Comments on “From the motherland” “I’ve read it. And I love it. All the poems in the anthology are actual experiences, which makes it more interesting. It also makes you realise a few things that one was not really aware of. “ Sinethemba Kumalo “With a growing ache for my fellow Africans that find themselves as victims of numerous oppressors, it is without doubt that the heart breaking poems in this anthology hit home. While still being tormented by Western colonisers, the indigent African majority suffers at the hands of racism and civil wars, to mention two of several enemies. Furthermore, women face more torment than men do; having to adjust to the perfect female mould created by the Western and forcibly submitting to men in a particular society. For too many years, Africa has been mourning its joy and another decade of such grieving is one decade too many. I will forever salute poets, such as these, who live to make the world aware of stories untold, and in turn, to liberate Africa.“ Gugulethu Mkwananzi
This book was published by Thuthukani Ndlovu and www.radioactivetuts.blogspot.com. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic, photographic or mechanical means, which includes photocopying and recording on tape/ laser disk, on microfilm, via the internet, by email, or by any other information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher. Copyright ŠFromthemotherland 2016
11/01/2016
CONTENTS • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Message from the compiler Fight 4 Africa – by Thuthukani Ndlovu In Praise of Black Women – Valentino Ndaba Rainmaker – Hector Kunene Lost for Words – By Upmost Father Zimbabwe – By Thuthukani Ndlovu These tongues – By Xtreme Sanity To die for – By Tshiamo Malatji Letter to Santa – Prophetic Poet The Baobab has fallen – By Fezile Sonkwane Tribal War – By Tendekai P Tati The Foreigner is not dead – By Fezile Sonkwane Tell me a story – By Mwamba Jagedo An African Enshrined Armor – Goitsemang Mvula, The Nurturer Look beyond what you see – By Thuthukani Ndlovu Jesus Piece of Peace – By Maya Makara Love lecture – The Holstar My mother’s hair – By Zelipah Tamanda Mitti Thank you message from the compiler
From the Motherland Anthology Greetings dear reader. This anthology is my 5th anthology, however it marks the first step of a series of monthly publications that I will be hosting under my blog, www.radioactiveuts.blogspot.com . I decided to call this anthology “From the motherland” because I wanted to create a platform for poets to share their experiences and ideas , from an African perspective. Quite often, we see Africa portrayed with biased images on a lot of different media platforms, from newspapers to television shows, so this book aims at portraying a more true reflection of what really goes on in Africa and what we think about, from African poets who are currently based in Africa. I want this book to be a source of information for anyone who wants to know about the motherland, and although it will not be able to capture each and every story from all parts of the continent, I believe its a first step in the right direction. With all this being said, I hope that you are ready to experience what these prominent poets have to share. Enjoy, and be enlightened… (Thuthukani Ndlovu)
Fight 4 Africa I will fight for my Africa, coz too many people are dying I will fight for my Africa, coz too many children are crying, I will fight for my Africa, coz too many people are lying, I will fight for my Africa, and I will never stop fighting. I will fight for my, African continent, Like a freedom fighter with an overdose of confidence, Because it’s the beautiful motherland that raised me, Ever since 14 years after 1980, Yes , so this is reality rap, Where The Activist only spits lyrical facts, Unfortunately , I’m not your television, So I can spit the truth, without any permission, We got too many fake and rich politicians, Who wanna talk a lot , but they really never listen, They’re just concerned about the competition, And when they lose, their lips turn into guns filled with ammunition , So we gotta stand up, and break the silence, Fight for the motherland and stop the violence, And we have to do it now, Coz I'm sure Africa is sick and tired of all the sirens. I will fight for my Africa, coz too many people are dying I will fight for my Africa, coz too many children are crying, I will fight for my Africa, coz too many people are lying, I will fight for my Africa, and I will never stop fighting. I will fight, in each and every season, As long as I’m an African and I’m still breathing, Like a very wise man once said, You can keep the fame coz we want the freedom …
