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African Renaissance

Holden Caulfield



My grandfather was just as handsome as Jerome David Salinger. We weren’t Jewish though, or at least I never went to the best schools. I never finished school. I never received my high school diploma. I love too much. Sometimes I’m high. I’m sometimes low. I want to lick the screaming asphalt beneath my feet, the blinding sky, the limited point of view off people in general. I want to explore love, the world, many, many things. Books and countries, from Prague to Paris. But all I want is love. And the day is like a wound.

Salt gets its daily preferential treatment. I cast no pitch-black shadow. I have nothing to give but my acne scarred skin, and my racing heart, and unconditional love. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I don’t work. I only have, like Salinger and Hemingway, like Camus and Symborska, Rilke and sacrifice. All I have is pain. I guess it is selfish to be that self-absorbed, that self-indulgent. But I am a disciple. I am a loser. I am a winner. I am no saint. I just fall in love with them all the time. The feeling is generally unreciprocated. So, I pray.

I look at my reflection staring back at me. What do I see? I see someone like me. I see someone like you. AllI see is the windows to my soul. Can you see the pain in my eyes, the fact that I’m a born outsider? Unloved, unwanted, and yet to make a positive contribution to society. I’m trying to make this positive contribution o society. I want to fall in love. No one looks at me. No one looks my way. They all walk on by. I just want to connect. I just want to relate to him, to her, to someone like me. I’m finding it impossible.

I think of the literary greats. The dead novelists. Rainer Maria Rilke under the moonlight. Hemingway riding ambulances in the war. Hemingway the extraordinary man, profound thinker, the enigmatic reporter, the expert lover, the husband, the father who was the sun. Salinger the possessed machine. Bram Stoker the immortal. The invincible Russian writers. Nabokov (Russian/American), Pasternak, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Anna Akhmatova. Every poet that has ever lived. Live with imperfect me and be my love, Holden Caulfield.

I want to be invincible like they are. I want to rewrite history like they did. Bessie Head, Cartland, Colette, Jean Rhys, Gabeba Baderoon. I am emotionally damaged. Hold me tight. Don’t let me go. But you do. So, does he, and he, and he, and then I’m alone again. On my own again. Flying solo. Bird. Bird. Bee in the mist. These men will always be in my heart. Soon, I will find someone else. I don’t want to go around the world. I don’t want diamonds or pearls. I have mostly terrifying days. Life terrifies me. Love terrifies me.

Touch terrifies me. And however, however much I say I want to be loved, perhaps I really only want the physicality, the illusion, the masterpiece of it. But all of it, but all of it, the physicality of love, the illusion of love inside my mind’s eye, the masterpiece of love comes with the forever of burdens and cares, and the boy is unbelievably good-looking, but I want the man, and the house, and the son and the daughter that I could not give David, that sweet man. All I do is run game, go with the flow, love, love. Love is my priority.

But today, love is not my priority. Today I am invincible. Tomorrow I am untouchable. I like the way it hurts. Repeat. I love the way it hurts. And I don’t like to ask for help. I trust, I fall, I break. Yesterday is already another day. I miss you. I need you. I trust, I fall, I break. I hurt, I cry, I write poetry, novellas that never reach their novel stage. I never seem to reach the end of satin days. I tell the truth. I don’t believe in lies. You’re gone. But you’re gone. I never told you that I thought I could stay, and live, and be yours, yours.

And submit and obey you for the rest of my life.Shut up. Shut up. You don’t love me. You never wanted to share your throne with me. You never loved me. Your eyes lied. And when I asked you to love me, you ran. The men all ran. Women approach me. I’m really not into that. No lie there. I jut want a man to treat me gentle and kind, respect me, treat me like a queen, dance with me, take vows in a church. i’m not funny, but people laugh anyway. And Roberto was somebody’s father. And he said I looked like his daughter, so?

So, I guess that dream is over. I am scholar, I am writer, poet, half-woman, half-girl. Half desired-half dream. But nobody knew the real Norma Jean Baker. Was she happy when she was smiling, or always a frightened, and sexually abused child living the white lie of a celebrity life, hiding the truth about her maladjusted mother, being molested from an early age? Will the real-real Marilyn Monroe please stand up. We need to talk about sexual assault. I am always disappearing into the bathroom to wash my hair.

