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5
Contents
editorial
KHADIJA TRACEY HEEGER
Redefined
GEORGE LEWIS
New Music Decolonization in Eight Difficult Steps
GIORGIO AGAMBEN
The Supreme Music. Music and Politics
Theme Social Impact
SAIDIYA HARTMAN
Riot and Refrain
THOMAS BERNHARD
Executioners
WILLEMIEN FRONEMAN & STEPHANUS MULLER
Music’s “non-Political Neutrality”: When race dare not speak its name
STEVEN ROBINS
Spectres of Racial Science at Stellenbosch University: From Eugen Fischer’s Eugenics to the Department of Sport Sciences’ Retracted Article
MOHAMMAD SHABANGU
Education as the Practice of Freedom: Towards a Decolonisation of Desire
CHUMANI MAXWELE
The Solitary Protest That Gave Birth To #RhodesMustFall
SISCA JULIUS
Chappies bubblegum
EMILE YX? JANSEN
Heal the Hood & World with Afrocation
MESULI NALE
Move For Two: Educating for Leadership Through Dance
SARAH MALOTANE HENKEMAN
On the Social Impact of Telling Your Own Story in Your Own Way
ACHMAT DAVIDS
The Social Impact of Language: The "Coloured" Image of Afrikaans in Nineteenth Century Cape Town
JACKIE SHANDU
On the Social Impact of Self Hatred
AZOLA DAYILE
Imbamba – Uthunyiwe: On the Social Impact of Migrant Labour
YAMKELA F. SPENGANE
On the Social Impact of Name Changes
ANELE NZIMANDE
On the Social Impact of Motherhood
ZIYANA LATEGAN
Problems of and for Philosophy
galleri
JOAN OTIENO
Art as the Social Impact of Repurposing Waste Materials
GARTH ERASMUS
Xnau
GARTH ERASMUS
Virulent Strain
ANDREA ROLFES
Not the Paradise Garden
MZOXOLO VIMBA
Sunday best, kakade!
ROCHÉ VAN TIDDENS
Four Compositions
JAMES OATWAY & ALON SKUY
[BR]OTHER
borborygmus
ZIYANA LATEGAN
Invention as Ideological Reproduction
LETTA MBULU
Not Yet Uhuru (Amakhandela)
TUMI MOGOROSI
De
ANDREA LEIGH FARNHAM
A bad relationship with the truth
DAVID MWAMBARI
On the Social Impact of Reading Radical Literature
PHIWOKAZI QOZA
Choreographies of Protest Performance: 2. Somatic Communication and the experience of intensity
DUANE JETHRO
Shangaan Electro: shaping desire @180bpm
CLARE LOVEDAY
WOMEN IN MUSIC.co.za - A website for South African women music practitioners
ERNIE LARSEN
Escape Routes
LIZ SAVAGE
Myanmar: a post-colonial tale of fear, treachery and hope
STEVEN CRAIG HICKMAN
Weird Literature as Speculative Philosophy
frictions
VANGILE GANTSHO
"we have forgotten who we are"
JETHRO LOUW & GARTH ERASMUS
21st Century Khoisan Man
LUCY VALERIE GRAHAM
Seven settler poems
SERGIO HENRY BEN
Some Monday shit.
RIAAN OPPELT
The Boys in the Box
TRICIA WARDEN
Five Poems Two Songs and a Video
JOHAN VAN WYK
Man Bitch
ARI SITAS, GEORGE & DEBBIE MARI
Cold was the ground - A Requiem for Elephants Too**
ARI SITAS, GEORGE & DEBBIE MARI
Cold Was The Ground- A Requiem For Elephants Too* Part I
ARI SITAS, GEORGE & DEBBIE MARI
Cold was the ground - A Requiem for Elephants Too** Part II
claque
JANNOUS NKULULEKO AUKEMA
Something of Inexplicable Value: A Resurrection
FRANK MEINTJIES
From collective to corrective: South African poems of decolonisation
KNEO MOKGOPA
“This Bloodless Wound” - A Review of Kirsty Steinberg’s Confrontation