The freedom to worship our own religions, And I’m specifically talking about my fellow Christians, Coz we are getting kidnapped and killed under the weather, From Schools in Nigeria to a Varsity in Kenya. We need to fight for the people in the shacks, Fight for the victims of Xenophobic attacks, Fight against the police practicing corruption, Coz we have become victims of the repercussions.. We need to fight against the acts of racism, So that one day, we can all have the same vision, So let’s fight for this African continent, Like a generation with an overdose of confidence. I will fight for my Africa, coz too many people are dying I will fight for my Africa, coz too many children are crying, I will fight for my Africa, coz too many people are lying, I will fight for my Africa, and I will never stop fighting. ©Thuthukani Ndlovu
In Praise Of Black Women
I know how it feels How that wound never heals I know how torturously long it bleeds How every drop of blood, tear, and sweat impedes Self-love, acceptance and esteem I know it can be extreme How they shred your innards Erasing from your letters the , “kind regards” For your conscious expressions are labelled a danger Once a black woman speaks sensitive sense she is full of anger Disguised in a lipstick-smeared-pout Accentuated by mascaraed eyes popping out Which are labelled “sexy” on Instagram for #WomanCrushWednesday But intimidating when those lips speak and eyes see the ugly truth of everyday. Remember that beneath that weave-adorned head Lies the same wisdom held by women who have led The likes of Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka and Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma The leaders of households from KwaMashu to Ntuzuma. Remember that beneath that make-up layered face Lays the true beauty to embrace….
…..I know how it feels How that wound never heals To have you pleas go unheard To have your Facebook status message never shared Because you said “black is beautiful” or “a full figure just means I’m full” But they take you for a fool For not jumping into the #TeamYellowBone and #TeamSkinny bandwagon Honestly, I want those hashtags to be gone. The beauty industry has nothing to offer you They’re selling butts, boobs, cheeks, noses and giving loans so “you can afford it too” Cosmetics and pharmaceuticals exist for profits They are a capitalist wolf dressed in sheep outfits. Your melanin is not shame to be bleached Your voluptuous hips aren’t weight to shred to a point out of reach. The world shuns that which it does not understand. It’s your power that this bigoted society can’t stand Because you are a majestic giver of life and more You give selflessly from the core And that scares those who mistake you being curvy for being heavy Lady, that’s just plain envy. ©Valentino Ndaba
Rainmaker Re nesa pula Moya o thole othi tu Re nesa pula Moya o thole othi shshshshshshshsh We form a cloud on the sky Hit a note high By storm we fly Run by never dry For the vision of this mission Affecting this nation Rain making generation Become a rainmaker of your generation Young and old Hairy and bold We discover stories untold It's either you are hot or cold We take advantage of this mandate Validate the fact and set the date Debate and rate our mate with great fate Then the cloud that we formed on the sky falls Like droplets of rain for all mankind Then we give God the glory for we are the rainmakers of this generation Re nesa pula Moya o thole othi tu Re nesa pula Moya o thole othi shshshshshshshsh ŠHector Kunene
Lost for words The words I’m about to speak, were stolen from my tongue, Now I’m spoken for by some deaf corporate soul with funds, Who distorts all and sells them back to me in the form Of some, newspaper, So my own story becomes new data, I wanted to be a verbal artist, ‘cause I’ve got love for speech, But money talks and I can’t afford the pleasure of such luxuries So I remain mum – like others in the place I came from, Now tears have replaced the liberating words I gave up. So, should I play dumb and just accept and open My mouth to recite new words in the form of slogans? Why should I rejoice at a new voice if I don’t own it? Why should I have an inner voice if I can’t expose it in sound? If my soul is renounced, then I’m as good as dead If I didn’t love the stone house, I would have fled, But I remain hidden in the dark corners where I won’t be heard, Teaching myself to speak, until I get lost for words ©UPMOST - Mybruthazkeepa
Father Zimbabwe
A human being, a leader, a national hero, A man who definitely had endurance, For he created liberation movements, and although they were constantly banned, He never gave up, despite the constant interference. He definitely played a vital role, In Zimbabwe’s liberation struggle, From time spent in prison, to civil wars, And all the history that took place in and out of Rhodesia’s concrete jungle.
