The Reawakening of the Earth

Posted on by Coconuttish

There are many moods and meanings to the season of Winter. For some, winter is their most miserable time of the year. It represents a certain kind of death — wildlife goes into its different forms of hibernation; the birds go silent; the environment is less lively; we retreat into our homes to keep warm and we are at our most vulnerable physically and spiritually.

But for some, it presents an opportunity to be still, to isolate, hibernate, turn down the volume and the chatter, redirect focus towards spirit and inner life and go deep inside ourselves. To me, winter resembles more of a period of rest and recluse — it presents a white sheet for a new start or a kind of physical, mental and spiritual maintenance in anticipation for the Spring; the season of rebirth and new beginnings. So, if Winter season is about death, then the Spring is about coming alive again.

In the Southern Hemisphere, our Winter solstice occurs in on or about 21/22 June while our summer solstice occurs on or about 21/22 December every year. The Winter solstice is the first official day of Winter, marks the exact moment when half of Earth is tilted the farthest away from the sun (often said to be coldest day of the year) and also marks the shortest day and longest night of the year. Equally the Summer solstice marks the beginning of Summer when the sun is closest to us (often said to be the hottest day of the year) and marks the longest day and shortest night of the year.

The winter solstice is the actual origin of Christmas because this is when they celebrate Christmas in the northern hemisphere; a custom that was then imposed on us here in the southern hemisphere by the West. It has never made sense for us in the south to be singing “let it snow, let it snow” on Christmas Day in December when the sun is at its zenith and at its closest point to us than it is throughout the year.

On a side but related note, what I have found interesting to learn is that ancient African Kingdoms used to observe seasonal changes and marked them through certain rituals and ceremonies. One remaining example of traditions that were previously common practice in many African countries is Incwala or the Incwala Festival in eSwatini (Swaziland). This is a national ceremony led by the Swati King and royal family and takes place during the first full moon after the summer solstice when the sun is at its closest to the land and its people.

Those who follow and study African ancient alchemy say that because this ceremony is performed during the summer solstice, people who attend it walk away recharged and nourished with hydrogen to sustain them for the rest of the year’s cycle and the land is also nourished from the rains that follow after Incwala. Incwala also involves a rain dance to the moon goddess (uNomkhubulwane) because she controls the waters and it is said that it almost always rains after Incwala. Thus, the ceremony honours both ancient African solar and lunar deities — sun and moon, masculine and feminine, fire and water — and the strength of the Kingdom is celebrated.

The seasonal change we are currently experiencing here in the south however, is the transition from winter to spring or what is known in ancient African and Egyptian history as the season of NUT which begins between the 21st and 24th of August. In the traditional Zulu lunar calendar, the month of August is called uNcwaba and represents the end of our year, the end of the cycle of the earth around the sun. AmaZulu named the lunar months according to the rhythms and changes they see season after season, as they lived off the land.

NUT as she is traditionally depicted by the ancient Egyptians. NUT means sky in the ancient Egyptian language. The the season of NUT begins between the 21st and 24th of August and ends before the Spring Equinox on the 21st of September. NUT is the goddess of the sky, the cosmos, of astrology — she represents the beginning and the end of the human experience. NUT the season of Pisces.

“August is uNcwaba in isiNguni because in uNtulikazi (July) we experience a lot of dust and small drizzle of the rain IMBOZISA MAHLANGA; that’s how mountains begin to turn Green ukuba Ncwaba. Our moths would then begin to work the soil so that in September they’ll begin to harvest those vegetables; UKWANDULELISA. (Source: https://www.quicket.co.za/events/181510-uncwaba-we-celebrate-you-by-mbuso-khoza/#/)

The year began with the newborn growth of spring in the month of uMandulo or what is called September as per the Gregorian calendar that was imposed on us. I will go into the months of the year as per the Zulu lunar calendar at another time but what is important to note for the purposes of this post is Africans have always been in touch with nature and its rhythm. You only have to look at how we named our months and their meanings as one such example.

Back to the season of NUT and the reawakening of the earth in the southern hemisphere. NUT is the goddess of the sky, the cosmos, of astrology — she represents the beginning and the end of the human experience. NUT is the season of Pisces and on the 31st of August, we will experience the full (super) moon in Pisces. This is the second full moon we are experiencing in August 2023.

