Have you ever been discouraged to pursue a dream?Well, It is never too late to try again.
Have you ever been rejected? Me too. Find me on: Spotify Twitter Instagram
“Get out!!” were the horrendous words screamed at me at a musical audition in the 90s. I had failed to hit the high and low musical notes required. I felt rejected and I heard the musical door slam shut behind me. I never had the courage to pursue music after that bitter rejection. Many years later (In 2010) I moved to Scandinavia where I became a father (In 2016) and moved to a small hilltop Danish village of Vorre on the outskirts of Skødstrup. It was there in 2018 that I told Lady Fie (my love) I wanted to learn at least one instrument. With no one to be my mentor, I prayed for the gift of music. That prayer has led me to playing the Handpan Space Drum. I feel like a blind man whose sight was restored. I feel like a cripple who has stood up and learned to walk for the first time. Playing the handpan makes me happy. In 2020 alone I have recorded 4 Albums, 2 EP’s and over 60 singles and much more is coming. You can hear my handpan music on Spotify and several other music platforms. Yours truly
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Friday, August 7, 2020
Have you ever been discouraged to pursue a dream?
Monday, December 14, 2009
"In May 2008, an orgy of blood letting xenophobic violence was unleashed against African immigrants by black South Africans."
[
Why bother to help him? He committed a serious crime punishable by public slaughter.
“Amakwerekwere(Deragatory term refering to a foreinger) BURN!” they shouted jovially and defiantly.
Amongst them, a bald headed Tami Xhosa, spotting tight brown pansula pants and red tennis shoes held a bloody and rusty machete in his right hand. He stared into the dying man's eyes.
The “rat” was on his knees, his charred body engulfed in thick scortching flames, his face barely recognizable; the life flashing before his eyes.
Surely, he was told that
As the scent of his burning flesh filled the air under the African sun, the ghosts of the motherland turned in their graves. HAD THEY TOO DIED IN VAIN?
[
Sweat dripped down Miriam Xhosa’s face; the echoes of her screams filling the Soweto Clinic corridors.
“Push!” yelled the nurse, standing over Miriam’s wide open legs.
“AhhhhhH!” she screamed out, grabbing tightly to the bedside poles with her now sweaty palms.
She pushed one final time; this time, the clinic corridors echoing the cries of new life.
“It’s a healthy baby boy!” remarked the nurse, draping the baby in a blue cloth before handing it over to the proud mother.
She held the baby and gently placed it in Miriam’s arms with a look of accomplishment about her. Not the accomplishment of financial success, but that of pride of what one does. She had been helping epxecting mothers deliver healthy babies at the clinic for years. She was short and stout and had a motherly look about her. Her name was Sister Agnes Madiba. This one was her fifth baby for the day and she was proud.
“Your baby is so beautiful,” she remarked again.
Tears of joy rolled down Miriam’s face as she held her little bundle of joy.
“If only Thomas could have been here,” she pondered, cuddling her new baby boy.
“So, what are you going to call him?” Sister Agnes enquired , wiping the sweat off Miriam’s forehead with a wet cloth.
“Tami Xhosa,” Miriam responded, with a sense of surety in her voice.
“That's a nice name. Is Xhosa his
father’s surname?” the nurse enquired again.
“No, his father's surname is Nhamo but the baby will get his surname after we get married. That is how our tradition works,” Miriam explained.
Meanwhile, Thomas Nhamo, the father’s child, was also sweating, but of the heat of the African sun, unaware that he was now a proud father.
“Let’s keep in a straight line!” he shouted,touting his placard as he lead scores of
Thomas marched ostentatiously, foot over foot, determined to protest the draconian decree by the South African government.
“NO TO AFRIKAANS” his placard read in bold red ink on a white cardboard that was fixed to a wooden plank.
As he marched along with the scores of student protestors behind him, the police commander was boiling with fury.
The police had barricaded the road, with a matching determination to stop the protestors.