Yes indeed, he was not the perfect hero, But he clearly fought to resolve the country’s imperfections. He believed in non-tribalism, Hence uniting the country’s tribes was always one of his intentions. Father Zimbabwe also believed in having a racial mix, Equal distribution of land, and equal opportunities, So let us not hesitate to celebrate the life that he lived, And appreciate the struggle he fought, in our communities. ©Thuthukani Ndlovu
THESE TONGUES Words slide out of our lips and pour out in beautiful melodies Thick honey gold pleasantries gliding ceremoniously in unrestricted territories. Serene Soliloquies Draped in majestic garments of transverse ideologies, Bold tongues moulding speech Spitting revolution Preaching gospels that spew from our lips And cling to our ears engraving legacies bearing testament to the predicament of modernity.
Behold the global age of complex identities Where we define ourselves in tongues and dialects imported, While our mother tongues grow impotent Our voices swallowed and vocabulary narrowed to tongues borrowed Tongues that do not recognise the sound of our names Tongues that cannot find meaning in our totems Tongues with no dialects Tongues that determine the scope of our intellects‌‌..
With these alien tongues that we have grown to dream and think in What knowledge of self shall we impart on the future that we are conceiving? Will they know the language of self? Will they know of yesterday’s tongues That rigged of legacy and bore testament to ancestry Tongues that were pregnant with identity Bearing tribal marks adorned with mystery Will they know the language of their names? And whose names shall they bear? Will our gods hear them when they pray? Will they recognise the voices beneath the silver that coats our speech? ŠXtreme Sanity
To die for So many of us search for the meaning of life, But not many of us search for the value of death. Our entire lives prepare us for our final ten seconds before life leaves us And in these ten seconds, all our pursuit will be flashed back before us on a grand theatre stage, The world we leave behind, it's audience. I can only imagine what these ten seconds must feel like. Ten - the first memory that rushes to me is my first step, my first word, my first thought and the exhilaration I felt at the beginning of every new moment. Hatching out of my egg to discover a world my mind was not yet ready for. Nine - The first time I painted my hands and left my mark on this world on the walls of my preschool. I have left my mark, since then, on everything I say and do and on everyone I meet.
Eight - My dreams. The memories of them coming rushing back to me. They were like discovering something new all over again. The limitless nature of my imagination collided with my desire to produce a world I never wanted to escape from. Seven - I found my dreams in the real world, Through the small things like the innocent smiles and laughter and all the experiences that made my heart feel like it might not be real. Six - I see everyone I ever cared for. I catch their faces for an instant but it's enough. Suddenly all the joy and excitement they'd ever made me feel overwhelms me. My mind becomes full of thought and wonder. My bones and my flesh become full of experience.
