answers, God. 

I found them all. Not very long  I realized that if had skipped a country to realize it's worth. My country has: secrets, beauty, wisdom, knowledge, courage, hope, answers and God. But what good is all that to people who don't realize what they have? 

Nighlwithe esiswini somdali 

Ngigxume ngasuka  endlini

Ngabaleka ngaphuma ekhaya 

Ngithe ngiyofuna okunye, Hhayi lokhu 

Cha mina ngifuna okunye, okwengeziwe, okungaphezulu, okunamandla, okukhanya kangcono

Okwengeziwe kunalokhu, okucwebezelayo, imfundo ephakemeyo, inkanyiso engaphezu kwaleyo enginayo. 

Cha mina ngeke ngihlale la. 

Vele angiselona ichwane 

Juba kangisilo kudala ngachuthwa 

Xoxo kangisilo kudala ngagxuma 

Angalanga kutshelwa kudala ngopha 

UMopho injwayelo, ngibhandisha ngeZwi 

Ngigeze amanxeba ngezinyembezi

Ngigqoke imiyalo njengejezi. 

Pho kunani! 

Angifungwanga ngingumagcino. 

Kwabathi kangimuliswanga kangibelekwanga nginezimpendulo

Ngafungwa ngamuliswa ngabelekwa phezulu! 

Idlozi lami lakudala

Idolizi lami lokuqala

Idlozi lami lokugcina

Isiqalo Sami

Nesiphetho Sami

Kalingamukelanga belingivunile kakade

Esiswini sikaMama

Mina ngesaba 

Ngahlwitha

Ngagxuma

Ngabaleka

Bengimusha 

Namanje ngisemusha

Indodakazi kangilahlekanga 

Ikhaya ngiyalazi 

Ngithe ekuhambeni emazweni ngibuka ngibona 

Imicabango yasanguluka 

Ngibone impithizelo 

Ngibone bedidizela 

Beya le nale 

Benemibuzo bengenazo izimpendulo 

Bengenandaba nempilo 

Ubumnyama bunzulu 

Benakho konke okufiswa amehlo 

Benethezekile kodwa bengenawo umthetho 

Bakhononda bebubula kodwa kungenadlame 

Benemfundo yonke kazange bayibambe 

Bedla balahle 

Bekhoseliwe bebahle   

Kodwa benozwela 

Belalela 

Benenhlonipho 

Bebekezela 

Amanzi okuphila ageleza umhlaba wonke 

Anikwa laba abacelayo 

Boba bayaphiwa Wona

Yena uvula Imithombo aqhumise umhlaba 

Uveza amachibi yonke indawo 

Ubusise ngemifula 

Wena owomile woza! 

Mina imifula ngiyibonile 

Ngicotshwe amachibi 

Ngaphala izibi ngazihlehlisa 

Ngifuna umfula

Ngazembula 

Bheka manje ngiyagezwa 

Imicabango emibi iyafadalala 

Izibi zezono zami sezizoba yindaba nje 

Mina ngifunda imfundo yaphezulu 

Kumanje lamagama angicoca umqondo 

Ageleza njengempophomo ephemela emlonyeni wami 

Nasepheshaneni lami 

Phuza  nawe ukhombise abanye 

Umthombo kaKristu. 

Tinsagunu Hana  ( The Balsam Flowers)- a warabe uta ( song) 

Tinsagu nu hana ya 

Chimi sachi ni sumiti 

Uyanu yushi gutu ya 

Chimi in sumiri 

Tin naburi  bushi ya 

Yumiba yuma  rishiga 

Uyanu yushi gutu ya 

Yumin naran 

Yuruha rasu funi ya 

Ninu fua bushi miati 

Wan na cheru uyaya

Wandu miati 

Takaradama yatin migaka 

Niba sabisu

Asayu chimu migachi 

Uchiyu watara 

Makutu suru hitu ya 

Ataya ichi madin 

Umuku tun konati 

Chiyun sakai 

Nashiba nani gutun 

Nairu gutu yashida 

Nasan yui karadu 

Naran sadami 

Nasan yui karadu 

Naran sadami 

( English translation) 

Just as my fingernails are stained with the pigment from the balsam flowers, my heart is painted with the teachings of my parents. 

