Saturday, 02:48:08 PM





It was a strange disease, embodying the characteristics of severe flu. She was sick with it. She was seventy years old. Many years ago when she was a young woman she had a daughter, and the daughter had a son, and when her daughter died from complications resulting from birth, she was left with her grandson and she clutched on to him like how she did her purse when she went to town.

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Politics Engulfed In Rhythm: Femi Koya

Femi Koya, a contemporary Fela Anikulapo Kuti, ploughs a familiar furrow, with a strong focus on the horns and plenty of up-tempo percussions. The Ankara-draped musician exudes such vitality and vigour. Koya is not your typical band leader, although he takes center stage during performances, his repertoire relies on how he seamlessly blends his voice, style and saxophone into the band’s overall sound.

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The Black Body As A Moving Ancestral Archive

In my heart (and the multiple hearts that exist within my heart), I believe that as Black people we move through the physical world and psycho-spiritual worlds as archives. Your father’s nose on your face? Your mother’s wide hips? Your grandmother's high cheekbones? These exist as physical evidence of the endurance and invincibility of amaYirha, Batshweneng, ooXaba, ooJamabase, ooDlamini, Chavalala, Hlatshwayo as you move in the world.

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Freedom Corrupts Absolutely

During the peak of our political history, the road to civil war was paved with yellow police vans, generational dislike for canines rooted in PTSD, and a dream for freedom being the talk of the country. It was the dream of every black farmer who was stripped of his land and titles during the relocation process, the dream of every drunk uncle who as a young lad saw himself becoming a doctor, but the odds of the system traded his vision for the bloodstream of alcohol, isolation, torture, and violence.

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The Mystery of Nasty C’s Clout Chasing

A video surfaced recently on the web showing Nasty C hanging out with Snoop Dogg. Snoop seemed every bit the OG calming and majestically rolling his blunt, casually uttering nuggets of street lore at the head of the table, looking quite convincing as a street soldier turned paterfamilias.

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Exiled At Home

In this performance, Miss Ntuli invites us into the deep corridors of her inner self, to witness a personal story of love, displacement, otherness and internal yearning. Like many a sublime artist, the art itself cuts tenfold, dwarfing this narration.

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