They were fifteen, perhaphs twenty of them, all white Afrikaners who hated blacks with a passion. Their commander, a tall black haired Boer with bloodshot eyes yelled at the protesters to disperse, but they kept on marching in peace, holding their placards and determined.
The police commander was now getting frustreted with the protestors audacity. He now needed a reason to attack them. So he waited for a reason,any reason at all.
He felt as though the protestors were poking his asshole with a metal spike. Now red faced and agitated, he finally gave in to his angst and hatred for the kaffairs and yelled the fatal order to his troops,
”FIRE!”
he screamed out like a mad man.
Suddenly, a hail of bullets descented and cut through stomachs,ribs heads, sholders, limps and throats.
Thomas Nhamo fell to his knees, blood gushing through his forehead, his bullet riddled placard still in his arms.
This was his end.
His was a life cut shot; a promising life ended by several bullets from indescriminate firing by men who swore to safeguard the rule of law. His was a political activist life that began by fate in 1970 when he came to
Born in
Thomas enjoyed reading. Even when he went to herd his father’s cattle, he always carried books with him. He would find a quite spot on a rock or under the shed of the Muchakata tree and study through the pages, book after book.
“Uchapenga nemabook aurikuverenga! (You will loose your mind from reading all those books!)” other boys would tell him.
“Regai ndiverenge vakomana,(Boys Let me read, ” he would reply.
In the pages he discovered about a whole new and fascinating world. He learned of great conqurers like Alexander the Great and Napoleon. He learned about the men who had landed on the moon in
He aspired to study English and one day pursue a writing carrear like his favourite English writers, Shakespear and Charles Dickens.
Thomas would read anything he got his hands. It was all knowledge and the more he read, the more he wanted to know. Many times, he would borrow Father Walter’s Novels and soon they developed a strong freindship. Father Walter loved English literature and in Thomas he found an interllectualy fascinating book critic.
Father Walter was a kind hearted priest and belived Thomas had great potential. He assisted him to secure a scholarship to the prestigous
Subsequently, Thomas bacame the first member in his family and community to go to University. His father, Chenjerai Nhamo, slaughtered his fatest cow to celebrate his sons achievement.
His mother, Amai Nhamo, prepared sourghum beer known as “7 days” and sadza (milie porridge) for the hundreds of guests who came to their homestead to celebrate Thomas’s scholarship.
It was a huge celebration and the guests feasted on the meat and 7 days opaque beer. The drummers arrived as the sun was setting into the valleys. They beat the drums as if entranced and people danced into the night. It was a joyous day for the Nhamo’s, a glorious day for their community.
Thomas left for
As the bus rattled to life, Thomas’s mother waved and cried. She was proud. Noone in their family had ever been to University, let alone another country.
Chenjerai and Amai Nhamo looked on with pride as his son drove off in the bus. Both parents didn’t realise they would never see him again. Shortly, the bus drove into the red and glistering horizon, mother and father kept waving with tears of pride in their eyes.
The journey to the new land was long and fascinating for Thomas. It was like a never ending drive and his buttocks itched from the prolonged sitting position. He bend, twiched and shifted, but it was as if his buttocks had become like steal. Occasionaly the bus driver would stop and the passangers would run outside and stretch their legs while others relieved themselves in the nearby bushes.
It was a long journey but finally after two nights on the road they arrived. It was a beautiful country reeking with apetheid. Whites were Gods and blacks were,well, kaffairs(Derogatory term for a black person). It was a racially divided and segregated Nation, much like
Thomas found it hard adjusting to campus life. He longed for the days he spend hearding his fathers cattle in the green valleys of Chikomba. He longed for the sweet smell of his mothers pumpkins.
As a result, he became a very quiet and reserved student, only saying what he needed to. He kept mostly to himslef until one day when he had a new South African dorm room mate, Thabo Maleti.
Thabo was more talkertive and outgoing than Thomas. He was studying Education as well and enjoyed going to Shebeen Parties in the ghetos on weekends. He persistently tried to convince Thomas to join him on his weekend escapades, but Thomas always resisted.