Little do they know. How selective I am about what I eat. I need happiness too. Why be happy? Why be normal? I am neither. I am neither. I keep smelling like perfume. I keep smelling like roses. I keep smelling of Ibsen. Tim Rice’ lyrics. I bite my tongue. Please, no more flashbacks about the old me. The sinner. The desired femme fatale. I would follow you, into your car, and we’d be pretending to talk about everything, except desire. And every time I open a book of erotica, I think of you. I spread my legs, and touch myself.

Afterwards, I eat. I sleep. I finally sleep. And I’m here, and you’re not. You’re in the air, you’re gone. You’re with your wife in your mansion. She conceived a child for you. Abused children turn into abused adults. Never knowing the absolute substance of love. If you’re happy, then I’m happy. Go to her. You will find no happiness there. You will not find any happiness with me. I live in both reality and non-reality. I miss you. You make me feel. Guess it is over. I don’t exist. I must find love again to exist. Must find a sweet man.

First things first. I am cold like winter, like snow, like disclosure, like my talk, my walk, my mouth, my man. Can nobody love me? Is there no man that can love sleeper-me?  I go deep like the sea. It is only the sea now that can un-break my heart. I run up streets. I run down streets. I die a succession of deaths with you, without you, only to be with you, whoever the man is can he please step into the spotlight now? I go through burning desire, recovery, angels, relapse a thousand times a day, and still he won’t love sweet me.

Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominated shortlisted and longlisted poet Abigail George is a recipient of four writing grants from the National Arts Council, the Centre for Book and ECPACC. She briefly studied film, writes for The Poet, is an editor at MMAP and Contributing Writer at African Writer. She is a blogger, essayist, writer of several short stories, novellas and has ventured out to write for film with two projects in development . She was recently interviewed for Sentinel, and the BBC.

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African Renaissance

Truth and the third wave of the pandemic: To be vaccinated or not to be vaccinated



Photo: Atharva Tulsi/Unsplash

I have endured the worst possible case scenario. Being locked up in a mental institution for six months while in my late teens, early twenties. Even though I was of sound body, mind and soul. I am 42 years old now and I haven’t come all the way back from that experience. Everyone wrote me off when I returned home to Port Elizabeth as Gqeberha was known in those days but worse was to follow. Inhumane treatment from those closest to me, rejection from society. I was taught that I had a mental disability and would never be able to work again, hold down a steady job or earn a monthly income. I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to now live on the fringes of society since I would be unable to make a positive contribution to society. For twenty years this continued. I had to all intents and purposes not only given up on myself, my personal success, development of my potential and fulfillment and engagement in a relationship that would lead ultimately to my future happiness. The goal of marriage and having a child, bringing children into the world and raising a family was not only put into the distant past, I thought that it would always be non-existent for me.

I would spend my time listening to sad music, love songs on the radio and wonder why it was not me caught up in the scenario of having a relationship with the opposite sex. I sank even further into the pit of the hell in f despair and hardship. I virtually had lost control over my life, received a disability grant which I did not spend on anything which I personally needed. Family considered me to be the proverbial black sheep of the family. When I got angry at the way I was treated I was certified. My rights were taken away from me. I was verbally, mentally and emotionally abused. I did everything in my power to be loved and accepted by both my maternal and paternal family which is why I believe so strongly today in dismantling the stigma that surrounds issues concerning mental illness and depression mania, euphoria and elation (however mild or all-consuming it might be). At this late stage of my life I have become an advocate for mental wellness. To stop the fight and curb the alienation and isolation of sufferers of mental illness. I want people from all walks of life to realise that people with mental illnesses can enrich our lives and can make a positive contribution to society.

I myself have always sought solace in writing. I have found it to be an instrument for change and therapeutic as well.

I have firsthand knowledge and experience of being called anything from schizophrenic to being diagnosed with bipolar mood disorder and because of the heavy psychotropic medication I have taken over the years I have had a host of illnesses presenting themselves. Chronic fatigue syndrome, insomnia, an underactive thyroid, chronic kidney disease, gout and heart disease. These diseases manifested themselves early on in my life before the onset of middle age when they would be more prevalent in someone who would be prone to these sorts of illnesses because of not living a healthy lifestyle.

