My pieces of Peace

How can I explain the serenity of sitting in the approaching dusk next to a river, across from a world heritage site. Not afraid of harassment, not worried about getting mugged or raped or killed. Just hanging out with my own thoughts as company, contemplating these victims and a grander story behind them that involves me too. The pieces start to come together. My own narrative unfolds before me. Why am I here? To be remade. To have my faith, emotions and beliefs torn down and reconstructed. Much like these two cities, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I've seen my devastation and now it's time to build. 

Mdwabashu WaseLangeni

This next blog is about my brother , Philani Siphesihle Ngcobo, who has been missing since 2007.  It is a poem tribute to him in Zulu.I've written about him before and I probably wont stop here until I know where he is or what happened to him. My  soul will never rest until he is at peace.

My first born brothers' name is of great significance to me and the family. He carries the family title as well as the praise names as the heir and first born. His name, Philani, is a blessing meaning "live" or "prosper in health/life". His middle name, Siphesihle is a derivative of my fathers name (Sipho) which means "gift". It literally translates " wonderful/beautiful gift.

I view his naming as a word birthing blessing into the family that begun by him being the first child of my parents. They moved from being a married couple into a family with his birth. Thus his naming was significant and he carries my fathers name in him. It shows my parents and grandparents wishes towards our family. Hence his disappearance was and still is shocking and ill serving to the balance of the family whole.

Fuze
Mashiya amahle
Mdwabashu waseLangeni
Mshizi wezindlu
Mahlokohloko adla insimu ayicakaze
Mapholoba
Sipho esihle sikaMama
asiphiwa nguBaba
Ndlalifa

Ziyofika izesheli zami zivinjwe ngubani na?
Bayofika abakhongi bami bamukelwe ngubani na?
Zinkomo zikababa ziyokweluswa ubani na?
Siyophila kanjani uPhilani engekho na?
Ibizo lakho elasamukela selihlushuliwe phakathi egcekeni lakwaNgcobo
ugcobo lesuliwe phakathi kwethu

kanti kwakhala nyonini lapha ekhaya?

Ihlokohloko selathula

Ngilangazelela izwi lakho Zibulo
Ziyokhuluma izinsizwa soze ngizwe
Kuyothi mhla kungena izitha zizoqothula siyothi
Liphi elihle kakhulu?

Ngephuzile
Izitha sezafika kakade
isakhiwo sendlu kaBaba singaphelele sacekelwa phansi
silele ngikomzwelo
silele ngokomoya
sinqika nqikaza kushoda isisekelo
umphini wokuqala omkhulukazi onamandla
ungekho


Mdwabashu
Siyokwanda ngani na?
Siyofunga bani?
Ngimanxebanxeba angipholi
Umphefumulo wami uyopha

Juice and Biscuits

Dear Asha*

Remember that time when we were young, in Primary school when you went to aftercare with most of the white kids and I stayed outside on the school fields waiting for my dad to fetch me until they locked  the school gates and I had to wait outside?

My father was a school teacher but he was also a part-time student at the local university so I had to wait for him while he attended lectures until late and sometimes he would fetch me very very late after school and I would be tired and hungry. But most of the time I didn'tmind  watching because I could play with a whole lot of other school kids meanwhile. Except when it came time for cartoon network on  TV and all the after-care kids would go inside and watch and we would go sit at the banks behind aftercare trying to peek through the windows so that we could get a glimpse, and then fight over the best spot.

But you were my friend. You came out of aftercare to play with me. Until it was time for juice and biscuits. I remember that very well.

4'o clock. The dreaded time, 2 whole hours after school ended. ( that was 4 hours until I was in Senior pimary, grades 4-7) Everyone would be hungry by then since lunch would've been at 12pm.

