CHAPTER 1

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!