I take each day as it comes now and live in the moment. I have my good days. I have my bad days. I have a mean temper and constantly have to watch what I eat, watch what I say and how I react to people who treat me as him I am a second class citizen because of everything I have been through in my life. Truth be told I always knew I was different. The depression started in childhood for me. I was always an overachiever. I would come home in the afternoons after school but no one ever helped me with my homework, told me either that they were proud of me or believed in me or loved me for that matter.

Everyday I am a work in progress. It is tough dealing with moodswing but that is the currency I deal in and the territory that borders my sense of self-control.

I have been called many names. None of them pretty or lovely. I have had zero support from my immediate family and my estranged family has complete written me off and washed their hands off of me thinking there is nothing they can do for me. This has been very hurtful and even has made made me feel quite suicidal over the years and in my hour if need, my hours of silence, pain and collective trauma I turned to God, prayer and meditation in my hour of need. At the time of the outbreak of the pandemic I got corona and was admitted to the psych ward at Provincial Hospital here in Gqeberha. I had no medical aid and was once again at the mercy of the system but I survived hell and that harrowing experience again to live to tell the tale of how to overcome the impossible, to live and to learn, to remain humble and kind even in the face of adversity and cruelty.

Loneliness, abject poverty, homelessness can either kill you or make you realise that you are powerful beyond measure and I have realised that I am powerful beyond measure.

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African Renaissance

Thoughts From the Frontline



Photo: Keenan Constance/Unsplash

“Hip/Hop, Trap. I would describe my music as different, unique, compared to what I hear in the music industry in South Africa. It is a different sound of genre based on hip hop. In my downtime I listen to artists like Mexikodro, Playboi Carti, Diego Money, Pyrex Whippa, Lil Gotit and Sahbabii. In my life my family has been and still is a major influence, I just want to see them happy and stress free. I want to be successful so that they can spend the rest of lives living comfortably. I chose music because I believe that it is something I’m good at. I wouldn’t call myself a musical genius, or say that I’m talented musically because I’m not but, I have taken the time to learn everything that I know today, I started as a rapper, but now I am a producer as well, a very good one if I should say, I mix and master vocals, well I try to. It is still something I am learning on a daily basis and I believe that one day if not soon, I will understand that aspect of music. The guys who I record with are so gifted at what they do, we really inspire each other to take it to the next level. I would be lying if I said that I inspire myself, well maybe I do, I don’t know, however what I do know is that we can go to the next level together because nowadays you rarely see a duo or a group of rappers in the South African music industry, there are 4 of us in our group including others who aren’t full time as yet, I think that makes the odds better for us to take it to the next level as opposed to being a solo” SUPREME ZEE, CEO OF Holidae Don’t Stop!

“What inspires me to take it to the next level is basically my daughter, Family and my everyday experiences growing up and living in Westbury losing friends and family to gang violence had a huge effect on me since a young age I’ve been through hell and back if I may describe in short and I’ve realized, to make it out you really need to dig deep. This is also one of the main reasons why I started writing music. I love Music, it is my passion that is mainly why I chose to make music, ever since a young age I’ve just been through the worst writing music and articulating every word I write is therapeutic. Manifesting and having faith in God has carried me through. Major influences in my life remains God, my baby girl, my family and obviously my Team Holidae Dont Stop! We always encourage one another to do our best we definitely do bring out the best in each other and I’d say the beats that supreme Zee creates brings out the best in me personally and it’s also one of the major influences in my music career it’s only elevated since the moment we started. In my down time I listen to All types of music mostly Gospel & HDS. I would describe my music as being one in a million very versatile, real and unusually different from the usual and it has an unorthodox flow and style to it so you can literally expect only the best” TheGR8ACE, CEO and co-founder of Holidae Dont Stop!