Ｔｈｅ　ｎａｎｎｙ　ａｔ　ｔｈｅ　ａｆｔｅｒ－ｃａｒｅ　ｃｅｎｔｒｅ　ｗｏｕｌｄ　ｒｉｎｇ　ｔｈａｔ　ｇｌｏｒｉｏｕｓ　ｂｅｌｌ　ｔｈａｔ　ｓｅｎｔ　ｋｉｄｓ　ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ　ｔｏｗａｒｄｓ　ｈｅｒ　ｔｏ　ｍａｋｅ　ｏｎｅ　ｌｏｎｇ　ｓｏｎｇｏｌｏｌｏ　ｌｉｎｅ　ｗｈｅｒｅ　ｓｈｅ　ｗｏｕｌｄ　ｈａｎｄ　ｏｕｔ　ｆｏｕｒ　Ｍａｒｉｅ　ｂｉｓｃｕｉｔｓ　ａｎｄ　ａ　ｇｌａｓｓ　ｏｆ　ｊｕｉｃｅ　ｔｏ　ｅａｃｈ　ａｆｔｅｒ－ｃａｒｅ　ｋｉｄ　ｗｈｉｌｅ　ｔｈｅ　ｒｅｓｔ　ｏｆ　ｕｓ　ｗａｔｃｈｅｄ．
　
I remember how those biscuits became currency. Asha, you and I were friends until those biscuits came and then you would be queen of the playground and get some of the girls to do things for you in order to get those biscuits.  I remember how after a while I didn't care about the biscuits anymore and I secretly hated you for trying to manipulate me with them. For dominating the playground simply because you had the currency to. It wasn't enough that you were already faster and more athletic, that you beat us at games and your parents could afford to send you to aftercare. That your parents were richer than ours and soon bought a house near the school, you simply had to take away our dignity by bullying us hungry kids with biscuits.

I started carrying extra sandwiches to school to avoid the biscuit craze. I remember how beautiful a miracle it would be when a random kid would arrive at the playground after school and pop out their school lunch unfinished or even more wonderfully, untouched, and wither give away, break bread between the crowds or just use it to bribe everyone. More turns at a game. A sandwich for two after-care biscuits, sitting at the front of the line during line-up-time.

Or that angel kid that just gave her lunch away because she didn't like polony. First come first serve. The spoilt kid who never ate her lunch becuase the maid put to much butter in her sandwiches so she would only eat, juice-and-biscuits.

Asha do you remember you gave me my very first phonecall? I could never tell where I stood with you. First I liked you because you were funny. Then I distrusted you because I felt like you were making fun of me. Then you got a new best friend who shared a name with you and I was left with the other kids pining for your attention until your bestie suddenly left and then she turned into your enemy and we wouldnt stop hearing all her dirty laundry through you since she had been living with your family for a short while.

Then you gave me my first phonecall and that was sweet but I was nervous and I didnt know what to say to you. You asked me what I had had for dinner and I told you. I wanted to make it sound more special but I couldn't because I'm bad with lies. You giggled and I got even more nervous, wondering why you had bothered with all that effort to go get permission from your parents to use the phone to call me just to make fun of me. I asked you back and I let it rest until the next day at school you brought it up and laughed and laughed and laughed and I just sheepishly smiled and shrugged and left.
Why did you do that? Why did you enjoy making me feel like an idiot?

And  then there was the day it was just you and me, at the field after school. We were sitting on the grass, bored. We played a few games, found things to do and then ended up sitting again, bored. Then we started talking, about everything. Almost like we had been best buddies. And you said, can I tell you a secret? And I said yeah sure, you can tell me. And you told me you had started puberty, and I told you me too. And we talked about it extensively until you asked me if I wanted to see it. And I, a little surprised but even more curious, said sure, if you wanted to show me. And you did.  You lifted up your uniform dress and pulled down your panties and there it all was. I saw it and I was amazed. All that fur. Black and long and silky. And I was just weirded out that it didn't look like mine but we were both black. Yours was longer, darker, fuller, straighter.  You giggled and put it away. I was embarrassed and giggled too. Then you said I have to show you  mine because you had showed me yours. That had not been part of the deal. I said no. I told you I am shy. Then your face hardened and you said I had to because you had shown me yours. I thought that perhaps I was being unfair and I told you mine was different before I showed it to you. We both giggled. You then told me you hadn't seen it properly and wanted to see again. I protested and then eventually after your nagging showed you and felt embarrassed. I didn't have as much hair as you. I felt more naked. And when I covered up quickly, you just as quickly stood up and changed the subject. It was as if it never happened.  
I don't even know why all of that happened. But I had thought that we had gotten closer by sharing such intimate secrets with each other. Only to find out that nothing had changed really The next day you were to announce at the playground to a group of kids that I had shown you my private parts.  And I announced that you too had shown me yours, although I'm not sure who between us they believed. It was just strange for me. Why would anyone do that? I didn't feel hurt I felt embarrassed. But that was most of my primary school life. I didn't hold it against you.

