Youth day; your success, my failure

Youth day; your success, my failure.

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The South Africa My fathers Built Part two

 

It has been a long time since I last felt so strong about this, my father’s country: South Africa.

I love South Africa, yes I do really find their brand of governance/rulership any where close to this nice word, special, but I do love the land, the climate and the variety of peoples mixed and living within these boarders. Fighting and all included.

 

The are however, aspects of this country I find a bit odd. Things I feel aren’t quet right with it or perhaps even too right for any good to come out of their presence. The following, though you may not agree with sily old me, are some of them, not all but certainly some of them. Namely:

 

·        Behaving as if we wish to bury not only the hatchet but the Boere along with it

The ANCs and indeed South Africa’s freedom chatter states-amoung other things-that South Africa belongs to all who live in it. That being said I find it odd that even though this sentence entrenched there is known and indeed almost sung in the streets every other rally day seems not to sift itself down into the psych and hearts of most South Africans. I mean, if you dared to be honest enough, wouldn’t you find your land right and therefor citezenry threatened would it happen that you here a full grown sober man singing and dancing to a song that goes like “Thina sizwe esim’nyama sikhalela izwe lethu elathathwa amaBhunu…Mabawu yeke umhlaba wethu” ; loosely trancelated “We the black peoples are in grief, In grief over our beloved land taken from us by the Boerer”?  I do not know about but as for me, this song would be strong enough to rattle my comfort. I would feel myself not welcome here. Why wouldn’t I? I mean the Boere did steal land from the Usuthu(King Cetshwayo of the Usuthu was made to sign a document ceding over 1.3million hectres of land to the Boer, he was sixteen at the time and the document was not in agreement put forth by the Zulu. That of only 100 Boere getting land for their helping Usuthu at war with Britains puppert, Zibhebhu). And the Boere did take the land of Sophia Town in Johanessburg under false pretence of it not being suitable for people to live in…the Boerer took much more land, they with the British stole from Swaziland, took 70% of Zulu territory for themselves and did much more of the same to others as well. So, yes out of guilt for my ancestors’ horrid doings I would feel uncomfortable here, in the land of my birth.

 

Given just the above picture, is it not odd that based on the Boere’s history in South Africa, we the people known for ubuntu still sing such songs and find it not wrong to do so, even though we claim we have gone through the reconciliation process and as a result have forgiven each other of our wrongs against one another.

Or have we not? If we have, why do we keep on behaving as if we wish we could bury not only just the hatchet but the Boer along with it? The recent argument arround Sir Cecil John Rhodes’ stataue at Rhode University sure points this behaviour (if not wish) out. There are many other examples as well…Have we not change Pretoria into Tswane, was it not for the same reason? Have we not changed street names to suit the new South Africa? Are we tranforming or are we simpley attempting to change how we look? Recently a there has been a cry out parliament that said that there are too many white faces in rugby…

What are we doing, was not Mandela against the changing of South Africa’s national rugby team colors in 1995, if so why then are we bold enough to want to manualy change the face of rugby? Can we not wait and let it change on its own in its own sweet time? Oh is it that the concept of Ubuntu does not apply to politics?

 

·        Xenophobia the Masked Jelousy

We are certainly not the only country overloaded with many a people we happen not to understand when they speak, we certainly not the only country full of our sibalies (inlaws) from Mozambique, Ethiopia, Congo DRC, and yes, even Nigeria and them nice looking Somalis. Countries all over the world are facing the same challenge as we are. Hell even the ever troubled Israel is full of Somali and Ethopians wishing to excape inhumane hardships at home. Why then is it that our people seem to think the sky is falling over our heads because of the presence of asylum seekers who, to some of us, seem to be doing a good job restraining themselve from stealing even though they obviously come into South Africa so poor and verily in survival mode?