Just as the winter season is drawing to a close, in this season we see and feel a lot of things coming to their completion. Nature is starting to green and come alive again which is representative of the cycle we are in. It is the season of endings which usher in new beginnings and the energy of the season supports completion of things you have been working on. As Africans, we have always relied on the cycle of nature to prosper. The new moon at the beginning of the springs gives us the opportunity to plant the seed of the things we want the most, in fertile ground.

NUT also comes with a lot of reflection and epiphanies on the past season/year/cycle and supports you in generating new ideas for the future. This is also a season of having intense, vivid and prophetic dreams and it is important to write them down as they will make sense sooner rather than later.

So, if you have been grieving or been in a period of mourning, this season presents an opportune time to let the grief go. Trust yourself, trust the universe, trust the process, trust the universe and most of all trust God to take care of what is out of your control. Energy is nature and it is important to allow yourself to be part of the reawakening of nature so it can give you new life.

Ndlelanhle kuNcwaba (cheers to August). You leave us with freshness and newness.

p.s… and at the dusty end of this winter, the African Rainbird sings like a bubbling stream to announce the coming of the rain.

The African Rainbird is said to sing to annouce coming of the rain.

#COVID-19 – Let us allow nature to reset itself during this time 

Posted on by Coconuttish

Okay, so bullshit aside and brutal honesty –  we humans deserve this moment in history. 

This is not to say the death of thousands of people and the cancellation of so many things isn’t tragic and sad but let’s takesome time to indulge nature for a minute here.

Since time immemorial, we have used and abused this planet without giving anything back and it’s actually about damn time nature fought back. There’s a story making the rounds online on how Venice’s water quality has substantially improved since the lockdown resulting in the return of its dolphins and swans to clearer and cleaner waters. How amazing? Go check out the photos, they’re beautiful. Recently I also read somewhere that the air in China is clearer than it’s been since, well, ever? I make joke. 

On the real though, for how many years now have we ignored nature’s call for a break and end to our savage littering and polluting ways? For how long have we had warnings about the hole in the ozone and global warming and we have done absolute squat about it? The Earth has been congested for yonks and I for one am a big fan of taking back one’s power and agency when it has been misused. I salute anything and anyone who refuses to no longer be taken for a poes. 

On another note, how tragic and revealing that it’s taken a global pandemic to expose the full extent of just how filthy we are as people. So many people actually do not wash their hands and it stinks, literally. There are lessons we are being taught on going back to basics and speaking of which, I hope this time also teaches people, especially those of that other gender, a thing or two about self-restraint and not encroaching of people’s spaces unnecessarily.  I hope this moment is going to remind and teach you that to touch someone without their consent is a gross violation of their personal space. I for one am the happiest chappy over that one metre rule right, expecially in these queues at the supermarket.

Fellow members of the human race, the time has come to reflect and reset factory settings. We humans also need a break. We have become so accustomed and are obsessed with constantly being on the move that we have forgotten what it means to really relax to feel the rhythm of our hearts and the tempo of the universe. We have forgotten to periodically stop, listen and align. This is why tempers flare all the time, why we are so impatient with each other, why mental illnesses and suicides are at an all time high and why we are so sick and tired all the time. 

We have so many unrealistic expectations that are placed on us and equally place so many on ourselves that we have forgotten to appreciate the moments when you have nowhere to go and nothing to do. We are a society driven by constant false deadlines and we drive ourselves to mental and physical exhaustion because we have forgotten to take it easy on ourselves and others from time to time.

Sure, fine, COVID-19 won’t halt global capitalism and as a scholar of the humanities, I am not exactly best placed to comment on the economic ramifications of it all but the anarchist in me cannot resist getting a bit excited at recent developments. 

All the  things going wrong at this time are awful but I’m compelled to also acknowledge the things going right.  It is definitely going to get worse before it gets better but let us be honest, we deserve it because we are a shitty lot. 

I say good on uNomkhumbulwane (Mother Nature) for taking the stand and rock on for making people look inward for a change. 

On the Rainbow, Racism and Unanswered Questions

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Everytime someone says something racist, people keep asking if black people can be racist. This is giving me sleepless nights and is making my head spin so this entry is a challenge to myself to think this through so I don’t collapse from dementia and also convince myself that I’m not cray cray.

As a country, we are not that great at talking about race and this is not our fault. Mandela’s Rainbow is a concept that has continuously been forced down our throats and now that we are vomitting it all out because life for black people is still shit and the Rainbow doesn’t feed us, people want to act shocked and surprised and blame third forces like they’d thought this Rainbow concept through in the first damn place.