My inspiration comes from knowing that I have a God given talent and my friends (HDS) and family that motivates me day to day to do better. I chose music because as a hobby it is something I love doing which started out in high school where I had friends that used to rap over beats and I’d just stand within the circle and listen to their rhymes and it became to amuse me when I found out that there are people in my community creating their own music, whereas in 2019, I linked with the crew Holidae Dont Stop! and it has been a wonderful journey ever since! Learning and growing at the same time. My mother has played a role as one of my biggest inspirations including friends (HDS) have been a major Influence in my life, for they always pushed me to be a better me. Not giving up on me and providing not bad advice but love and positivity. I’ve been in difficult situation in the past and I am just trying to make a better standard of living for my family, my friends as well as my community (Westbury). In my down time I listen to various genres like Rock, Rnb, Hip/Hop, Rap, Emo Rap. I would describe our music as Western Plug for it derives from Hip-hop with an offbeat including 808s and guitar and piano samples that Supreme Zee (Producer) recreates and when hearing the beat, I can automatically put my heart on it.” Bando -recording Artist at Holidae Dont Stop!

 To conclude this, we are all from Johannesburg South Africa as one of our members spread across as far as Cape Town, temporarily. Our member who are not full time are – Leiph Camp (Splaash66) Stock broker, Razaak Benjamin (Glock) Salesman and Marion Reyners (Marion The Great) Facilitator. “Our music is Bold, Iconic and timeless” TheGr8ce. Our crew is based in Jozi (Johannesburg) although we do not have a manager as yet. Our follow up record will sound similar to the “Western Plug tape” that we have recently released, followed by 3 singles. Plug is a genre that derives itself from Hip-Hop and our next single will drop in 2 weeks. The link to our music is on all platforms and the Love and support would be much appreciated. We literally wont stop! –

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African Renaissance

Slavery and the real life bending sinister



What is slavery? It is nothing more than poverty of the mind. It is not a school of thought or a philosophy. It is scarcity. It is lack. It is cumbersome. It is heavy. It is a burden.

What does it have to do with politics? Ask what it has to do with genocide.

What does it have to do with the power of having a slave mentality? Just as easily as we rise, we fall. A leaf. Ask yourself this. Does the leaf or gravity have the slave mentality or is it just a path to its consciousness, and if it is a meandering path to its consciousness what does that make of gravity? Gravity is easily the culprit or saboteur. A cup carries water but how does the water break through the physical wellness of the body to sate thirst, how does water flow through the universal meridians and find sanctuary in all the wild places that the ocean cannot contain, in code, in which case what observations come out of these natural and bohemian studies.

A slave is a slave is a slave. My grandfather was a slave. My great-grandfather was a slave. On both the paternal and maternal side they are non-existent for me. I live for my father. My father is not a slave. You see his mind is not enslaved. His psyche, his mental, emotional, physical wellness, intellectual prowess and integrity is intact inasmuch as he is not a slave to the peculiarities and eccentricities of the people he finds himself amongst.

In the stages of my own life I can see that I have been enslaved (my mindset and attitude was) by my body image, my identity of cosmic Africa, the cosmos, my self as an African, what I was entitled to, my basic self esteem. I was a slave to my sister, her dalliances, her whiteness, her renouncing Africa for America then Europe and I understood what loneliness, family, friendship and family finally meant and this frightened me a great deal because I realised I had never really loved myself before. I was a slave to every moment up until I heard James Baldwin speak up. I had truly been a slave to waiting for someone to release me and offer me relief somehow from this kind of suffering and cognitive thinking. I wanted happiness but the price for my freedom was this. Somebody else had to love me before I could.

Ask what slavery has cost us as humanity. Look back at history. When I look back at history, all my life I never felt safe. Whether it was the bogeyman, or a horror film, or apartheid, or reading about apartheid, acknowledging it was the difficult part. How would you even begin that dialogue? What could you partner with those hectic images that left you with an urgency and a sense of betrayal from God? So, I grew up with an unpleasant disdain for middle class families in South Africa. It was easy for me to picture them as racist which they were and still are to a certain degree and yet how could I not be? The thought of slavery and decolonization never left me even as a child as I sought to fight for the betterment of society and to right all the evil wrongs.

Slavery is everything. It is primitive. It is visible if you look hard enough. We haven’t even begun to talk about or discuss in rational terms without venting or becoming agitated or irrational about race relations in South Africa or slavery as a concept or narrative in Africa.

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