Although the stars in the sky are countable, the teachings of my parents are not. 

Just as ships that run in the night are guided to safety by the North Star, I am guided by my parents who gave birth to me and watch over me. 

There's no point in possessing magnificent jewelry if you don't mantaining it. People who mantain their bodies will live wonderfully. The desires of the person who lives sincerely will always run true and as a result she will prosper. You can do anything if you try, but you can't if you don't. 

Waking dreams

Silences
Waking dreams
More silences
Kisses
Wistful sigh's over the telephone line
In my head I'm leaning on your chest
In my heart our fingers are intertwined

Our bodies may be miles apart
But not our hearts

Not our hearts

The Poem

Someone in my English- conversation class suggested that we all bring poetry and read it for our next session. I volunteer at an English- conversation circle with local Japanese people that want to practise their English. We have a 2 hour evening session every week.

I imagined that this could've been a difficult task due to the cultural differences and the varying levels of English comprehension in the class, but I wrote one anyway. Even if it is just for me to read. And maybe one day I'll share it with the person I was thinking of:


If forever has already begun
then you have already stolen the title
as the theme of my thoughts

I title your name on maps, books, pictures, labels, pariphanalea
You are branded in my smile now.

Let's make minituire models of you
We can raise them
Let's take it a step further and make them limited editions
that only we get to keep
We'll make them with our own bodies
We'll name them after YOU

Let's start a  start a closed corperation
A company of you, me and our beautiful babies

While the author of our lives transcrubes new chapters
We'll skip through pages, colouring them with our smiles and joy
Shining our light through captions
Whispering HIS prasies in every reading

Phela u "mina" akasekho enhliziyweni yami
Usulekile
Njalo mengithi mi... mi... mi...
akusavu-mi

Kumele ngi-thi THINA

2013 Diary entry

I am a little depressed

A year ago I was broke but happily working for an organization I believed in, with all the important people in my life around me. I had my parents, friends, mentors, and I had even found love.
Now, a year later, I have fulfilled some of my dreams. I am travelling, living and working in Asia,  but at the cost of leaving these very things behind. I was happy, and I changed that for bigger things. Things I have always wanted.

Lets be straight. I am not unhappy. I like it here. It just came at a cost and I'm feeling the pressure of it all. I wanted to learn lessons, I am learning them. The process of that is not easy adn i am maturing in ways that I didn't think I was ready for. These are the years that shape into who I will be for the rest of my life. Well, that sounds too final but, they mould my outlook on the world and influence some of t he biggest decisions I will ever make.

That said, it doesn't help that my mentors and spiritual advisors aren't close. All in all, I feel lonely. And heroes walk alone, yeah?

Sunday Morning KwaMachibisa.

Sunday morning,the choir woke me up. 

They bellowed at the top of their lungs as if to wake the whole neighborhood and let them know that Jesus is King. Even those who were reluctant were now on their way. Streets cluttered with well dressed commuters. Shiny polished shoes, pressed dresses and glowing weaves. Children running about in the church grounds, spilling onto the congested road. Cars moving slowly through a narrow road. Cars parked on either side. Sun hats and umbrellas. Bright colors. Loud exchanges of greetings through the clamor of church drums and insistent keys. 

We could hear the hum of the engines as they trail down the road in single file, revving as they got closer. Black leather coats and denims. Gloves. Hats. Dreadlocks. The bikers were on their way to church too, making a grand entrance that has everyone excited. 

At the convenience store next to the church, old men would slowly drift in to buy cigarettes, juice, hot chips, vetkoeks, nursing their hangovers. Next to that, a bar. Sunday morning and some are already having the hair of the dog. Children run about. Stray dogs lazing nearby hoping to get lucky. 

A few houses away, another church is already in session. Sunday school children sing for The Lord. I drive by on the way to my place of worship. Wave at the girls at the salon next door, floor filled with extensions as they're already at work.