RONELDA S. KAMFER
Avoiding the obvious routes: Jolyn Phillips deconstructs the legend of Bientang
UNATHI SLASHA
Partaking in the Séance: Preliminary Remarks on Lesego Rampolokeng’s Bird-Monk Seding
WAMUWI MBAO
There are no barbarians: Michel Leiris - more phantom than Africa
ESTHER MARIE PAUW
Jess Auerbach's From Water to Wine: Becoming Middle Class in Angola
MBE MBHELE
Not nearly a review of Ontologicial Terror: Blackness, Nihilism, and Emancipation by Calvin L. Warren
MBALI KGAME
Mphutlane wa Bofelo's Transitions: from Post-Colonial Illusions to Decoloniality What went wrong and what now?
MALAIKA WA AZANIA
Why Do I Scream at God for the Rape of Babies?
TOAST COETZER
Country Conquerors: van blikkiesband tot firebrands – on the Social Impact of Rastafari
GEORGE KING
One Disc, Two Composers, Four Works: When Seven Defines the Music of Friendship
ERNESTO GARCIA MARQUES
Live Jimi Presley: white noise a la Neubauten
ekaya
DEREK DAVEY
Dodging the sjambok
CHRISTINE LUCIA
A Reflection on the Mohapeloa Edition
THEMBELA VOKWANA
Towards a Decolonial South African Musicology: Reflections on Christine Lucia’s Michael Mosoeu Moerane Scholarly Edition.
ANKE FROEHLICH & INGE ENGELBRECHT
Genadendal Music Collections Catalogue: an introduction
off the record
PETER DELPEUT
The Forgotten Evil pilot project digital version
PETER DELPEUT
The Forgotten Evil pilot chapter 5 charisma
PETER DELPEUT
The Forgotten Evil pilot chapter 9 The Forest of Astravas
PETER DELPEUT
The Forgotten Evil, pilot chapter 11 character
LOUIS CHUDE-SOKEI
When Echoes Return: roots, diaspora and possible Africas (a eulogy)
VEIT ERLMANN
The Disappearance of Otherness: ‘Africa Civilised, Africa Uncivilised’: Local Culture, World System and South African Music
IGNATIA MADALANE
From Paul to Penny: The Emergence and Development of Tsonga Disco (1985-1990s)
NIKLAS ZIMMER
Basil Breakey: Jazz contacts, Jazz culture.
OLIVIER LEDURE
Ted Joans
SAM MATHE
NDIKHO DOUGLAS XABA
CAN THEMBA
The Bottom of the Bottle
DANFORD TAFADZWA CHIBVONGODZE
Jonah Sithole’s Sabhuku
feedback
ALEXANDRA DODD
herri: a plenitude of material, ideas, sounds and voices
FACEBOOK FEEDBACK
Social Media Responses to herri issues 1 - 4
the selektah
ZARA JULIUS
A call for renewed internationalism: A sonic liberation front
PhD
DECENTERING THE ARCHIVE:
Visual Fabrications of Sonic Memories
NICOLA DEANE
FRAGMENTS By Way of Introduction
NICOLA DEANE
PASSAGE I: SURFACES A Surface Reading of the DOMUS Archive: framing space & time
NICOLA DEANE
PASSAGE II: INVAGINATION A Subjective Fold of the DOMUS Archive: a pocket of one’s own
NICOLA DEANE
PASSAGE III: NOISE A Hauntological Reconstruction of the DOMUS Archive: the noise remains
NICOLA DEANE
PASSAGE IV: THE MASK (De)Scripting the DOMUS Archive as Faceless Protagonist
NICOLA DEANE
ELISABETH UNMASKED by Nicola Deane
NICOLA DEANE
CONCLUSION Irresolution
hotlynx
shopping
SHOP
Purchase or listen
KOLEKA PUTUMA
Black Girl Live
contributors
the back page
MIKE VAN GRAAN
Covid-19 and its Existential Challenge to Theatre
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    #05
  • frictions

