Many are the words un-thought, unreasoned, un-constructed, unspoken, and unwritten.
Many are the words, deserving of speech but lost to the tag of fear, of cowardice or injustice.
But sometimes like this, on their own, the words sprout from the cellar of treasured charisma; taking up feet to roam the face of earth with ecstatic aplomb, and mouths to drum out songs with sonorous fervour.
Also, on the course of human existence, there are phases – Birth, Rebirth, and Death. And the one most significant of the phases is Rebirth.
The Rebirth of a people.
The Rebirth of Collectivism.
The Rebirth of a culture.
The Rebirth of a dying civilization.
And the Rebirth of pride.
Today, we are here recording the Rebirth of pride; the Rebirth of a lost civilization; the Rebirth of superiority of Africans, even after many years of being deliberately shrouded in perceived absolute crime, ignorance, childlike innocence, and shameless rot.
A day has come when stifled laughter shall varnish from the faces of victims of the Jim Crow system. When one shall look straight in the other’s eyes and say to him/her words long-relegated in the pits of the belly. When transfers of aggression shall no more be at criminal exploits, undiminished. When you shall not be judged by the colour of your skin. When there is a respite for those that empathize with the family of X, who was shot delivering a speech he meant to change the history of America for good. When the fossils of legendary men and women, the likes of King Junior and X shall wipe their sweat with a renewed vigour, smiling up at the one charismatic African – no adjectives for the variant of an American, his one wife, the many negroes, the many redheads, the many whites and of course, the many African Africans, who have brought this future here. This was the future seen +/- 50 years ago.
What is the fate inscribed on the walls of the White House other than the banishment of the bland faces? What more but…. The relegation of the proponents of Jim Crow to the southern provinces of Southern America. And the pilgrimage…the final home-coming of the coloured population through the deserts to Northern America – that home we built with our strength and sweat. That home, whose sand sucked the blood of our patriots and fathers and mothers.
Today I prognosticate, America has no history and the history of America is the history of Africa and the rest is darkness. Total Darkness!