Five - I start to think about death and what it might be. I imagine that death will become the seeds of birth that will grow into something wonderful, And I can only trust that the next generation will leap like phoenixes from my ashes and continue to leave my mark on this world. Four - I say my final words. No single word can describe everything my life has meant, But I'm hoping that a few words can express any dreams I still have left. That a few words can console those I leave behind and explain that energy is neither created nor destroyed. It is simply transformed and made anew. I will continue to live on in death. Three - I pass on my legacy. I paint my hands for the final time and the hearts of those I leave behind become my wall. Two - I choose to be happy. Death is about to take me but I feel as if I have won. I close my eyes, spread my wings and take off into the whistling wind. Suddenly life becomes something to die for. One - It hits me. I am prepared for this moment because throughout my entire life, I have lived. It is my final new experience. The only difference between life and death is that death is one single breath. But it won't have any meaning for you without a lifetime of breaths before it. ŠTshiamo Malatji
Letter to Santa Dear Santa I write you this letter from Diepsloot where chimneys are made out of rusty Corrugated Irons, how about you give me clean water for starter, Running toilets i am tired of these pits as they become graves where fetuses are plunged. I know Black Christmas hopefully one day i would brag about My Clean clothes not Brand new ones. See Santa on location we design electric connection to Find light, The other day my friend got Shocked to death, He was electrocuted so they said, Helplessly i stood until he was dead. Dear Santa I’m sure with my Broken English find it as a token to tell you that i wish you bring me proper education. See my skin is peeling and at clinic they shout at me for Malnutrition. Santa i am tired of seeing Taverns full and school empty, Would you please get Me a diary. Santa i wish you Grant my wish attention as i have seen girls in my Hood Having sex for sports and Herrr santa they reproduce like Rats. Dear Santa i wish You can bring Us tar roads as August comes windy in My Hood. Well on a contrary Dust Has a way everyday in our Shack. These Zink walls can't keep secret when Adults have Their moments. Santa i ask For RDP house to have my room i promise i will Be a good boy. Santa here we don't have snowman and Christmas Trees, only Dusty roads and Poverty. If you come I will try to Make a tree from Wires and Tins so you see how hard are Things‌..
Dear Santa take away The High blood on My mothers veins and Take away violence on my fathers brains. My father beats my mom Santa and he chases us out in the pamper of night, when i ask my mother we leave she says its not my fight. My sister hates church but every Friday she always out praying on her knees on Zips of different men, Santa please Come this SUNDAY. From: Sipho Mazibuko ŠProphetic Poet
The Baobab has fallen In a tiny village of Mzevo lies the great Baobab Tree Once concealed for 27 years for none to see I t rose to set both Black and white free Sadly, it has now fallen and we ask; what will be? Qunu is its resting place The Baobab loved everyone despite their race All children sought after the Baobab’s face The world would be better if we all learnt not to hate Powerful in life but mightier in death The people are in disbelief and everyone holds their breath Rooted in Africa but bore fruits to the entire earth The Baobab reigned peacefully unlike Macbeth Death’s wrath stroke the people like a fierce sword At home and even abroad They now offer their endless applaud Because the Baobab loved all like God With jubilations, hysteria and euphoria the people pay homage Hence in The Baobab they had courage After all, it was The Baobab that freed them from their bondage Reconciliation, compassion and forgiveness were The Baobab’s message
The Baobab was an ordinary yet an extraordinary being In heaven angels sing Because though it has not a single wing The Baobab is now watered by the King!
RobalakakgotsoNtate Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela ©Fezile Sonkwane
Tribal War What does it mean to be African? Is it defined by the borders of the continent that we dwell upon? Once upon a time, the world was ruled by builders of pyramids Now builders of Pentagons define Africa as a place of needs. Do we see Africa that way? A place that lags behind in all aspects of modern Technology A place that holds all the riches but still depends on foreign economies A place where ethnic battle enriches those who claim to fight for humanity Starting a fight in order to stop a fight from starting. This is Startling While the rest of the world’s continents are sparkling It is still hard for us to see that Africa is just an ugly duckling. A swan with mistaken identity Being identified as a Duck (Dark) Continent contaminated with constant conflict While the lands of milk and honey feed on it like instant cornflakes. Is Africa that Boomerang shaped thing with the little Madagascar on the side Or is Africa the people, who unfortunately had to divide Into many nations and tongues Like denominations that speaks in tongues It’s a Pentecost up in here, but the cost of it is war Tribal war ŠTendekai P Tati
