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CULTURE Review

MAGAZINE

Culture

Sew The Winter To My Skin

“Spending time in my mother’s hometown of rural Somerset East exposed me to the legend of John Kepe,” says Qubeka. “The epic nature of his capture, the spiritual poetry of his calling, the impending horror of Apartheid and the power of Kepe’s fervent belief in something greater than himself drew me to his intriguing tale.

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Nina Simone - Four Women

Nina Simone Four Women written by Christina Ham uses the framework of one of Nina Simone’s most blistering songs “Four Women” to give voice to a group of women who suffered from self-hatred due to the different hues of their skin. These matriarchs of emancipation carry their songs of praise and protest deep within their spirits. These voices of angels unite in a chorus to cast out the demon of segregation.

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Rich Black, Poor Black: The Precarious Life Of Black People

It matters not how far you have climbed the social and the economic ladder. If you are black your position there is always fraught with danger. Which is to say you can have the illusion that you are rich but that can change as quickly as Cape Town weather. The soccer stars that we grew up idolizing who seemed like they had made it are eating from the dustbins now.

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Woza Albert: Ngema & Mtwa

It’s like battling a tide and trying to win, and believing you can. That the sheer force of will can overcome the natural pull of the gravity and the density of the energy that has already been cast in your direction.

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On Hating Your Enemy

The main reason for our horribly falsified consciousness and status of as the eternal captives of whites (and other non-Black groups) - is because we continue to look at the self and the world through the eyes of our race-enemies.

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Nothing To See Here: Abantu Book Festival For Blacks Only

It has been called the Moria for woke blacks and Umgidi weencwadi. Sometimes known as an ode to Yizo-Yizo: Abantu: The Return Baba! Or simply an annual weekend to dream ourselves into existence. But alas, a mere three years into the weekend of our dreams, white tears came in like storm surge flooding in an attempt to dampen the glow still radiant on our faces.

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