A Call to Consciousness

Young world mover, shaker

Essence of Afrika

Mind of a revolutionary woman

Young mind full of old souls

Those whom never die

For their lives have become open texts books

Whose lives were laid down for my life

Acknowledging history to move and rehabilitate

The minds of the Afrikan youth

Needing to unlearn the systems of oppression

To relearn the Afrikan renaissance

To bring back Afrikan pride in understanding the essence of being Afrikan

Needing to unlearn language and vocabulary

That speaks in oppressive manners of the Afrikan child

Words have become the biggest prison of the Afrikan mind

We are oppressed by more then just western systems

Also their words

The Afrikan mind is imprisoned by ideologies of the coloniser

Whilst the youth and the Afrikan continent lack consciousness of their Afrikaness

The West has not problem defining Afrikan to the Afrikan

Young world mover, shaker, essence of Afrika

A call of consciousness has been made

Comments

A Balck Woman in Corporate

While we fight for equal pay amongst women and men, we need to separate the category of women; there are black women, then there are white women. Within these categories, there are clear wage gaps and clear value of the one, over the other, with the other being black women. I have come to realise that white people do not realise their privilege and supremacy complex, there fake fading smiles when you walk past them, almost to say, “What are you doing in my space”. I don’t think they realise that we can see right through those half baked smiles. There coldness and uninviting energy makes you self-aware and reminds you, that you are in the wrong place, this is not your space and as long as you can remember that, you will be okay. However white people are not the only problem black women face in corporate, black men also contribute to the demise of black women in the workplace. I worked for a company that was ran by black men and fell victim to the corporate abuse that b...

Dear Beautiful coconut black girl

It took time for us to realize that there was power in our skin colour, we grew up in towns and went to schools that did not value our skin tone or our languages. We grew up trying to emulate whiteness because our teachers and white schoolmates respected us more when we sounded like them and acted like they did. There was a desire to be like they are, to live like they did, our parents seemed to smile more when we spoke “perfect” English, their kids were like the white kids, they too could be at the same level as the white parents, sit in the same room at prize giving and have pictures of their kids in a classroom full of white kids and a white teacher. What was better than your child being like a white child? We are models of our parent’s dreams, we are the example of “freedom” for them. We too did not understand the enormous responsibility that was handed to us. This responsibility to prove that we have defeated the system, that the ANC government led by the former late ...

She Is My Mother

4:00 am every morning she is up, she leaves the house at 5:00 am to open up shop at 6:00 am, when everyone else wakes up or when they leave the house. She has to make sure she is there early for those who too are early, she needs to make sure all her products are on display for the morning crowd. I wake at 6:00 am like the rest of the working class; I get ready for school, prepare my books and make porridge. I make my way out of the two-room tin house I share with my mother and two of my sisters. They too get ready the same time, my sister and I walk to the bus stop and make our way to Bryanston to school, while the other makes her way to Lonehill. Alex seems like a faraway reality from our school lives. We might not have much at home but no one knows it here, I have a new blazer and shoes, my old ones were getting smaller, I gave them to my sister. They were still in good condition, we have to make sure they are, we don’t know when we will afford to buy them again. M...

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