The Foreigner is not dead The foreigner is not dead The foreigner shouts for help out of anxiety and despair The pain inflicted on him by his African brethren is something he cannot bear The foreigner screams for help but no-one seems to hear All that his people tell him is, “Go away from here!” The foreigner is not dead Not in Alex, not even in Natal where his blood now nourishes the soul His only crime was just to make a living and toil The foreigner lives thorough the many voices we hear The foreigner no longer lives in fear His clod body now lies like a carcass in a strange land And waits to be eroded by sand The foreigner is not dead His blood speaks a thousands words Though his body was slit into pieces by cowardly swords And his children back home are eagerly waiting for his return Little do they know, daddy was set alight and left in the fire to burn The foreigner is not dead He now freely trades in squatters And freely mingles among his African brothers His movements are no longer restricted by man-made borders The foreigner now settles freely in our squatters The foreigner is not dead Not in Alex, not even in Natal where he was once a victim of xenophobia. ©Fezile Sonkwane
Tell me a story Tell me a story Probably a song to remind me of home Anything blackness that incenses the soul Of the Ananse tales and mysteries I miss The heroes and heroines I can’t recall Tell me
Tell me of Mansa Tamba Nkrumah and his black counterparts Those cold men who didn’t fear Kwesi Broni and loved their people The Haile Selassie of Adiss-Ababa The Madiba of Zululand Tell me of the rest I hardly remember The indefatigable blueprints on the coast of Africa Tell me if you can Tell me of the youngness of virgin Africa The manufacturer of great minds and retailer of peace The land of my birth- the start of man’s civilization I want to know how long she misses me Please tell me while I dance to Kwaito on icy England. ©Mwamba Jagedo
* Kwesi Broni – White man in Akan (Language of Ghana)
An African Enshrined Amour Chanting African drums Dancing off artless doldrums His sheer diplomatic mien Bolted southern territories Down to his hub of passion Where his cubs will nip exploits of concocts Where his stew will be crushed under warm suns of Anuria Where his eyes share his vision wittily in swift delights Waft talks whispering under the shades of oneness Carrying messages in bottles of words Carrying bows instead of swords Cupid thinks she's clever, how stupid Koro-koro of Love Casting away those Skoro koros of hate One vision, Obi'm In such seasons breeds masses of black topaz Yielding south still found his opium He's not addicted nor afflicted, bar animated The anima of this Adonis is of Igwes His eyes has never shared a vision with such a dame There's nothing lame about his discovery of the southern Ayaba Her name is Ayama Lubuto, her gazes of an Odum There's no cage for this enshrined love For it shall set free those who are still entwined in cages. ŠGoitsemang Mvula - The Nurturer
Look Beyond what you see Trust me, you will be surprised when you realize, That what you’ve seen with your own naked eyes, Is not the naked truth, But a bit of truth sugar coated with lies. So, look beyond what you see, Because what you see on your TV – From documentaries to international news, Is not always what it seems to be. See, the media has an agenda, And it will pursue this agenda, no matter the weather, So if you only look and rely on what they provide, Your opinion is guaranteed to lean to one side. So, don’t expect to see a peaceful Muslim, Lending a helping hand. Don’t expect to see a healthy African, Living well in the motherland. Look beyond what you see, Don’t be afraid to do a bit of research of your own, Because, information is easily biased and altered, From internet platforms to podiums with microphones. It’s difficult for me to just “go along with the wave”, Because I like to ask questions, some that even burn my soul, Questions that make me look beyond 20-Twenty vision, Like “Is it an epidemic disease, or planned population control?”
As you look beyond what you see, Be careful where you look, Because it’s easy to be misguided, By Twitter’s hash-tags and flags on profile pictures on Facebook. Indeed what happened in France was bad, So we prayed for them, but they are not the only country; I just hope my brothers and sisters also pray for their own people Because I know places where more of our people have died, Not from Nuclear bombs, but from bullets and blades, Leaving a trail of fatherless kids, traumatized widows, And homeless infants who try to put on a smile, even though They know they can’t afford to always put food in their stomachs Whenever they are hungry. Look beyond what you see, Or else, you will forever be blind from the truth. ©Thuthukani Ndlovu
Jesus Piece of Peace There is a cool breeze There is a sign in the sky it says peace for that needed peace of mind there is a voice in my head that promised certainty instead of empty greed
there are visions in my thoughts feelings that over power even the waves tumbling over the seas there are ways of creation that only the Maker can please – Me there is unspeakable joy u said because it is indescribable unknown and undone i wake up to unravel the fun the confirmed direction that has cancelled speculation what is – for i am made in perfect reflection of complete imagery i am Gods poetry the gateway to his home from your dome…..
