British African Identity Another Story (1)

CHAPTER 1

  

 I, iSangoma of the lost African tribe, made my incantations to the relaxed crowd of people seated around my refined village hut.  I loosened the bright yellow-knotted string of the barrister’s kit bag, flanked by drummers, my audience sat on logs others sat on deck chairs awaiting my annunciations for the day. The South African, Giyani sunshine was intense,
irradiating the dazzling colour of the women’s traditional costumes and dress. The sky was a flawless intense turquoise blue.

“Today, I will show you my life, as to how we have all here come to be
one,” I said with prophetic confidence.  The purple silken sheet embroidered with crimson lay flat on the concrete dais before me. Beating drums swayed the crowd into a hypnotic trance.
The ominous rattle of the contents of the kit bag heightened the expectations and provided a lead to a child percussionist. The rattle of the bag ceased, I held it above my head and waved it to the entire crowd. The crowd hushed themselves to silence.  The hissing whispers   “Prophecy, prophecy filled the air. On cue, the small child began to shake a gourd full of seeds. It was an impromptu performance at an erratic pace. Not to be upstaged I turned to the child and smiled. The Gourd was laid to rest. The audience cooed at the innocence of my powers.  More people began to gather round from all corners of the large compound. Cars were still arriving until sunset. 
  
The bag was turned upside down, its contents disgorged onto the dais.  The items fell at random. The crowd murmured as they crooned their necks to identify the items: Handcuffs, syringe, pebbles, leaves, IC chip, keys, bullets, a skull, twigs, a pen, and seeds with the wig he had gained as a trophy. A mirror shattered as it hit the dais. Some in the audience gasped,
others pointed as they recognised the items. They all knew they were in for a dramatic adventure. A battered cymbal crashed! A drum roll intensified.
With one deep breath I let out with all my might in a dignified incantation the African Affirmation of the troubled souls of the lost tribes of the middle passage as, follows:

   As an African
   I believe in Africa, I believe in African people
   I swear by all that is sacred to return
   To my motherland
   To sleep under the African skies and
   To maintain communion with the ancestral spirits of Africa
   To eat and share the fruits of my labour.
   No more shall I be a slave for those of the deep blue,
   I will strive for my tribal rights and my African heritage
   I will enjoy my liberation through industry and
   The pleasures of my children.
  
   I will fight to the death against exploitation,
   Starvation and war until I rebuild the African gardens of
   Peace. Where, all tribes shall be united as one.
   I will protect my people and tell my story
   without hindrance or distortion!

      iSangoma ceased the chant. The Giyani audience fully understood the state of mind they were dealing with in their new iSangoma Leroy, from the Lost African Tribe.