The audience shrieked and screamed in anticipation of an outrage they were unaware of, as though filled with the pain and agony of those carried away by slave ships. The screaming penetrated Leroy’s mind, breaking the tranquillity the hazy afternoon sun. Leroy shut his eyes, green and blue-floating spots played on his retina. His fingers out-stretched rested on pieces of broken glass. iSangoma hovered above to sight the charged particles of Leroy’s body. Leroy ceased his annunciations and swayed with his people. Connection was made. Leroy narrated his life:
“Everywhere I went, others around were angry. Anger welled up inside like a blowtorch alive and hissing with a hollow escape of ignited gas. I glowed with the anger of others. A movement of the chin was a code of discontent. A flick of the lip was a sneer of unreasoned anger, and nonconformity to peace.” Leroy held out both arms as he addressed the audience.
A man in the front row bit his lower lip and sucked while he stared beyond his nose - this gave an impression of a meditative state. He broke out of his contemplation as he stood involuntarily as he would at a Christian revivalist meeting.
“That is like me, I needed help, but I did not know where to turn. I viewed all white people the media, films, the news, walking down the street as the enemy. I could not look a white person in the eye. I tried different jobs but could not get promotion or even recognition for my efforts by whites, I too was filled with hate...” The man said. iSangoma held up his arms just like the Messiah, just as the white missionaries had done before him. “You are the master in your own house, racism dies today,” Leroy tells the man. The man sat down as though cured of a terminal illness. Harsh voices played within Leroy.
No comments:
Post a Comment