for those lost and alone i invite you so you know my brother sent me from the heavenly that i have seen the news so good and gold-en the goal-whenst thou have come into our hugs for His embrace yields a milli-yen warring angels that are meant to be taken to war for our salvation O timid soul Be whole Just so you know We are waiting Rest in Him Foe you are Chosen ©Maya Makara
Love Lecture Where is Love? When a Father never held his own daughter, Never took steps and P.E.P.S for broke water, Dear Future I’m here but where is Love? This global manifestation got plenty refugees, thousands dying at sea but tell me, where is Love? On mount Kilimanjaro where Love lives, Love gives it’s never selfish, Even if I have to scale and smell, I will sell fish, Bad cooks baking love pies that’s a failed dish, What is Love, lets define it to what it really means; A strong feeling of affection, a great interest or pleasure in something, A person or thing that one loves, like Serena Williams smashing the Ace that is one Love. They say God is Love, Dear God grant s the serenity to accept the things we cannot change. Love is tolerance, I’m tolerant – Love is infinite, you can never bottle it, Love seeks company like misery does, Love gives hope, Love’s drug and I sling dope! No romance without finance but love is only skin deep if you’re thinking of that fine Axx. What is love these days? If it is Hip Hop might not be played, If it’s a worker it must be a maid, from Love you’re never pardoned like the bars of mukobeko, Lovers say, seleni tumbombeko, they run from Love some pessimists they’ve had enough of Love, So give them Love even when they say they’re tired of Love and with an armor maximize with a fitted glove, Cause Love is deadly now, don’t wanna sing your songs like a medley now or dance on your grave with a fake green smile, I’d rather give you flowers while you’re still alive, so bring it live in Lovers emporium, I’m pouring out, Pouring my heart on the stage and never falling out, I’m calling out potential lovers, potential to be, One plus one is one not equal to three. © TheHolstarMusic
My Mother’s Hair
I have my Mother’s hair. Kinky, coarse, resilient to straighteners. My mother’s hair cannot be held down by pins, Headbands, or snap-backs. No chemical solution can separate Her tightly woven coils. I have my Mother’s hair and it is a Beauty to behold. Like me, it is stubborn, defiant, demanding of care and respect. My mother’s hair forces her to slow down, I t Teaches her to be patient, there are no shortcuts to untangling its knots. My mother’s hair grows straight, on edge defying gravity. My mother’s hair shrinks when wet, a magic trick Exclusive to people that look like us. My mother’s hair is playful, whether long or short, in chunky braids Or resting under a weave, my hair is capable of whatever hairstyle matches her mood. My mother’s hair defines beauty in itself. I have my mother’s hair.
I had my mother’s hair. Chemotherapy ripped it from her tender scalp. It started out gradually; loose hair in her head-wrap, a few strands in the shower drain. When the cancer spread, and the treatments increased, My mother’s hair could not leave her head any faster. They told us to expect hair loss, they told us it was inevitable but as my Mother Held clumps of her crowning glory in her hands, Nothing could have prepared her for this particular betrayal
I had my mother’s hair. Maybe hers will grow back. Maybe the cancer cells will grow shame and leave her body. Maybe my Mother will one day regain the strength to look at herself in the mirror. It may seem trivial; after all, it’s cancer. Why am I concerned about hair? I had my Mother’s hair. My Mother’s hair found its way to my scalp, And it grew wildly, bridging the space between my self-loathing definition of beauty And acceptance of what grew naturally, And cancer took away my Mother’s hair and along with it a connection, A bond, and a statement. I hope for a cure, truthfully I’ll be content with a kinder treatment,. I look at the bald scalp that was once the foundation of my Mother’s glorious hair, And I hear of how many more treatments she will need. I whisper quietly to myself, “I used to have my Mother’s hair” © Zelipah Tamanda Mitti
Anthology Contributors
Valentino Ndaba : Born in the Inanda Township, (Durban outskirts) South Africa. She’s one of the most creative and enthusiastic journalists I’ve seen, and I believe we need more women like her in the world today, because her character speaks volumes, and she knows no limits.
