Susan Taylor: Essence Icon and Mentoring Motivator

It was a great honor and pleasure to meet Susan Taylor. To me, she is something of an enigma – a bold, driven, ambitious “type A” personality, and yet very down-to-earth, soft-spoken and easy to talk to. Maybe this is partly a function of walking away from Essence magazine and all its ventures after 37 years, and her decision to focus on changing the African American community through her National Cares mentoring movement. I got the distinct sense that she made everyone and everything around her slow down and move gracefully; she is definitely not an executive in the style of Donald Trump! I think a lot of what we can learn from Susan Taylor comes from her personal presence – that a person can be a leader and care about people around them, and that women can move up in their chosen careers and fields and not feel like they have to be cold, hard, calculating martinets. Susan is a visionary, and hopefully more and more people will answer her call for understanding the power of mentoring relationships.

Susan Taylor: Essence Icon and Mentoring Motivator

Susan Taylor, builder of the legendary Essence magazine empire, is virtually the embodiment of Black womanhood in full force.

She has a small frame, but is stunning in her physical presence – she is graceful and elegant, perhaps all that you would expect from a woman who established the most successful Black woman’s magazine on the planet. Moving into its 39th year, Essence has evolved from a small monthly magazine into an icon of African American culture, including the Essence Music Festival, the Essence Literary Awards, Essence hosiery, Essence Eyewear and a vast array of topical conferences and forums. Taylor herself is ever active, always searching the horizon to anticipate changes in society that effect Black women and African Americans as a whole. Her visionary leadership has inspired Essence’s extraordinary growth and influence, and has transformed her into one of the most-recognized and admired African Americans of our contemporary era.

Yet in person, what is most striking about Susan Taylor is her gentleness, her warmth and accessibility. One has the sense that Taylor is completely present and focused, yet sensitive and responsive to everyone around her. It is hard to imagine that this diminutive, easy-going woman is also the same dynamic publishing and media mogul whose name has become synonymous with an industry powerhouse. But Taylor moves with a natural smile and a sense grace and dignity that never belies impatience, haughtiness, detachment or ego-driven ambition.

At the apex of her career and personal achievements, at a time when others might be considering retirement, Taylor has other things on her mind. With all that her wealth, status and fame can bring her, she is not preoccupied with quietly easing into a life of comfort from the well-deserved fruits of her 37 years at Essence. Susan Taylor is concerned that “the situation in Black America is continuing to decline” and has devoted all of her time and energy to building the National Cares Mentoring Movement, which has now taken root in 55 cities across the country.

Taylor was in Denver with National Cares Chairman Tommy Dortch and President Justin Lewis to launch the Greater Denver Mentoring Movement at Infinity Park last month. Seeing a profound need for guidance and wisdom in the growth of African American youth, particularly in urban and inner city communities, Taylor’s new mission emerged from the aftermath of the August 2005 Hurricane Katrina catastrophe. But it took time for her ideas to evolve and her vision to take form. Given that the three-day Essence Music Festival – one of the America’s premier festivals of Black music – takes place in New Orleans, it was inevitable that Hurricane Katrina would evoke a response from Taylor and Essence.

The Essence Festival temporarily moved to Houston that year, and Taylor felt an urgent need to bring artists, celebrities and political leaders together to address the audience and talk about the impact of Hurricane Katrina. The energy and spirit of the Festival was forward-looking, as people like Danny Glover, Mary J. Blige, Monique, Common, Run DMC, Terrence Howard, Marian Wright-Edelman and Urban League Director Mark Morial all spoke about volunteerism and getting engaged in the lives of the disenfranchised, disconnected young people. After the Festival Taylor felt a need to take a sabbatical to Africa, and while on Pemba Island, off the coast of Zanzibar, she had an epiphany.

“Giving it critical thought and taking quiet time, the Holy Spirit just said, ‘Mentor.’ Mentoring creates miracles and transforms lives,” Taylor explained, as we sat down at Loew’s Hotel lounge, a day before the Denver launch activities. Months of grappling with the issue led to her revelation on Pemba Island. “You don’t need lots of money. I had looked at the Urban League’s programs and the NAACP’s and a whole host of others to see the work that they were doing in communities, looking at Boys and Girls Clubs, and Job Corps; we’re talking about billions of dollars it would take to serve young people and those who are most vulnerable. So I thought, ‘mentoring is what we need.’ ”
Taylor organized a meeting with many national activists and groups and organizations, hosting them for lunch with Essence, as part of the “Essence Cares” initiative, and in turn gradually learned more about the non-profit sector. Eventually Essence Cares became the National Cares Mentoring Movement, based in Atlanta, and they relied on Tommy Dortch – a well-known political leader, entrepreneur and author – to develop a template for mentoring. Dortch, who is the chairman of the 100 Black Men mentoring organization, also became chairman of National Cares Mentoring Movement. Along with National Cares president Justin Lewis, Dortch and Taylor travel to various cities across the country, drawing crowds, speaking at launches and galvanizing communities into action.

Taylor is concerned that there has been no organization that has been successful in recruiting Black mentors and keeping them engaged with their communities. She feels mentors are essential to help bridge a growing class divide that is having a destructive impact on the African American community.

“There’s a complete divide between middle class Black people and poor Black people that didn’t exist 30, 40, 50 years ago and that gulf is widening and deepening. And so that was the original idea for the Essence Cares movement,” Taylor says. Her voice becomes more passionate and animated as she talks about the implications of these changes.