My father never taught me a thing about Somalis, not even that they are black Africans like me. Infact colour of the skin, even my own, never even register in my father’s lips. How then would I know of the Somalis? All I knew of them is they, like the Nigerians sudendly walked our streets, spoke a different toung and

were as good as the Indians in making money out of selling Banana. The Swazi are a people good in copying how to build things. We learnt much from the Mozambican’s comming into Swaziland. I now live in South Africa; they see the Somalis, pakistani, and Ethiopian as threat to their spaza shop (little shop) businessy kind of life. I can not argue against that but the idea of walking past a busy tree every day all day and-never seeing the business opportunity the tree presents and then fume in anger when the Somali sees the opportunity and not only that but uses it is really unfaire. They go to eThekwini(Duburn), buy blunkets at lower prices, co-opperate in selling them and then make good profit out of it. After all this work, we, the locals say they have taken our jobs?

Our children have a luxury kind of life compared to the rest if not most Africa. This thing they call free education. But they do not use it. It is as if it their democratic right to rid them poor arogant selves of education. This jewel we so much yern to enjoy and grow bald selling tomatoes in Swaziland just so we be able to pay E1500 worth of a term’s education. Them Somalis will not take over your spaza shops but the country as well just because we are lazy to own up and match up.

Our jelousy is ujustified if we contineu not to match up, oh and affirmative action does not work on a mind not psyched up to edure hard work! Kill Xenophobia South Africa…It is unjustifiable!

 

·        Picketing over done

Open any news site on the web and search South Africa and you are more likely to get “South African Trade Union on Strike!”or “Marikana Massacre: where to from here” as one of the headlines running for that week. South Africa is a very strike prone country, there are many reasons this thing happens. One of them is that this country is a democracy. This is my country’s banner flag as well as its foundation: without this there is no South Africa. Unfortunately we abuse it.

Strike statistics are hard to come bye but the few I managed to find sugest that the picture isn’t as grim as the media, both internationaly and localy would like to have us believe. Yes the country is in the top twenty in the list I have managed to find. Owen Adendorff and Associates (Pty)Ltd, list South African strike action on number eleven on its “Strike days per 1 million of population-2008 analysis. Denmark is the first with its 373 820 days gone to strikes. South Africa had only 10 151 days gone to strikes that year and if their prediction is any thing to go bye, we will continue not being the strike capital of the world (for more please go to www.owenaden.co.za and look for strike a global perspective). Unfortunately the time left to go on being a moderate striking nation is fast running out. Hardly a week goes bye without us reading about or watching a violent strike poping up its ugly somewhere in coporate jungle South Africa. Medupi technicians bulding Medupi Power station left us baffled as they recently put down their tools and went on strike. The country is under siege from a battallion of strikers writes David Gleason(BD Live, www.bdlive.co.za/opinion/columnist/2013/09/10). And that is the truth, We seem to believe-we leaders- that so long as the people are as of yet not on strike then we have no reason to panic and also need not address their problems. Trade Unionist have the country under siege but it is justifiable. Our leaders do not ever listen, you have to be on strike for them to listen. It is becoming so ugly that it has now gone on to wear the horrid mask of xenophopia. Exepecially when the average over fustrasted township and slump town are involved. As is, it seems justifiable to say that as far as disasters go, Marikana masacre taught our leaders nothing.

 

That being said, I have come to admit that that we South Africans do too much striking for our own good. I mean whats up with the crude idea of actually draging school kids and students out of class just so you could go raze libraries, foreign owned shops and goverment building up in smoke all in the guise of a well meaning strike? The scariest part-to me any way- is that my Zimbabwen teachers tell me that this is exactely how Zim’ got itself to being the world’s ricule doll of a country. Are we sure this is the right path we’ taking?

God help us…But just in case you choose not to: I think it wise to keep my passport to Swaziland within reach-oh dear!

 

There is much to be said about South Africa. Universities all over the world study the countries democracy, Some have even called my father’s country “the great experiment. I hate this label but I cannot argue against its merrits. We are an experiment but there are signs that we will not be an experiment for long.

