MY AFRICAN ADVENTURE PART TWO

 The adventure continues.....

A break down of RAISING LAZARUS is to come, I am just waiting for some pictures and I will write about it. That deserves a post of its own!

So the rest of the week was a whirlwind of performances.

I must say SA poets or at least the ones I had the pleasure of hanging out with were pure and utter fire.

Mbali Vilakazi an amazing woman who created a theatrical poetical piece, dealing with immigrants, using the real voices of immigrants she had interviewed.

An artist who is eager to try something different, eager to push the boundaries of theatre and poetry. Meeting her made me realise how lucky I have been to have been given the space, time and facilities to develop my poetry into theatre and to have been given spaces to play and develop. I hope she is given the same chance.  Artists all over the world are literally dying to be heard, dying to create, dying to be able to put their work forward and be recognised and appreciated.

It was a piece, which had me enthralled, as it was dealing with a subject Europe is struggling with. South Africa is not the only country which is having a hard time accepting immigrants.

Another poet who blew me away was Lesego Rampolokeng. I spoke about him previously as we had visited Clairmont school together. He launched his book, described as part memoir, part poetry “A half Century Thing” and during a live interview on stage spoke about the book and the issues it dealt with.

A man who has lost none of his passion for life and none of his passion for tacking head on the issue of race and the legacy of apartheid. He has a sense of humour, which is both funny and devastating at the same time.  I have yet to read the book, but you can bet your bottom dollar I bought a copy, I would willingly eat every word this man has to give.

The South African artists I saw have a way of pulling words together, which can make you hurt, smile freeze or move. Some people spoke in Zulu or other languages, languages that created a barrier which I could not break through.

But you know what, I enjoyed listening to their rhythms and I enjoyed listening to these unfamiliar sounds, I was glad they spoke their own languages it just made me wish that I to had my own language to speak.

Each morning the ladies serving breakfast would laugh at my terrible attempts at Zulu, but even though they laughed they would still help me out and repeat things until I got it right or as right as I was ever going to get them. I have a little notebook I carry around and I am not ashamed to whip it out, when I need to, to find a word I have forgotten or to learn a new word. One can have no shame when trying to learn something new.

A cut in funding meant I was the only overseas poets, bar Nii Parkes who claimed both U.K and Ghana, (where he is now living)  when usually they have quite a few. I have not seen Nii in goodness knows how long so it was wonderful to catch-up with him, hear him perform and re-acquaint myself with him.

That worked fine for me, it meant I saw a lot more SA poets than would usually attend and I was saturated with amazing SA poets.

There are too many amazing poets to mention all of them so I will post pictures and leave comments under those pictures.

I want to mention Celiswa Majali We hit it off and I shocked her one morning, when Nokolunga taught me her name over breakfast, and I suprised her by saying it. You see the first letter in her name is a click, and it took a while for my mouth to get used to that click, but eventually after a lot of fighting between my lips it did.

Here is Celiwsa during at set at Poetry Africa, she is a great performer who performs in English and Zulu.

The final night’s celebration was an open air festival on a windy but well attended night, I can’t ever remember being at such an event in the UK. Poetry here is taken very seriously and the energy and vibe was too nice.

I wrote a piece that night at the dinner table, and created a chorus, which Celiswa and I practiced, then when it was my turn she jumped on stage and we done our thing. The audience must have liked it as they joined in with the chorus. By then I had nothing more to say really, I had already performed two sets of poetry, and Raising Lazarus and performed in two schools. There was nothing left to say to be honest. This piece called “AFRICA YOU ARE” was all that was left.

AFRICA YOU ARE

You are, you are, you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa.

You are my salvation and my damnation

The reason I am lost

And the reason I am found

You are my mother and my father

My teacher and my corrupter

You are the grease that soothes my cracked and parched skin

You are the lost child within.

You are my womb fertile and overbearing and words

And barren in seed,

Africa you are my confusion.

The place I should call home

But you are the one place I do not know.

You are a stranger

But stranger but strangely familiar

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa.

My colonised tongue struggles to hold you

You slip through my vowels

Passing through like water

You are the dark patches on my knees,

The thickness of my lips

The scoop in my back

The mystery in my eyes

and the black sweetness between my thick thighs

You are the struggle in my spirit

The ancestor in my fingertips

You force me to stand when I prefer to sit,

To scream when I prefer to stay silent,

Walk when I wish to crawl,

You are my contradiction

You are my pain, my joy,

My orgasm, my prison,

You are the struggle within,

The innocence and the sin,

The blood, the tears,

The black anger, the black fears.