I'm late again. 

Something happened here.

Something happened here. 

I've been here and not known where else to go. 

I've been here and wanted to be here. 

I've walked up and down this long passage at 6 and 7 and 8 

And at 16 cried and said goodbye to these walls one sudden day on my birthday

As you rushed us out and threw us into the gates of emancipation 

That lasted only a year. 

I've dreamt of this place and longed to be there. 

To be back again, hanging out the half open kitchen door, gazing at the stars

Singing my lungs out to the walls that listened

I've loved these walls

And upon returning embraced these walls and my fate within them

I've hated this place until I loved it evermore

But something happened here

Things have happened here

Things that the walls scream so deafening 

Every time I think of here because despite the fact that nobody wants to talk about this exhausted topic of why and why and why are we 

Like this, these walls remain and echo silently day to day

These walls that are still here listening

When someone else should be here listening instead. 

A person. 

The prayers we utter under this roof fall short when breath hits the ceiling 

The words are swallowed in this concrete, never to penetrate through

There's no seeping, saving plea or utter that will deliver the message further than this enclosure 

But the words will bounce around from wall to wall until we entertain them

In our hearts

That someone here is missing and has left us with these echoing walls as a reminder of it 

Because these walls heard his prayers too when nobody else would listen

These walls heard his screams and his tantrums and his pleas and his cries

When we chose to look elsewhere 

They probably know him better than we do

These are the witnesses.

Something happened here.

I'm not sure what it is anymore. 

All I can say is that it happened to me too. 

It happened to all of us. 

But we won't talk about it.

It's bigger than the elephant in the room. 

And evident in the absence of a soul in this stratosphere. 

Surely now the walls reveal to us the secrets he whispered for so long to deaf ears

I gaze about wondering if I can be here or there and still understand so implicitly that some things cannot be expressed in words and neither will they be heard with the ears 

But felt with the heart 

So much that shut hearts cant decipher the thoughts of a babbling man

Desparate to connect to his root

But instead plucked from there and cast out like dirt into the rubble

The rotten apple that fell not too far from its tree

It's worms now gnawing away at the bark through the root that refused to  nourish it. 

And now this fortress losing it's branches one by one. 

I am watering this place with my tears to feed the boabab.

I'm praying to the sun. 

 

Untitled.

Forgive me if I'm a little strange 

I've been strangled free of desires for the most part of my early memories. From the earliest bouts of spotlight lust I was told to hush and retract. I've been believing and I've been trusting. That maybe this love- lust secret relationship with the stage is the beginning of my moral deterioration. That maybe the nail that sticks out will be hammered down and being that nail, never quite able to fit my fat ass in appropriate holes, never quite bending out of sight. I stick out so I can poke you. 

I don't mean to hurt you. I'm just.... 

Inappropriate.

And this stage has scorned me. My whole life. 

I don't  want it anymore. After all, who wants to be owned? 

I've been told that desires can consume people beyond recognition of themselves. 

It seems to me that happiness is a deathly love, cheering at us while we waste away into it. Embracing tight while we slip away. After all, don't they say that pain makes you feel most alive?

My parents love me.

My parents love me at home. Where they can see me. Where they can protect me. 

I grew so attached to those walls, I started talking to them. I sang to them and under that red roof was my biggest stage. In the kitchen, the walls glowed in admiration of my improvisation as I scrubbed the pots and dishes clean. The walls echoed my sweet sonata, a perfect choir in the bathroom, embraced in the mist of my bath water. 

How can an introvert like me feel so trapped? 

Because I belong here, 

I should stay here, 

within four walls 

safe from my desires. Safe, from the world. 

It seems, the stage never left me though. I've been living as if my fourth wall was invisible. I've been dying to put my life on the stage. I've been writing this play as if telling my own story to the universe. I argued with the wind, I quarreled with the light. This sweet soliloquy drenched pages and pages of literature as I lost myself in the wonders of other peoples experiences and fantasies. 

I began where they ended, thousands of concluding pages announcing that my tale had just begun. Maybe I won.