One such indicator is the current awakening as to the imageof South Africa projected by the presence of colonial South Africa’s statues. Students from UCT are demanding the removal of Sir Cecil John Rhodes’ statue from the premises. UKZN students have recetlly defaced the statue of King George 5th and are demanding its removal. Oh and EFF is offering to help the universities remove the statues “manually” and I susoect they will hastily take away bit by bit. You may get your passport if you like but we are going nowhere, the Boere Volkstraad may be seeking to cede land out of South Africa and maybe form a nicely well cooked Afrikaner Republic but the truth is that they are more African than the Deutch they come from. They are going nowhere. South Africa is only just a teenager going through one nasty identity crises phase. Who likes pimples?

 

Sharp zinto.   

 

My mother and father never taught me how to be African, Has it got anything to do with the coulor of my skin?

My mother and father never taught me how to be African. I never asked them questions relating to what it means to be an African. All I knew about being African is that I was born and as such I live in this dry, windy, harsh place they call Africa.

 

Africa is a big place, the only place I knew in this place they call Africa was Bhunya; my home town, Mbabane; my capital city and Manzini; my city of groceries, the Shangaan people and a lot of Portuguse. All these within this country under the King Mswati 111 of Swaziland.

These was me, this was all it meant to be me. To be African.

As I grew up I began to see things, perceive them and learn them.  I however, never learnt to be African. I went to Torgyle Primary school, not fancy, then to Cana Combined School, and then to WEM School Swaziland. In all these school and all these years I never once was taught what being African is. Is it:

 

1.     Being Black in skin colour

Once upon a time it was normal to be black, to have a black skin as they say. Personally, being of the Bantu-Negro stock, I never understood why they called us black. I never saw myself as black, nor did I see my mother or father or any of my friends for that matter. All I saw was a variety of the colour brown. Can this-being brown- mean that I am not black and therefore not African? Does the skin colour, body shape and eye colour qualify me or any of the Bantu of Southern Africa as African as a people?

 

2.     Culture and tradition

The Boer/Afrikaner people are a people who are of European decent.

They came to Southern Africa as the Dutch and French to settle in the Cape of Good Hope. Due to problems in relation to disagreements on slavery and the black man… As they moved up the coast up into the Transvaal and ultimately into modern day Pretoria they came across many a Bantu languages, as such their language changed. It adapted to the environment-as would any other language-incorporating Bantu languages and influencing them too. Their Dutch soon became known as Kitchen Dutch and from there changed to modern Afrikaans. They learnt to love the fire, the land and the heat. They have been here for over two hundred years. By virtue of that history, do they not qualify to be African? I mean their culture is more African than many a European cultures.

 

Coming back to me, I have been here for only twenty six years-alive I mean. I spent most of those years in Swaziland and as such you could say I am Swazi. My trouble is, however, that Swaziland and by extension the Swazi are a very cultural people. I never went to the uMhlanga-reed dance, never participated in the Incwala-first fruit ceremony and never went to Lusekwane. All I knew was I couldn’t go there because I am the grand son of a Zulu chief, my allegiance therefore belongs to no other king on earth but the Zulu king Zwelithini. As I and many of my foreign friends grew up, we became aware of the dilemma of being Swazi by thought but  be of another nation in blood. Our customs and whatever made us Swazi besides the royal events was on point. We dressed Swazi, talked SiSwati, dreamt Swazi dreams, had and lived by Swazi superstations and fiercely defended our king whenever we argued against those we thought more foreigner than us.

Does that mean I am Swazi more than I am a South African?

Or is this a more difficult choice to make simply because the no colour of skin is involved in this case?

 

Swaziland has many a white Swazis within its borders. This people of European decent attend Umhlanga, participate in Incwala and go to Lusekwane every year. Our Indian Swazi speak better SiSwati than maybe even me, they definitely credit it way better than I ever did and have gone to many a places within the Kingdom I have never even dreamt of going to. Knowing all this, can we then say these people, myself included, are not Swazi? By kukhonta, some have actually affirmed their allegiance to no other king on earth but that in the person of His Majesty King Mswati the third of Swaziland. They are our Libutfo (traditional warriors) and by tradition own land, cemeteries and ancestry in common with their black skinned Swazis?

