I, iSangoma Leroy
I,
iSangoma Leroy of the lost African tribe, made my incantations to the relaxed
group of people seated around my refined village hut. I loosened the golden
yellow-knotted provisions of my kit bag, flanked by drummers, my audience sat
on logs others sat on deck chairs awaiting my annunciations for the day. The
South African, sun was committed to irradiating the bright colour of the women’s
traditional costumes. The sky was an outstanding intense turquoise blue. The
dignitaries were covered with a gigantic shade of dyed yellow canvas.
“Today,
I will show you my life, as to how we have all here come to be one,” I said
with predictive confidence.
The
purple silken linen embroidered with crimson lay down on the concrete stand
before me. Beating drums swayed the audience into a hypnotic trance. The
ominous rattle of the contents of the kit bag heightened the expectations and
provided a clue to a child percussionist. The rattle of the bag ceased, I held
it above my head and waved it to the entire crowd. The crowd hushed themselves
to secrecy. The hissing whispers “Prophecy, prophecy” filled the air. On cue, a
small child began to shake a gourd full of seeds. It was an impromptu
performance at an erratic pace. Not to be upstaged I turned to the girl and
smiled. The Gourd was laid to rest. The audience cooed at the strength of my
powers. More people began to gather round from all corners of the large
compound. Cars were still arriving. The case was turned upside down, its
contents disgorged onto the dais. The items fell down at random. The crowd
murmured as they crooned their necks to identify the items: Handcuffs, syringe,
pebbles, leaves, IC chip, keys, bullets, a skull, twigs, a pen, and seeds and a
wig I had gained as a trophy. A mirror shattered as it hit the stage. Some in
the audience gasped, others pointed as they recognised the items. They all knew
they were in for a dramatic adventure. A battered cymbal crashed! A drum roll
intensified. With one deep breath, I let out with all my might to a dignified
chanting the African Affirmation of the troubled souls of the lost tribes of
the middle passage as, follows:
As an African
I believe in Africa, I
believe in African people
I swear by all that is
sacred to return
To my motherland
To sleep under the
African skies and
To maintain communion
with the ancestral spirits of Africa
To eat and share the
fruits of my labour,
"I will not be
enslaved by others."
"I will fight for
my tribal rights and my African heritage."
I will enjoy my
freedom through dedication and the pleasures of my children.
Exploitation,
Starvation
And push until I fix
the African gardens of Peace.
Where, all tribes
shall be united as one.
I will tell my story
without obstruction or distortion!