I want to take a step back.

I think people were clear on what racism was when everybody was fighting to end apartheid in the 60s, 70s, 80s. It was the system, apartheid:  It was visible and had been oppressing everybody who wasn’t white, it was legal because there were laws put it place that made apartheid okay and it was institutionalised because it permeated and dictated every part of life. From toilets to beaches, every institution was separate, unequal, maintained for the clear purpose of subordinating non-whites and benefiting all non-blacks.

The anti-apartheid movement was huge and was inspired by many others that were taking place all over the world at the time. The movement also included white people which then put a spanner in the works in terms of identification of the real enemy, how to act in fighting this enemy, how black and white people were going to work together and more importantly, conceptualising what life was going to be like after the end of apartheid. Nevertheless, the struggle gains momentum, becomes stronger and more influential and people start realising and recognising their own power for what it is.

But then of course, this upsets the apartheid government and they go into a huge frenzy of arresting movement leaders, banning political parties and sending people into exile because of course the truth is one tough pill to swallow and power is one helluva drug. So the movement is in disarray but then Steve Biko emerges with black power and 1976 happens to again shake things up but then they kill him. They also kill Robert Sobukwe MK and POQO are also busy at this time but the whites remain unshaken and resolute.

What happens next is just my reading of events.

The ANC was big on non-racialism from the word go – that all South Africans get into kumbaya formation, love one another like the 1913 Land Act and colonialism never happened and stop seeing racial lines that we never created in the first place. Things are awkward now because Mandela, Tambo, Sobukwe, etc are in jail and the whites have to try negotiate with them because the other bigger bosses in London and Washington are threatening to not give South Africa some Rugby World Cup glory and of course of this is too much to bear for Botha and team.

So as the dominant political party at the time, the whites negotiate and who knows what happened to the question of land being returned to their rightful owners but the point here is that this obscure concept of non-racialism wins because whites needed reassurance that the natives were not going to kill them and they wouldn’t be forced to swim across the seas back to Europe. Then people vote in 1994 and while some people are unhappy (another story for another day), the euphoria takes over, we end up winning the Rugby World Cup, the TRC established for some of us to cry about our oppression, RDP gives some blacks houses to shut them up and the Rainbow Nation Project is in full swing.

Fast forward 20 years later and the Rainbow loses its chill.

Everybody is a racist and nobody can really tell us why and nobody is punished for a thing we feel and cannot name and condemn. Again, this is just my reading of how things are fucked up and stuff. I am saying that nobody really set the rules of engagement when it was decided that it was now okay to play play together – this is why this racism remains a thing. Back then racism was apartheid, it was all the people like Verwoed and his gang but is it that when apartheid ended, racism also ended? I think not. The Rainbow’s primary purpose was to make believe whites weren’t going to be racist anymore. But they have and for everyday, we have a new racist and everybody can fall into this category because the language for us to communicate effectively about racism was never saw light of day, a conscious decision was never made about whether or not we were keeping this black and white thing, we never really talked about how we were going to deal with racism and the fundamental circumstances created by racism that keep black people from flourishing in life, remain.

Blacks were sold out and sold dreams that have never materialised and people want to say black people are racist? The bus needs to there because black people do not have the capacity to practice a deliberate structural and institutionalised hatred and oppression that seeks to keep others inferior on the basis of their skin colour. We are not capable of this evil, there is something fundamentally wrong and twisted in imagining things this way and those on the “Ntokozo Qwabe is a racist for asking about the land” need to check their reading on the privilege barometer is and go meditate by the Rainbow.

The colour of our skins condemns us and the very systems created that seem to only benefit white people remain.

 

 

Of Fat Bellies, Protest, Violence and Laughter

Posted on by Coconuttish

Love this narrative by Tiisetso. The future is going to be very lit if Fees Must Fall is anything to go by.

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uct.pngBy Tiisetso Tlelima

Occupy Luthuli House! The moment had come; black students set to confront those in power. Those who are not only liable for the pain and suffering of fellow blacks, but also pride themselves in existing  as the buffer between the poor black majority and the insatiable white minority. Yes, the ones who call Luthuli House their home. They sit there every day you see, parading their fat bellies and stuffing their faces with Nandos.

Black students bellow: “Fees Must Fall!”

The big bellied people retort: “Students Must Fall!”

Then they laugh and laugh and laugh. They laugh so hard the students can see the fangs protruding where their molars should be.