Are they not African then? If so is this thing of being African merited, earned only by the blackness of my skin, the broadness of my nose, the thickness of my lips and the curvaceous-ness of this body I by default happen to own?

 

3.     Going back to my roots

There are those among us who say that we ought to go back to our roots. That sounds simple enough but really: what are my roots, where are they and are they not contaminated? Have my roots stood still, not changed, moved or even mutinied? Are they still my own or am I to share them with people of other origins, known or unknown? Can I as I am still consider myself an African-no questions asked or is my Africaness very much undoubtedly questionable? Questionable not only to my grandpa but also even unto myself? One of the major principles of being African-at least as it is thought by some-is the concept of Ubuntu. It is rather a Nguni-centric term but it does in a way explain the humanness of an African person. The African is not important to himself, his thought, his actions, his perception, personality and his life is not his own. Everything that he is belongs to the group. He is-by definition-a being who is because they are and by extension, they are because he is. Full stop. Ubuntu, the concept means that I am my brother’s keeper. We do not eat if our brother is not eating, We do not own if our brother does not own, we all cry if our brother is crying, we share our pleasures, suffer each others pains and celebrate each others victories. This is Ubuntu; this is the African’s humanness, this who I am and this is who we are.

Trouble is; are we really a people true to this Ubuntu concept?

Can we still build a house for a homeless man, no question asked? Can we still donate him both a cow and its calf without expecting any thing in return, can we still trust each other’s food, can we still welcome a stranger into our home, give him food, a  bed to sleep on and a person to wait upon his needs?

Can we afford to cast out this Eurocentric individualism, cast away these trousers mobile phones. Go back to my loin clothes, gown and headdress?

If I can’t, do I still qualify to be African? Does the failure to do this make me more European than African?

 

Answering these questions is indeed a very difficult thing. There are rather too many oddities for any one answer to or even a combination of them to qualify me or my white brother or sister African?

The truth is, I do not blame my mother for her never teaching me how to be African. It cannot be learnt, it can only be given as is. Not through learning but rather through raw assimilation of all the things, actions, perceptions and behaviors of all the personalities we as children born in Africa find roaming all around us.

Being African, European or Asian and American has nothing to do with the colour of my skin. It has everything to do with what I am taught. Why?

 

Well simply because we are born with empty minds, all that we are only filled into them, either directly or indirectly. It is that simple.

 

Key: Libutfo are Swazi/Nguni warrior regiments grouped in terms of age.

Thank you for taking time off to read this note. Please note that I am still a learner blogger and as such am prone making mistakes. Otherwise you are welcome to leave comments in the form of advise, requests or academic if not socially based critique. You are welcome to follow me @Masiza4000 on twitter.

 

 

Technorati Tags:

 

    

My mother and father never taught me how to be African, Has it got anything to do with the coulor of my skin?

My mother and father never taught me how to be African. I never asked them questions relating to what it means to be an African. All I knew about being African is that I was born and as such I live in this dry, windy, harsh place they call Africa.

 

Africa is a big place, the only place I knew in this place they call Africa was Bhunya; my home town, Mbabane; my capital city and Manzini; my city of groceries, the Shangaan people and a lot of Portuguse. All these within this country under the King Mswati 111 of Swaziland.

These was me, this was all it meant to be me. To be African.

As I grew up I began to see things, perceive them and learn them.  I however, never learnt to be African. I went to Torgyle Primary school, not fancy, then to Cana Combined School, and then to WEM School Swaziland. In all these school and all these years I never once was taught what being African is. Is it:

 

1.     Being Black in skin colour

Once upon a time it was normal to be black, to have a black skin as they say. Personally, being of the Bantu-Negro stock, I never understood why they called us black. I never saw myself as black, nor did I see my mother or father or any of my friends for that matter. All I saw was a variety of the colour brown. Can this-being brown- mean that I am not black and therefore not African? Does the skin colour, body shape and eye colour qualify me or any of the Bantu of Southern Africa as African as a people?