The Holstar : Born in Lusaka ,Zambia. He’s one of the pioneers of Zambian Hip hop, and a great poet. I like his consciousness, both in the music he produces, and the poetry he writes and recites.
Tendekai P Tati :Born in Chitumgwiza, Zimbabwe. He’s also known as Madzitatiguru , and he’s definitely one of the most popular and prominent poets from Zimbabwe. Mostly recites his poems in Shona, which is something I admire because of his creativity and play with words (in English and Shona).
Xtreme Sanity : Born in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. Her words always tend to cut deep, because they contain so much truth. She’s very passionate, and loves spreading poetry across different borders. She’s also a rapper and writer.
Maya Makara: Born in Gaberone, Botswana. She has a very interesting diverse background. She’s also a vocalist, author and a writer, plus she has a passion for promoting Spoken Word. Her style of poetry is very peculiar, mostly short, but still entertaining and refreshing.
Upmost – Ngonidzashe ; Born in Zimbabwe. His deep poem was first published in 2008 by Kubatana.net , and even now, it still speaks volumes of the reality most people face today. He’s also a conscious hip hop artist, and popular man who loves pushing the arts and Zimbabwean talent.
Fezile Sonkwane : Born in Welkom, South Africa. He’s the author of “Native Footprints”, and a columnist. A man who’s essays and poems are mostly thought provoking and enlightening. He’s known for being an opinionated critical thinker, and he’s leadership skills are quite evident.
James Robert Myers (Mwamba Jagedo): Born in Accra, Ghana. He’s a poet who definitely doesn’t believe in limitations, and has featured in a number of international anthologies. He also pushes poetry beyond boundaries, and is an inspiration to many people.
Hector Kunene: Born in South Africa. A vibrant poet who has embraced a number of platforms in S.A and Botswana . He’s also an author and artist, plus he always delivers electric performances. A man of great influence.
Prophetic poet (Tshediso): Born in South Africa. He is an upcoming poet, who has an immense amount of talent. This was his 1st published poem, and I’m proud of him. Greater things to come.
Tshiamo Malatji: Born in Johannesburg, South Africa. He is a young and very proactive young man. I admire his confidence and enthusiasm, and I believe he’s destined to reach great heights through his poetry. He’s also very eloquent in his performances.
Zelipah Tamanda Mitti: Born in Zambia. The poem she contributed was for a radioactive article on cancer awareness. She is a very outspoken person, and her poetry is guaranteed to move you.
Goitsemang Mvula, The Nurturer: Born and bred in Soweto, South Africa. She’s a freelance writer and blogger. Her vocabulary is very profound, plus her poetry always brings the reader to an interesting level of curiosity.
THANK YOU I would like to say thank you to you who’s reading this, as you have come to the end of this anthology. I really appreciate you taking the time to read the poems that have been contributed by amazing people from different backgrounds. I would also like to thank each poet for submitting their awesome work, because if it wasn’t for them, this book wouldn’t be as captivating and enlightening as it is. It’s been an honour and a privilege to host such an anthology under my blog, and my hope is that after reading this book, you have been inspired, enlightened, and informed. Feel free to share the book with other friends and families, poets and writers, and anyone who wants to know about the motherland. For more information about the poets and the book, you can visit www.radioactivetuts.blogspot.com Thuthukani Ndlovu
Send feedback to : radioactivetuts@gmail.com