The laughter is a loud thunderous one that pierces through the hearts of thousands of black workers who wake up at the crack of dawn to vacate the labour camp that is Soweto in order to…

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Winnie has solitary confined herself in lies

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The UDM’s Khanyisile Litchfield-Tshabalala presented some thoughts and arguments that got me and the Nzinga Collective quite excited on August 30. I tried to reflect on them in this piece.

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Winnie

A reflection on the “Winnie as a danger to the ANC” Nzinga Conversation by Silindile Nyathikazi

I don’t know about you, but for me there is a strong resemblance of Khanyisile Litchfield-Tshabalala (KLT) to Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. We have been cheated of both in the past and in more recent times.

People may differ when it comes to KLT’s credibility especially in the current political dispensation particularly with her recent move to the UDM from the EFF, but there is no denying that there has been a certain kind of way that KLT has stood resilient in a very charged, volatile and agenda-driven political space. Yes, many may have got to know her just because of the EFF but there is more to KLT than meets the eye.

There is a silence and stillness that engulfs the room when she speaks on issues, particularly those on Pan Africanism. When you listen…

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Winnie Madikizela-Mandela: Prisoner Number 1323/69

Posted on by Coconuttish

If Paki’s review of Winnie’s book is anything to go by, then our this talk on the 30th is gonna hotter than fire. I really like how one of the sub topics is how her politics have at times contradicted the dominant politics within the ANC. Whooo, iz gon’ so be naarce. Don’t snooze, don’t sleep.

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This is a review of the book 491 Days. Prisoner Number 1323/69

By Pakama Ngceni

Winnie Madikizela-Mandela could have done with stage 4 load shedding in May 1969.

Police kicked doors open to her Soweto home, scavenged through intimate belongings, took her away, to a windowless cell. The only light came from the electric light burning day and night. This was the start of a 491-day period for her and 21 others rounded up under Section 6 of the Terrorism Act, and thrown into solitary confinement.
“The difference between day and night or daybreak and dawn is hard to tell when you can’t sleep,” Winnie writes in her book, 491 Days. In the book, she shares diary entries written on loose pages and smuggled out of jail through her lawyer David Soggot.

491 Days almost reads like a liberation manifesto against captivity. That is if we could stop pretending that…

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21 years of deception

Posted on by Coconuttish

There’s this thing they always say about this distorted history that’s always been constantly fed down our throats ever since the day we learnt the alphabet but you never quite truly grasp the extent of it until you hear the truth from the horse’s mouth.

I sat and listened to Xola Tyamzashe talk about POQO and the Azanian People’s Liberation Army (APLA) one Saturday afternoon and got shivers down my spine, to say the least.

He gave facts and told countless stories of the hundreds of political prisoners still languishing in jail that will tear you to pieces.

The late Jafta Masemola was the longest serving political prisoner in South Africa, but do you ever hear anything about him? No. There are an unconfirmed number of APLA comrades still in jail and while there have been three sitting presidents under the ANC government who promised the release of these prisoners over 21 years ago, people are rotting in jail. Why? The ANC won’t give you that answer. Amongst these political prisoners still in jail, many are dying, getting buried in unmarked graves. Many are losing their minds and dying in this state. Some are released in secret but don’t have anything to come to be coming back to because of broken promises. No homes, no families, no work and nothing but emptiness to look forward to on the outside.

So apparently, the state does not recognise prisoners who fought in the struggle as political prisoners; they are regarded and treated like common criminals. After the negotiated settlement happened, these prisoners applied to be heard at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission but they were never called for their cases to be heard. The government simply decided that they not be released. Today, the problem in our jails is so bad that apparently even prisoners who get charged on rape, theft, etc. are able to claim being political prisoners when they are incarcerated.

Cde Matigari weighed in on the discussion and also gave an analysis that broke me even more. He made it quite clear that the APLA problem is a problem of a liberation movement incarcerated and said: “The current system was simply inherited – it is the same system as apartheid but just under different management.”

He believes the fact that we still have freedom fighters in jail symbolises that we have a freedom that is not free. Of course, there is no greater insult than this because it symbolises an aborted project of national liberation. So imagine a whole country having a mass abortion with the few elites like Cyril Ramaphosa spitting at people, like they still do today.
The question then turned to what the psychology is behind this treatment? So apparently, and this should not come as news to most of us, but the ANC has never been about national liberation. APLA comrades are in fact casualties of a struggle betrayed. In other words, they actually never loved us, not one little bit.