 

2.     Culture and tradition

The Boer/Afrikaner people are a people who are of European decent.

They came to Southern Africa as the Dutch and French to settle in the Cape of Good Hope. Due to problems in relation to disagreements on slavery and the black man… As they moved up the coast up into the Transvaal and ultimately into modern day Pretoria they came across many a Bantu languages, as such their language changed. It adapted to the environment-as would any other language-incorporating Bantu languages and influencing them too. Their Dutch soon became known as Kitchen Dutch and from there changed to modern Afrikaans. They learnt to love the fire, the land and the heat. They have been here for over two hundred years. By virtue of that history, do they not qualify to be African? I mean their culture is more African than many a European cultures.

 

Coming back to me, I have been here for only twenty six years-alive I mean. I spent most of those years in Swaziland and as such you could say I am Swazi. My trouble is, however, that Swaziland and by extension the Swazi are a very cultural people. I never went to the uMhlanga-reed dance, never participated in the Incwala-first fruit ceremony and never went to Lusekwane. All I knew was I couldn’t go there because I am the grand son of a Zulu chief, my allegiance therefore belongs to no other king on earth but the Zulu king Zwelithini. As I and many of my foreign friends grew up, we became aware of the dilemma of being Swazi by thought but  be of another nation in blood. Our customs and whatever made us Swazi besides the royal events was on point. We dressed Swazi, talked SiSwati, dreamt Swazi dreams, had and lived by Swazi superstations and fiercely defended our king whenever we argued against those we thought more foreigner than us.

Does that mean I am Swazi more than I am a South African?

Or is this a more difficult choice to make simply because the no colour of skin is involved in this case?

 

Swaziland has many a white Swazis within its borders. This people of European decent attend Umhlanga, participate in Incwala and go to Lusekwane every year. Our Indian Swazi speak better SiSwati than maybe even me, they definitely credit it way better than I ever did and have gone to many a places within the Kingdom I have never even dreamt of going to. Knowing all this, can we then say these people, myself included, are not Swazi? By kukhonta, some have actually affirmed their allegiance to no other king on earth but that in the person of His Majesty King Mswati the third of Swaziland. They are our Libutfo (traditional warriors) and by tradition own land, cemeteries and ancestry in common with their black skinned Swazis?

Are they not African then? If so is this thing of being African merited, earned only by the blackness of my skin, the broadness of my nose, the thickness of my lips and the curvaceous-ness of this body I by default happen to own?

 

3.     Going back to my roots

There are those among us who say that we ought to go back to our roots. That sounds simple enough but really: what are my roots, where are they and are they not contaminated? Have my roots stood still, not changed, moved or even mutinied? Are they still my own or am I to share them with people of other origins, known or unknown? Can I as I am still consider myself an African-no questions asked or is my Africaness very much undoubtedly questionable? Questionable not only to my grandpa but also even unto myself? One of the major principles of being African-at least as it is thought by some-is the concept of Ubuntu. It is rather a Nguni-centric term but it does in a way explain the humanness of an African person. The African is not important to himself, his thought, his actions, his perception, personality and his life is not his own. Everything that he is belongs to the group. He is-by definition-a being who is because they are and by extension, they are because he is. Full stop. Ubuntu, the concept means that I am my brother’s keeper. We do not eat if our brother is not eating, We do not own if our brother does not own, we all cry if our brother is crying, we share our pleasures, suffer each others pains and celebrate each others victories. This is Ubuntu; this is the African’s humanness, this who I am and this is who we are.

Trouble is; are we really a people true to this Ubuntu concept?

