soweto | waghni

I’m mostly skin-colour blind, but in this post I want to reflect on the struggles within the black communities.

You know that moment you have to protect your kids from some particularly mean neighbour? Well you won’t be protecting them if you did the same to them would you? The question to most blacks is: “How much do black lives matter to you?” More than your money? More than your tummy? More than playing life with that fine body? More than greed?

The title is inspired from Don Cheadle’s line : “Another Dead Niggers Association”, while talking to Kendrick on Kendrick Lamar’s hit song D.N.A. This song looks at the heritage of the black communities and the conclusion is quite poignant: “Sex, Money, Murder – Our DNA”. You can read more about it on Genius.com.
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Einstein is asleep in a Bepanda rubbish heap.
Newton is learning how to swim in Soweto poop.
Shakespeare is slumped in a car with extra lead
Losing the grams he suddenly gained on a Vegas road,
Then Dumas does same: different street, same oozing scenery.

D.N.A.

Is it a case of which or is it that each black life actually matters?
The geniuses seem to be electrons in the society’s first chapter,
Then the atom goes positive in self-wrought treachery

D.N.A.

You took Dube for his car, Njawe for his mouth, Lumumba for his mind, Pac
For his revolution, X for his convictions, Luther for his wisdom, Sankara,
For his vision, And their names scream from an unending roster in front of Peter.

Dead Negus Association

Then our mothers turn preemptive and kill
The next Mozart for fear of hunger, dump
The next Leke for fear of parental anger.

Where are the tears in these instants where the now seems better for all?
How to un-wrench my heart when the news comes out the radio speaker,
And the souls fly around one last time before going unaccomplished back home?

The miracle of the genetic mutation that brings genius to uplift our communities mostly gets lost earlier than on the blueprint:
Each gone by a gun or its mum.

(c) Nyonglema

People will treat you the way you treat yourselves. May blacks love their neighbour more so that hating you doesn’t look anymore like something you taught everybody. Love black lives

RIP to the fallen but: Non sine causa mortis. -Nyonglema

Why didn’t the police throw flowers instead,
As our Master recommends when your cheek gets beat
And you need to turn the other side of your head
In a Stephen forgiveness prayer in the battle heat?

See the children crying the tears of the future
They wished they had, fighting for generations to come
To see freedom and more, to dream of more than manure
And dung, to aim to the sky, but just that you stay calm

And listen. Why didn’t they throw flowers instead
Of gas to rose-prick the eyes, and blows to nose-bleed
Innocence, fighting back with stones, staring scared
But not afraid to give, give, give and sow this seed

Which was to be sown not in blood blood bloodshed?
Why let those lethal tubes let lead lash out
At Ndlovu, Hector, more, while others ducked, the floor red,
Life floating around clothed flesh wide-eyed open mouths.

See….see the children crying the tears of the future
Dreamed, which the next generation finally received,
And smile the smile of 100 years, sitting on pure
Bliss on a porch, like watching your eldest getting free.

Words from today to stir a new tomorrow from yesterday