“The problem with us is that we want to give birth without dying.” At this point I was freezing my ass off.

Fast forward to 2015 and and Cde Matigari says we are at the point where Robert Sobukwe and them were back then, i.e; a crossroads and decisions need to made about what we’re doing and where we’re going and there can’t be any more talks about a common humanity while we are not in a position of power, while we are in a position of weakness. We need to be defiant. We cannot continue to form part of the very system that oppresses us.

What we have been in the past cannot hold anymore. There is a need for rapture.

I still want to

Posted on by Coconuttish

I still need to go back to academia and teach. I still need to go back to academia and learn. Perhaps I still need to back to my mothers breasts and suckle all over again. Don’t think anyone knows anything for sure.

But, I still need to perform as an employed person, even though I was never prepared to be one, even though never  wanted be one. Actually, I never wanted to be one.

Anyway, I must still teach others what I never was taught myself. I must still teach myself! (Sorry, “they” are not interested in this part of my life.) They don’t even know this. I must still grow and flourish and still “stay slaying” in all of this mess that I’ve lived and that’s been handed to me.

In all of this, I  must still stay sane and level headed and still stay being on time for things that have got nothing to do with me or my bigger picture. In all of this, I must still obey and, as some would tell me, keep my head down. I must get dictated to because apparently that is how you learn. This is just something someone once told me.

In this world of constant disappointment, hate, crime and even more crime, I must still go home and find my big girl panties for the next day and for fuck sakes put them the fuck back on. In all of this, my emotions, my intuition and my gut are a big fat joke. In all of this I must still stay within the lanes of what they perceive is normal to them.

I am still expected to be creative, fresh and still have these great new ideas they expect from this so called new generation. Fuck. I’m still still stuck in the 90s.

So I looked at all this and wondered how in the hell all of this is expected of and from me? And yet, no one bothers to look back and think about who the teacher is that must teach, how the accountant must still count,  how the writer must still write, how IT guy must still IT things, how the coordinator must still make things happen, how the manage must still delegate, how the filmmaker must still have something for you to see, how the lover must still love and the lover, who still aches more than anything just to love…

Silindile

Looking at you dead, Malume

Posted on by Coconuttish

It was the most hurtful thing for me that hear you were no more. Felt like someone forcefully removed a chunk of my heart. It was hard for me to hear that tomorrow would come and you wouldn’t be there to see it with us. It was even harder for me to hear that you died the way you did. I don’t know what’s better, brutal or not.

No one could do anything, not even the strongest in the family. I know you would’ve wanted to kill somebody if that had happened to any of your siblings. I know how much you loved them. I know how much you loved their children. I know how much you loved your parents. I felt that love.

I know how much you wanted to spread knowledge and teach the world. The same things you wanted drove you to your end. I’m trying to understand this. I am still trying to understand you, even in your absence. I saw you dead in a coffin but I am still trying to understand because it’s only now that you’re gone, now that I am older, that I am trying to see what the meaning of all this life is. You tried to make us all see when we were all still alive. I love you so much. So much no one will ever understand. I just hope you know how much it broke me to see you not being  able to speak, shout, drink, smoke, play chess, cause havoc, speak your mind, impart knowledge and be free.

I know how much you ached for that. You used to live that. And we never understood that. I am so sorry. I am so sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you were always there for me when I was growing up. My protector. You were there before I even needed to know where I needed to be. Told me I needed to play chess, play sport, do well and school and do right by people. I love you so much for that. In your mistakes, I learned lessons and I admired you for teaching me  darkness and light. You don’t know what you mean to me, Seeing you dead in a coffin  changed the whole game for me. I am going to live better for you, your sunset left me with no other choice.

I’m sorry we couldn’t understand you better. I saw you dead. Dead in a coffin. And then you went into the ground. You were dead. Gone to me forever. I’m never going to see you again. I grieve. I still grieve. I love you Malume.

ps. thank you for your Tupac too!

Comrades believe it’s their turn to eat

Posted on by Coconuttish

Last night I watched John Kani’s latest offering, Missing at the Market Theatre and it felt me feeling unexpectedly emotional a little. I have some reservations about some of what I saw but want to share some thoughts about how I interpreted the story first.

The story begins in an icy cold Stokholm apartment which was appropriate for the night because Joburg was freezing cold last night. There is a family of three – an exiled Apartheid comrade Robert Khalipha, his white wife Anna Khalipha and their coloured daughter, Ayanda Khalipha.