Can we still build a house for a homeless man, no question asked? Can we still donate him both a cow and its calf without expecting any thing in return, can we still trust each other’s food, can we still welcome a stranger into our home, give him food, a  bed to sleep on and a person to wait upon his needs?

Can we afford to cast out this Eurocentric individualism, cast away these trousers mobile phones. Go back to my loin clothes, gown and headdress?

If I can’t, do I still qualify to be African? Does the failure to do this make me more European than African?

 

Answering these questions is indeed a very difficult thing. There are rather too many oddities for any one answer to or even a combination of them to qualify me or my white brother or sister African?

The truth is, I do not blame my mother for her never teaching me how to be African. It cannot be learnt, it can only be given as is. Not through learning but rather through raw assimilation of all the things, actions, perceptions and behaviors of all the personalities we as children born in Africa find roaming all around us.

Being African, European or Asian and American has nothing to do with the colour of my skin. It has everything to do with what I am taught. Why?

 

Well simply because we are born with empty minds, all that we are only filled into them, either directly or indirectly. It is that simple.

 

Key: Libutfo are Swazi/Nguni warrior regiments grouped in terms of age.

Thank you for taking time off to read this note. Please note that I am still a learner blogger and as such am prone making mistakes. Otherwise you are welcome to leave comments in the form of advise, requests or academic if not socially based critique. You are welcome to follow me @Masiza4000 on twitter.

 

 

Technorati Tags:

 

    

Of What significance Am I

 

Of what significance am I really

I

Of what significance am I really

To use the tongue

To hold my roots spell bound

Me!

Remind them who they are

What they stand for

Reduce them

To what they aren’t

Remind them of every thing forgotten

 

That once upon a time they were more than black sweaty bodies

Soothy and sticky

Smelly,purely disposable;

Reduced to

Nothing

 

That a dog was once much

Better than they

That a whoring bitch-dog was to them, once of saintly

Status

 

That the oppressor’s tongue

Reduced my fathers,

My kings:

To nothing more than a wee-wee’s sound

Their back flesh wrenched in shreds

Like a tractor’s work in the fields they worked.

Big ,broad, strong hungry shoulders wet in sweat;

 

They are soldiering on,

Panting as they go

That’s who they were once

That’s who we were once

That is me

That is who I was.

 

Oh my tongue; soap is not enough to wash this off,

Am I to accept.

My Swaziland; Mercy oh My Chef

Are you interested in Swaziland

Fascinated by Swazi politics

Accelerated by Swazi laws and customs

The rose was beautiful while still a bud.

 

Do you find it interesting that

We love solving problems,

The Swazi way.

Simplifying mountains

To crumbs

Hills to dust:

 

My inheritance,

The smallest but

Most effective psychiatric

Ward in all my world;

 

No lunatic complaining,

Dreams-tangible dreams

To every paranoiac

To become and to live out in full,

 

Out of the extraordinary

Comes the ordinary:

From dreams I live

My full life with all its fruits

Bitter or sweet,

A potato of potatoes I am.

Mercy oh my chef of many chefs

The pot is rather

Too hot for my skin to bear:

Why me,

A little water,

This would do me

More good than pain:

 

I benefit a little-prolong the pain,

Lessen it for a little while.

My master wants chips

Nice crumbly hot

Chips:

 

That’s all I am.

A nourisher;

Destined to nothing else but

A rudely hot pot; by accident of birth,

And ever gnarly belly,

Ever so juicily potty worthy

And fresh:

 

Saucy potty leaks and politics

Psychiatrists and sarcastics toying

Hospitalized hopefuls

Freely born free dumps slaved in

Freedom,

What is the difference

Swazi pot leaks

Saucy politics.

 

My psychiatric hospital

My prison

My home

My hope

My trap

My delusion

My heaven

My hell.

 

What is the difference;

Mercy oh my chef of many chefs;

A little water will do me more good than this

Pain.

Your Mother My King

To he who rules me

To he who grooms me

The one who steers me

Me his son

 

The son of the

Rivers, the valleys, the glens

Of Africa

My mother.