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa

You are, you are you are my Africa.

Kat Francois

The chorus is a little sad and mournful, but I guess that was how I was feeling, the end of the festival, the end of a week of talk and debate and discussion and poetry, and running around and eye opening conversation. It would be a week I would not forget in a hurry.

ICEBOUND MAKHELE

He had a wonderful energy and flow and one of his poems had the whole audience chanting." Burn dem, and destroy them." Powerful words, powerful performance. 

VUS'UMUZI PHAKATHI
An funny talented poet who also takes on the alter ego of a singer, just what was needed after night of poetry and intense words.

MTHUNZIKAZI MBUNGWANA 

A poet who performed mainly in her traditional tongue and although I did not understand it was wonderful to hear her, a great performer is a great performer and this can transcend language. Her pieces covered rape and male circumcision. 

                                         THANDO FUZE

This poet was a joy to hear, young passionate and dealing with gender issues, which many others would shy from. 

KHANYI SHUSHA

A lovely soul and a beautiful poet, there is a calmness and wisdom about here which was great to be around. 

One of themes memorable performers was NTSISKI MAZWI, she was an amazing,  a well known singer/poet/songwriter who performed along alone side a very revered Durban musician. On the final night she was joined by some school children who sand and harmonised up a storm, I am not lying when I say it was one of the most beautiful things I have heard.  The joke is Rob has a track of hers he played regularly at Word4Word, he was gutted when he realised, after the festival who she was. 

There are still more poets and I will continue to introduce to them.

Poetry Africa was an amazing experience, and I am grateful for it, grateful for everyone who made it happen, and that I was even able to get out here in the first place. Travel is only ever a good thing, a chance to connect with others, talk, debate, discuss but most of all listen. Who would have thought that poetry would take little old me to the Motherland. 

I cannot claim to know South Africa, I have seen nothing of South Africa to be honest, but this trip so far has been one of both beauty and ugly, one of poetry and words,pain and joy, and dark and light. I cannot remember the last time I have examined race and race issues and the impact of racism so closely, day in and day out.

London is a bubble a protective bubble that we take for granted, which houses many different races and although we may not all get on, we survive, we cope, we blend, we mingle, we manage to live and work side by side. We are aware of the issues, we deal with them, we talk and protest and demonstrate and try and tackle them, but this level of racism and poverty I have seen here is on another level.

I have seen young boys, 12,13 year old's, begging, in the streets, there is no doubt they are in need, filthy hair, filthy clothes, there is something not right when the most vulnerable in a society are not protected. Some children here in rural schools are taught in classes of 60 plus, numbers which would have us up in arms. some cannot even go to school as they cannot afford uniforms or travel or food! 

Yes I know these are things we know, things we have heard before, but when you hear if from the mouth of the horse when you see the impact it has, it's a whole different story. 

You can no longer hide behind the safety of your own life because no matter how hard things are, not matter how difficult the reality is most of us live comfortable lives. Most of us have food, clothes, decent shoes and a roof over our head, to be honest most of us have mush more than we need. 

I am due back at Clairmont school, next Tuesday where I will perform in an assembly and run a workshop, before getting back to rehearsals, I will perform four shows, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and -Sunday, there is still a lot of work to do, we are piecing the play together at the moment, trying best to find the right way to tackle this most divisive subject of race. I am nervous, eager that we handle this right, sometimes I question what I was thinking, question what the hell I am doing in SA putting on a play with a white South African on race. This experience is not one I am going to forget in a hurry. 

Thanks again to Rob for the amazing pictures which accompany this blog.

I will keep writing, keep trying to put my thoughts, feelings and experiences into some kind of coherent ramble. 

I will be back soon, time is limited, whilst working on the play but I will try my best to keep you all up dated...

MY AFRICAN ADVENTURE!

SOUTH AFRICA PART ONE….

South Africa so far has been an experience.

I am a UK born Caribbean, a fish out of water.

This is a sharp learning curve.

I came with no preconceived ideas, but saying that we cannot help but form opinions, based on what we have seen, heard and even experienced.

South Africa is more than I could have imagined, more beautiful, more damaged…

Last week, the first week, flew by, I was with POETRY AFRICA the biggest poetry festival in Africa.

It was a week of performances, school visits and my play Raising Lazarus.

This trip I am accompanied by Rob, which puts a whole different spin on things,. This is my first trip to Africa and I have bought along my white boyfriend…. Go figure. Kat never does anything my halves.

