I find fault in the use of ‘African’ as a prefix to words like Alchemist, or Boy, or King. I understand our current predicament. I understand that calling oneself an alchemist only arouses the image of a bearded old man – a white man. Our history was white-washed and our mindsets enslaved by nursery rhymes. It is our identity that was chained and taken away on dhows to the lands we once conquered. We were forced to return as servants. Our gold ornaments hidden away in vaults, our hair called shaggy, our beards trimmed to please the “Suh”. Continue reading WORDS| Black James Bond
Some days are special. Some days you wake up and you notice the birds chirping outside your window. These are the kind of days when you really feel that the world has the potential to be beautiful. That it was indeed intended to be a garden with rivers of honey and gold flowing freely. That all men were destined to be equal, to eat fruit and to pet cheetahs; to weigh the world between their ears, to mull over the balance that is needed in the animal kingdom and to ponder upon the issues that arose the previous day – the smaller animals’ complaints against the larger ones. To meditate. To reason. To think.