“I have to study,” he would say.
“Ahhgg! This is not high school man. You have to enjoy yourself more. This is university!” Thabo would reply, but Thomas never gave in even though he was curious to discover life outside the campus walls.
He kept a strict study ethic, reading and re-reading until his eyes were heavy with sleep. However something was bothering his soul and nomatter how much he tried to brush it aside, it kept bugging him.
He detasted the way blacks were treated.
Deep inside his soul, he longed for a change in the human condition of the black man. He aspired to become a black Nationalist like Robert Mugabe and Joshua Nkomo; men who were fighting to liberate
In his second year in 1971, he was preparing to attend a lecture when his room mate, Thabo Maleti, came budging in.
“Hey man, you should come along to the University Hall. Steve Biko is going to deliver a speech about Black Consciousness. Come!” exclaimed Thabo, dragging Thomas along.
Thomas had read many newspaper articles about Biko’s Black Consciousness Movement and he admired his tenacity.
Reluctantly, he agreed to go along with Thabo.
“I am going to miss an important lecture because of you!” he stated, strolling quietly behind Thabo.
“Don’t worry, you will get the lecture notes from other students. You are smart. You will catch up!” Thabo replied as he raced in front of Thomas, heading towards the University Hall.
When the two got to the hall, it was already overcrowded with inquisitive students.
The duo found a spot near the Hall entrance and stood patiently, waiting for the revered Biko to deliver his speech.
“Good afternoon Ladies and Gentleman? Please help me welcome on stage our proud and fearless son of the soil; Steve Biko!” George Mbeki, the Chairman of the University debate club, announced.
Clad in a brown suit and a polka dot tie, a bearded Biko took to the stage and stood firmly before the podium.
There was an aura of fearlessness about him and Thomas decided to listen to what the man had to say.
“There is nothing wrong with being black!” Biko began.
“Black is beautiful.
Black is an expression of soul.
Black is the cradle of mankind.
Black is a child of God.
Black is you and me.
The world will never be free,
Until we are free.
Free from colonialism,
But most of all;
Free in our minds.
Stand up and be proud
Black is Pride!!!”
he exclaimed.
His words resonated with Thomas feelings about the black man’s condition.
Tears rolled down his eyes as the eloquent and enigmatic Biko spoke loudly and freely.
“Yes! Yes!” Thomas shouted at the top of his voice, applauding for Biko’s powerful speech.
“I have brought with me membership forms for the Black Consciousness Movement. Join us today and together we will be indestructible. Together we can face the world and tell our story. Together we can improve the human condition!” Biko said.
“I want to say something. I have something to say!” Thomas screamed out, forcing his way through the crowd, heading for the stage.
“Yes. Please brother,tell us what's on your mind,”Biko said, referring to Thomas who was now jumping onto the stage.
“What is that fool doing?”someone shouted from the crowd.
“No, let him speak. Speak your mind brother,” Biko said, welcoming a sweaty Thomas to the stage.
“Brothers and Sisters!” Thomas began.
“I am from
“Together we are powerful!
Together we are indestructible!
Together we have a powerful voice!
Together we can speak!
Together we will change the enemy!
We are all Africans!
Africans can never be
aliens in
We can't be slaves in
VIVA B.C.M!” he reiterated.
It was as if a powerful force had entered him. On that stage he became a different person from the quiet and low profile student he was previously. On that stage he found his destiny. On that stage he found the path to freedom, but it would come with a heavy price.
Even Biko was moved by the speech Thomas gave and the two went backstage, while George Mbeki took over the proceedings. TO BE CONTINUED...........
Monday, September 28, 2009
NEW BOOK RELEASE
In congunction with ABC (African Books Collective) Brookridge Publishing is releasing the following book title, writen by upcoming Zimbabwean author, Tendai Frank Tagarira.
Land GRAB
A look at