 

I who drinks from her fair veins

Eats of her breast and sleeps of

Her calls

Calls from her pores cooling me:

 

I who smiles from her suns

And sobers of her moon

I find paths of her eyes

And wisdom of her gate ways

 

Drums and groans

Cries and moans

Bites and beatings

Songs and sorrows

From greed, greens and greetings,

 

A woman’s pride is her hair

A mother’s jewels is her breast

Her waist is her identity

Her womb her sword soldiers:

Protectors’ projectors:

 

All poisons, gladly and eagerly

Destroyed

Cut off, all of it nothings

Pull off, all of it meaningless,

Stripped off.

 

He li-lies

Kings queens princes dancing

Pot naked and it naked

It shines clattering for her own blood.

Bling-bling blinding

All who see naked,

Your mother,

My queen black

 

Of her sons’ greens of greed,

Stripped off

Cut off

To nothing but shame, pain and neglect.

I present to you your mother my king!

Umhlanga ceremony of The Kingdom of Swaziland

003 Below is a photo show casing one of Swaziland’s most world known traditional ceremony. The Umhlanga or Reed dance the English call it, is a Swazi national event held by the

Swazi in honor of the reigning king( King Mswat iiii ). It is attended by thousands of the Nation’s virgin girls, from all the country’s chiefdoms and allegiances. The year 2013 saw about 50 000 young,old,poor,rich and high born virgin girls attending the event. Among them were visiting girl attendants from Kingships across Southern Africa…The Zulu are always there, a number of participants-from as far away as Germany frequently frequent Umhlanga and dance their hearts out to swaying simple rhythm of the masses to a song they rarely if not at all understand.

Back to basics. Umhlanga-reed dance is held every August,the date is announced by traditional astrologers after a study of the moon and a number of other cultural considerations. The date is then relayed to traditional authorities, then the traditional councils at the Ludzidzini Royal Palace then to the Prime Minister and his Parliament. After that the Induna/maiden head-girl is free to relay the date to the whole nation. Girls are then, when the day arrives, relayed by the numerous Chiefdoms scatterd all over the country to the Ludzidzini Palace where they register their names and prensence in song and dance. From that day forward the girls are considered holy and therefore verily untouchable to the present male population. The funny thing is, even though indlamu and the whole traditional regalia scantly covers their precious bodies up,things like the word sexy and nice seldom enter your mind when you look at them. The only word/words dominating the poor three legged monster’s usually unholy mind is ‘beautiful and precious’. Nothing more. Then second day is a day of rend and dance, the forth comes with an early morning long walk to numerous but designated wetlands. Here the Umhlanga or reed grass is cut… It customary though that Inkosatana/head maiden(usually and elder princess ) be the first of all present to cut the first reed. The girls then carry the reed to the Royal palace; I do not know where they take all this energy but their singing never dies out. They will walk-dance all the way to Ludzidzini until, under the watchful eye of the King,Queen mother and the queens they deliver the reed and dance some more. I am telling you: there but a few things ever so naturally beautiful in today’s fake clogged world. And one of them is the Umhlanga ceremony of Swaziland.

The third day is the same as the others,only that the girls dance and sing all day. It is however the most anticipated day of all other days of the Swazi year. Why? It is the day we the Swazi see the new Liphovela…The girl according to the King, who is the most beautiful, most elegant maiden of all present. And believe you me, he never disappoints. King Mswati iii has an eye for beauty, his wives are the most beautiful of all queens. Hands down. Full Stop.

We will again have Umhlanga this year. I hope we continue having it till a time immemorial. Unfortunately political parties world over are discrediting the presence and validity of royalty and therefore threatening the continued presentence of true traditional culture and customs and therefore world attractions and events such as this. Also, the death of original and ethnic traditions means the death of holy,often sacred and ecologically valuable and thus ethnically protected resources. There is much to lose in the long term should we lose the Kingship of the Swazi King.