And then came the day I slapped your little sister. I call that day blind fury.

It was a sunny day at the playground and I was sitting alone cross-legged on the grass minding my business as usual. I was reading a book . All I remember is that I was alone and all the other children hadn't made it down to the field yet so I was waiting. I was 12. Your sister was about 9. I liked your sister. I think I liked her more than you, She was a gentle kid, always laughing. She approached me as I was sitting and we exchanged greetings and decided to wait for more kids to come before we could play and I went back to reading my book. Then she started annoying me. Looking back, she probably just wanted attention but started poking at me and getting in my space and I got annoyed. I told her several times to stop but she was enjoying herself too much, giggling and playing the fool. I told her to stop, and she didn't, and so I got tired and kept quiet. And she kept going and going and going and and I had stopped giggling too when out of nowhere my arm swung forward and my hand released a hard forceful slap across her face. Startled, I pulled my head back a little and watched her face turn red, light skinned child she was, and my fingerprints had left darkred marks on her face. She was just as startled. Me, the girl who wouldn't hurt a flea, had struck her. I'm not sure who was more startled between us. I apologized profusely. I didn't know where that hand came from, or the blind fury that drove its force. I pleaded for her forgiveness and asked her not to tell you. I wanted to cry too, she looked in so much pain. I asked her to hit me back as hard as she could. She didn't. She went running, crying and disappeared  behind the classrooms and I didn't see her again that day. Or for a while at the playground

When she appeared again a couple of days later she calmly told me that she would tell you  and that I would pay what I owe. I had seen you, and you hadn't said anything so I had figured she must've not told you yet or you were plotting to get me back by surprise. All the time I felt guilty for hitting a child smaller than me, one that couldn't fight back for being smaller in size.
Needless to say that playground activities continued as usual and after a while I had thought we had all forgotten or even forgiven but I couldn't have been more wrong.

One Friday, lord knows I no longer remember what triggered it, but you Asha told me that it was time to pay for what I had done to your sister. You and your friend called me and your sister to the girls toilets and you told her to slap me. She did. Right across the face as hard as she could and I didn't cry. I was ready for it. I was willing. I would serve the price for hurting a little girl. I didn't cry. and that made you mad. 
Debating between the two of you your friend and you decided that she hadn't hit me hard enough and that you would have to hit me instead, to make it even, because you wanted to see me cry. And you did. You were taller, stronger, bigger than me and you hit me so hard across the face that it stung, that itchy sting, and I felt the tears welling up at my eyelids. I didn't yell to your pleasure. I shut my eyes and walked away. I didn't even sigh. I left you debating again with your friend whether or not I was crying now. I breathed. I was furious. I couldn't cry.  And that is when I knew, that we weren't friends. 

*name has been changed 

Untitled

A whirlwind stirred 

And in it I grew 

Spinning amongst the worlds

Collecting dust and flowers and debris

I threw out the old ideas

Guilt and fear and wonder 

And once I thinned so drastically 

Learned that these had forged most of my being 

I swayed round and round so fragile amongst the mists

That in all the turmoil of the everyday spin- about

The shadows broke me

At the hip I fell apart 

Beat about in the rising dusts 

Pleaded with the earth for a rock to hold on

Pleaded with the heavens for for rain

And once the drizzle came, planted myself like a seed

Firm in the ground

Now I will wait for the sun

Now I will hide behind a rock and follow the light

Despite the winds, I will rest my head gently on the moss that grows on it 

and fix my eyes on the sun

Enjoy every beautiful day that preludes the winter 

Wear my colors proud against the grey 

Feed and breed and dare to dream of tomorrow

And never again be afraid of the wind. 

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