I told him if we break up I would have to kill him, as he would have spoilt my first trip back to the motherland. I am aware, very aware, as I am when we go to any black country, that my experience as a black woman would be different if he was not by my side. What is a girl supposed to do; he is my other half where I go he goes.

I cannot lie though the times I have visited Grenada on my own, there is a 100 per cent relaxation factor I do not feel completely when walking around with Rob. Sad but true, but maybe that’s me, maybe that’s my own paranoia that people are judging me.

Who knows. I do not have time to unpick all of that now, but it is one of the realities of being in a mixed relationship. The world interacts with you differently and sometimes you have a sense of loss, a sense of exclusion. The sense that all kind of harsh judgements are being made.

There is a certain amount of anonominity you give up when you are in an mixed relationship, especially if you are in environment where mixed couples are rare, you are no longer just the English girl, you are the English girl, with the English man! This may well be a discussion for another time, another day, a poem, a play, a book........

The first week I have spent in a lovely four-star hotel in Durban opposite the sea, the views were stunning and on the days when the sea was rough and angry I enjoyed viewing the white surf being battered against the shore, against a bright blue sky.

I ran a number of times, desperate to work off the breakfast buffet, I was partaking in in the mornings. The best thing I saw on one of my runs was four monkeys siting in the middle of the path, chasing runners. They meant no harm and were just having fun and much better to look at than London pigeons.

I have tried my best to pick up some Zulu which is the main African Language spoken here, saying that it is one of 11 official languages,. My head hurts just thinking of that.  Anyway I have succeeded in embarrassing myself many times, but since I am shameless I will keep trying.  I can say, thank you, hello, please, yes no, may I have… not much but it’s a start.

I performed last week Tuesday. I had my twenty minute set and it was a real nice night, the SA poets are fiery and passionate and a joy to watch and experience. I performed “White boy are you fuc*ing crazy,” it was a new experience for Rob to have a mainly Zulu crowd chanting the chorus at him.

I wrote this poem based on my experiences of trying to twist my tongue around Zulu and performed it that night.

THE COLONILISED TONGUE

I wish I could eat the Zulu language or any African Language

Shove it greedily down my throat,

Then magically speak fluently

But my colonised tongue cannot cope with the….

Tut's and the clicks and the knocks

It crunches and bites and scrapes and attacks with no subtlety

Although my colonised tongue is housed among black gums and thick black lips

It cannot cope with the tut's and the clicks and the knocks.

My colonised tongue fights, chews, beats up, struggles, dominates then spits out word such a sayo bono, injani and Ga bon, with such vulgarity and violence, locals laugh.

Then my colonised tongue becomes tied, shy and fretful and refuses to talk at all., for she is used to being understood, she is used to being privileged.

My colonised tongue has lost its way

It was lost at sea,

A sea, which stripped and swallowed black bones so hungrily,

It was lost somewhere between the African continent, the Caribbean and finally the U.K

“Have you seen my tongue, Have you see it, have you seen my tongue, have you seen it, I have lost my tongue, my African tongue, if you happen to see it, please return it, for I will never be a true African without an African tongue.”

My Colonised tongue has been bastardized, it betrays me, speaks perfect Lilly white Queens English. “How are you isn’t it a lovely day, shame about the rain, would you care of a cup of tea?”

She is embarrassing

Struggling with the clicks and the tut's and the knocks,

My ears hear, but cannot translate to English lips, which sit patiently waiting to mould new words into new sounds.

But these words are elusive and slippery and they refuse to stick.

I watch confused as African lips move as fast as fluttering butterfly wings,

these words sing.

My words are sour, soaked in the stench of slavery; they do not belong to me,

But they are the only words I know.

My English tongue is petulant, impatient and violent, she is a conquering force used to having her own way, she is unruly, uncontrollable, demanding.

She treats languages roughly, chews on them, sucking out their marrow until nothing but a carcass is left.

My English tongue is accustomed to being understood,

She is accustomed to being valued and upheld,

She is accustomed to being taken seriously.

My English tongue chased away my African tongue, forced her to retreat.

Now my African tongue like my African name is lost.

My black body is adrift without them. A tide without a shore to call home.

I am one of your lost children.

I am a Caribbean slave child.

My African tongue was whipped, stripped, beaten and stolen from me,

Until one day she fell silent

To the tut's and the clicks and the knocks

For they were too painful to remember.