It’s quite a nice family where evidently everyone has the space and liberty to make their views heard and they are heard, respected and taken into account. The women of the house are very chatty and love the man of the house deeply and the man of the house equally so.

The man of the house, now slightly aged, has been waiting for a phone call from the South African government since about 1990 when Nelson Mandela was released from prison, but the call has never come! He is frustrated, angry, old, sarcastic and witty, loving and quite open-minded. His daughter Ayanda is a doctor and is about to marry a white guy called Carl (who we never meet) and hates his father’s fellow struggle comrade and understudy, Peter Tshabalala who seemingly makes inappropriate advances at her all the time. The mother, Anna, complains about having to accompany her husband to events hosted by the Ambassador’s office (which he heads up), and equally, the husband complains about having to accompany the wife to business dinners with lots of men around.

Robert laments the call he has never received from the new South African government. He has been waiting for 30 years. I was moved when he recalled memories of his family and upbringing, almost in the form of a monologue. Robert was named Vuyolwenhliziyoyam (I hope I remember correctly) by his mother who lost two children before having him. He fought in the struggle but was one of the “lucky” few who were sent to go study overseas. This part of the story made me think about Thabo Mbeki a lot and John Kani’s uncanny resemblance to him didn’t help matters either, but I digress. Robert Khalipha is from a generation of ANC comrades who were mentored by The Great Oliver Tambo but his assistant, Peter Tshabalala is the opposite.

The family lands in South Africa for Ayanda’s introduction to the ancestors ceremony ahead of her wedding and things go well until Robert meets with President Thabo Mbeki and finds out Peter has betrayed him in the worst possible way.

Peter, who has served as Robert’s assistant for many years, has kept letters addressed to Robert from the South African president a secret from him, and moreover, has replied to these letters on Robert’s behalf without him knowing. These were letters ordering Robert’s return to South Africa where he would take up a top job in government. Peter defends his position by arguing that it is his turn now to eat and enjoy the fruits of freedom while Roberts retorts it is not his turn and he must instead wait for his time. Robert desperately tries to make Peter see that some among us were not born to be leaders but instead deputies and assistants to the leaders. Peter rejects this pointing to how he has always been second best and always shunned aside; at home, in the struggle and while working for Robert.

Of course the family is infuriated and everyone is shocked at what Peter the Judas has done – this is where things reach boiling point for the Khaliphas. The family, and in particular the wife and husband, are forced to confront a reality they have postponed for many years. Robert feels he is at home and wants his family to stay with him in South Africa and not return to Stockholm after Thabo Mbeki offers him a job as a Minister Without a Portfolio because the cabinet had already been taken. The president assures him of another post in a year’s time.

For considering the job offer and wanting to stay in South Africa, the wife accuses him of being no different to Peter Tshabalala – choosing his family over a government job just like Peter betrayed his comrade for the same. She gets even more unrelenting in her criticism when she asks why he didn’t go home when the struggle ended just like other comrades. Robert laments at finding out how comrades viewed him as a “house husband who married money (his wife) and without revealing too much, let’s just say things are tense for the couple at this point.

After a long and emotionally charged dispute with his family, Robert, to my surprise, decides to cave in and not stay in South Africa after all. For the wife and daughter, Stockholm is their home and they clearly are not keen to stay in this unfamiliar place called “Africa”. Robert bases his final decision to go back to Stockholm essentially on the fact that his job as comrade ended and was complete when Apartheid was abolished in South Africa. And so, the story ends with everyone going back to what they know as “home”.

But before I go, I just wanted to share and point out the following about what I felt, post the play.
It was my very first time seeing the legendary playwright and actor, John Kani, live in theatre so I was a bit star struck and in awe to be honest. I seriously enjoyed the uncomfortable truths he kept dropping and the uneasy but necessary humour he threw in there too.

For me, Missing juxtaposes comrades of the pre-1994 era and those we have now post-1994. Robert Khalipa continuously impresses on the Judas, Peter, that they fought for the people in the struggle and that what the politicians of today are doing goes completely against what they had stood and fought for. The fact that the play ends with Peter being forced to recite his oath of office speaks volumes. I walked out feeling disappointed that Robert opted to go back to South Africa but after thinking about it now, I understand his dilemma much better.

Missing is a must see because we need constant reminders of what role people like John Kani played in South Africa’s liberation movement, we need to stay woke about the magnitude of the damage Apartheid, corruption and the general decay of post 1994 South Africa.