VANGILE GANTSHO

"we have forgotten who we are"

the mountain

I opened my mother’s chest
and found a straw mat
on it, a grief-stricken woman denied a black blanket
a village of whispers
telling her not to cry
fist clenched

I opened her fist and found a young girl
first blood, eleven, cooking for her brother
proud oversized floral dress in front of an open flame
a hovering aunt chiding
white samp in a black pot

I opened the pot and found a mountain
a seventeen year old boy  
wrapped in a white blanket with a red stripe
a pack of men corralled around him
kindling secrets into a fire
a smoky passage a plastic hut

I opened the hut and found an ocean
a father who did not weep
questions no one can ask
an unburied son
a checked blazer that cannot be worn
a mother with questions in place of her child

Unclaimed

a trolley that strays too far
from Pick ‘n Pay
may never find its way back.
its stickers will fall off
the silver will rust
an old senile man will be the only one
to find use for it
when the wheels fall off
he will wrap it with a black plastic bag
make it home

and when he dies
it will wait
upside down
in a government alley morgue

when the rain does not fall

When the rain does not fall for as long as it has not fallen now
the elders go up the mountain /     amagqirha     nabathandazeli /
Those whose legs can still carry them over rocks /    
Who have lived long enough to win favour with the mountains /
Those who are called to give counsel when there is conflict /

***

uMakazi says the rain is right not to fall     Asisalimi     Izakuwela ntoni
imvula amasimi ehleli engasetyenzwa? Abantwana bagcwele iidolophi
bekhangelana nent’abangayaziyo     Siphalele singabantu     We have spilled
We have spilled out of God’s hands

***

In my early days of dreaming, of remembering my dreams, I saw a fire. A wild fire burning the streets. Burning houses, burning fields, burning children. Not even the white children were safe. Not even the rich children. I saw an old man burning. First his stick. Then his body. His once grey beard ablaze. Burning libraries, and schools, and kraals. Everything was on fire.

Utywala smells of blood

I have been bleeding for three weeks now. I have been drinking for much longer. I am still alive. They tell me to bleed onto a white cloth. To use a white towel when washing my body. To sleep on top of a white sheet. I am still bleeding. Next to two candles, white and navy blue, and a bowl of impepho. Umakhulu returns drunk from izila. She says inkomo iye yabaleka bengekayixheli. The boys chased it into the next village before it disappeared. She says bebengasoze bachithe utywala sebukhona. My eyes are teary, lids thick from the smoke, and being tired. The first time I meet uMam’Nomhla I call her Makhulu. It isn’t until two weeks later, when we are back home that I find out she isn’t much younger than umama. Contrary to her rattling around the dirty hut. On our visit, she takes small hunched steps, lighting candles, burning impepho picking out a crusty leopard print cloth to wrap around her waist from behind the mattress leaning against the wall. She takes an equally dirty, once-white towel from the floor to cover her shoulders and sits down on her cowhide drum with a thick white beaded necklace and snuff. She says I have bad spirits. Not evil. Just bad. She says it’s like walking in the veld and having those black thorny plants catch onto your pants or socks. I forget what they are called. The next time I see her, to remove the thorns, mama forces me to carry my own blankets. In a plastic bag, I have candles, an unopened packet of razor blades, matches and a bottle of vodka – we must use white spirits to connect izihlwele zethu. It does not occur to me that I do not know her ancestors. She is drunk when I arrive. She cannot walk. Mama makes me promise to pray. It takes two and a half candles to pass a night without wind. Sunrise is further in August than during the spring. It takes the shadows of three old women under a window to keep an old man from sneaking into their granddaughter’s panties. Roosters do not sleep as long as the sun. My lover and I have not shared a bed in three months. I have not kissed her with my mouth open in three weeks. When she touches me, I feel like someone has knocked the back of my knees out with a hammer. I am always too heavy for her to catch. Now we fight about everything. I left a red stain on the inside of the toilet seat. She left a note asking me to be more considerate when using shared spaces. She complains her clothes smell of impepho. Everything smells of impepho. She smells of blood. When she is drunk, she is chasing a cow. She is always chasing the same cow. When she is drunk, she tells me we cannot serve utywala to the rest of the family. We drink it all, alone. Utywala smells of blood.

Mama I am burning

For Fezeka “Khwezi” Kuzwayo

I am burning mama. Mama, I’m burning.

In a box. Set on fire while I slept.

I slept mama. A girl faced the bullets head on. She caught a bullet in her eye. She is blind mama.

Something is wrong mama. I kept pulling down my skirt.

Kept checking my lipstick. I was hiding in this box.

They found me hiding mama.

This fire is an uncle you trusted mama.

An uncle who promised to watch me while you were gone.

And while you were gone, in my sleep, the fire burned me mama.

While you were gone.

While I was sleeping.

I forgot to pull my skirt down. I put too much lipstick on.

I am burning mama. Mama, I am burning! 

Utywala smells of blood was previously published in New Coin
Mama I am burning was previously published in red cotton
Utywala image by Mandisa Haarhoff
All other images by Thokoza Dlozi ka Vusumzi Ngxande

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frictions
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Archive About Contact Africa Open Institute