CENTRE FOR AFRICAN LITERARY STUDIES 
UNIVERSITY OF KWAZULU-NATAL
The whole group took a visit to a library, which is housing books on African Literary, it was a small but very important library.
Run by an old white lady who is dedicated to collecting as much work as she can.
Nii Parkes who was also with  on the trip, found a book of his poems and his uncles poems side by side.

They need more books, as money is short and although their collection is comprehensive, they are missing lots of work. Books are also needed for children, so when I return I will be collecting books and sending them out. Every child should be able to have a book or two to read. It makes you think about how cheap books are here, that we are lucky enough to have some very cheap book shops around, or have books handed down to children.

It also makes you think about all the Libary's which have been closed at home. The library I practically grew up in was been shut for years. Books when I was small were not as cheap as they are now. Mum would take us every Saturday, it was the one place that she knew she could shut me up. I devoured books like custard cream biscuits.
I was happy to find a corner surrounds myself with books and would stay like that until forced, angry and tearful to return home.

CLAIRWOOD SECONDARY SCHOOL

Last week Wednesday I went to Clairemont secondary school, which was a group of 14-16 year old boys and girls, who were so excited and so welcoming, the teachers were so happy to have us. I went with a poet called Lesego Rampolokeng who is from Soweto and who holds no quarter with the world and speaks as it is.

We debated and talked and debated and discussed in the ride to and from the school. I am full of questions and queries, I want to know so much. I also listen, I have learnt that listening is the best way to learn, let people talk and soak in all they are willing to give.  `More on him later, but all I will add for now is he is a very interesting, charismatic but also scathing man, a man who refuses to allow amnesia to cloud his view of the post-apartheid world.

We performed poems and answered questions. The most special moment for me was when this room full of African and Asian kids sung along to the chorus of RISE DARK GIRLS RISE. I cannot tell you how that made me feel inside.

I got a whole heap of hugs at the end, and those too shy to share their poetry in front of the assembly, shared it as we all stood around, they also made me perform RISE DARK GIRLS RISE for a second time.

That experience was one I will not forget, I am hopefully going to get back out to that school before I leave for an assembly and a workshop.

CHATSWORTH EDUATION CENTRE

I visited on the Thursday. It’s an education centre for training teaching and they bought in a number of schools, this time my poetic partner was Nokolunga Dlada a fiery South African who performs in English and Zulu. We have become good friends over the last week, and hopefully will see more of each other during my stay after the festival. She is smart, fun, powerful and passionate, just how I like my friends. A teacher by trade, it was lovely to share a this experience with her.

This occasion was a little more formal  compared to the previous school, I for the impression the pupils had been warned to be on their best behaviour, but the students were lovely and quite a few of them came up and performed.

One girl took my breathe away with her powerful poetry, the piece was heartfelt, emotional, raw and just what poetry is about …. self expression. At the end we gave a t-shirt to one poet who we felt deserved to be recognised and I gave mine to her. This beautiful black child, with dark slim, short cropped hair and a strong frame with a strong voice.

All week we spent the evenings watching performances, and all week I was blown the fu*k away by the quality, passion and performances.

One young lady I will call her my little black bird and straight up I have adopted her as my daughter. Her performance was the most strong yet vulnerable performance I have ever had the honour of witnessing. She spoke on suicide and depression and the killing of 3 men for stealing in the township she grew up in, and her part of a baying mob that watched them burn. I tell you I had to hold it together real tight, not to break down and cry. It has been a long time since I have heard anything so touching and raw and exposing. She is also the tiniest little thing but also one of the bravest poets I have ever met.

This is what I am taking about, poetry that makes you feel, poetry that makes you angry, poetry that makes you cry, poetry that makes you want to crawl out of your skin and crawl into the words. Poetry that you will never forget, that leaves a stain, leaves a stench or a scent, you cannot wash away.

I need to break down the levels of poverty and racism I have seen here, but that is all to come.

I have also met many amazing, open and honest people have spent time speaking to me in great depth about South Africa and both it's beauty and it's ugly. There is never enough time in a day to document everything, but I will try and keep a track of what is going on and share.

I will leave it there for now. I am now moving onto this mad crazy, challenging scary project with a White South African Artist Iain Robinson, who I fist met ten years again at the World poetry Slampionships in Rotterdam, we are working on a piece dealing with "Race"I must be fu**ing crazy! Please pray for me…….

Thanks to Rob for all the great pictures and as always the invaluable support. 

Thanks to everyone who has made this journey possible Poetry Africa and Iain Robinson especially.