“We got into the American dream of having more – more of anything. We want a bigger house, a bigger car, more clothing, more, more, more – and there’s no ceiling to the more. And that more has focused us on getting and not giving,” Taylor points out, saying these changes are reflected in our church communities, which have now become preoccupied with a “prosperity gospel” rather than the “social gospel.” “I’m a student of history. When you look back and see what we did with what we had during the civil rights movement – people who had resources always took care of others.”

Beyond the class issue, Taylor also expressed concerns that some people are unwilling to work with ex-cons and felons, while she feels the institutions of American society and the Black community have actually failed these individuals. Taylor acknowledges that some individuals are completely out of control and need to be kept behind bars, yet she is passionate about taking collective responsibility for young people who have poor reading skills and have not been given the proper tools for success.

“There’s nobody with a gun in his hand, who’s out there mugging someone, who has a high school diploma or who has a job and is capable of taking care of himself and his family. There’s nobody out there who’s gang-banging, who has those things,” Taylor says, speaking in slow, measured tones, but with great feeling. “The challenge in this country and in our community is public education. Failed schools are pipelines to prisons. And when you have youngsters who are 17 or 18 years old reading at a third grade level, when you’re handed a broom to do a lot of sweeping, you don’t want to do that – you feel like your grandfathers did that and that’s not what you want to do.”

The National Cares Mentoring Movement is meant to identify and recruit as many “able and stable” Black men and women as possible, and then channel them into local mentoring organizations that are already vetted and prepared to establish mentor relationships. When local organizers have done enough groundwork and are ready, they setup a launch for a local mentoring organization, and Taylor, Dortch and Lewis work to motivate and draw as many people as possible.

Taylor spoke highly of Denver organizers Gerry Howard and Yolanda Jackson, who have “gathered an amazing circle of people who care about community – politicians, business people, people who work for non-profits and people who do mentoring things.” Taylor proclaimed that the launch of the Greater Denver Cares Movement at Infinity Park, which drew an estimated 500 people, was the National Cares Movement’s most successful launch in any of its current 55 cities. People who are interested in the program can logon to the National Cares Mentoring Movement web site at www.caresmentoring.com and be directed to specific mentoring organizations in their home communities.

Taylor believes that effective mentoring can be essential for young people who are vulnerable, falling through the cracks and at risk. For a short time commitment, mentors can have a very real and immediate influence in turning someone’s life around.

“All we’re asking for is an hour a week to speak life into a young person,” she says, explaining that young people need a caring adult to give them hope and encouragement. A mentor can talk to a young person in need and make options and opportunities real for them. “You can say, ‘Oh, you dropped out of high school – don’t worry, you can fix it. There’s a GED program over here; let’s get you in it. Come on, you can go to community college – you can do it! And even if they don’t go to college, maybe you need some kind of industrial training. You can become a bricklayer, you can become a nurse’s aide or you can become a plumber. Unions are now opening their ranks to people who have come out of incarceration. You can make $50 or $60 an hour as plumber or a carpenter.’ ”

At 61, Taylor has been on a remarkable journey, and she realized late last year that she had to leave Essence to devote herself full time in order for the National Cares Mentoring Movement to succeed. When she started at Essence in the early 70s she was a single mother, earning a salary of $500 a month and her rent was $368, and the magazine had a circulation of 50,000. Today, Essence has a monthly readership of 1.1 million, not to mention the reach of the Essence brand’s subsidiary ventures. While new editors have stepped up to fill her shoes, for several years Taylor has maintained a “long arm” on the publishing empire she created; but it was clear last year that the time had come to devote herself to completely to her mentoring movement. In December Taylor sent an emotional e-mail to all her professional colleagues, informing them that she would be stepping down, in effect formalizing the end of an era and the changing of the guard at Essence.

“I couldn’t grow the National Cares Movement. It is an answer – it is THE answer. And it needs galvanizing force – it needs pushing. It needs somebody who can be in Denver today, and Atlanta yesterday and Greensboro next week. It needed that, and I realized my tentacles – that I am connected to a lot of people in the political world, I’m connected on the grassroots level and I have the respect of my community,” Taylor says with joy and contentment. “People who know me know that I’m not about being in another photograph, or being on television, or anything like that. I belong to my community. And that’s the conversation I was having with myself.”

But if you ask Susan Taylor and push a little deeper, you’ll find that there are aspects of her life that remain unfulfilled. At some point in the future, perhaps Taylor will feel that the National Cares Mentoring Movement is well-established and enough change is occurring that she may withdraw into a more introspective and personal phase of her long and storied life.

“I want to build my house in St. Croix. I want to put my feet up and have a peppermint tea in one hand and a book in the other hand. That’s what I really want to do, but the level of suffering I see in our community is too high,” she says, with a touch of sadness. “I’m a high energy person, but I also want to read, I want to be still, I want to be quiet, I want to think… That’s what I want, but I’m doing this now, I’m putting everything I have into it – financial resources, and of course, my energy and the ideas that I have. Anybody who knows me knows that when you’re with me we’re going to talk about our children.”

Taylor is possessed by a detailed vision of transformation and very specific aspirations. It seems she may be ready to rest, but not just yet.

Jendayi Frazer greeting Angolan President Eduardo dos Santos as Angolan Ambassador to the US H.E. Josefina Pitra Diakite looks on.

I first met Jendayi Frazer 15 years ago when she was completing her PhD. At that time I thought of her as someone who was a deep source of knowledge and insight on Africa, and primarily as an academic and an activist. I think this article is interesting in that it shows multiple perspectives of what working through diplomacy and United States foreign policy can mean.

A Peacemaker in Africa’s Brave New World

First as the US Ambassador to South Africa and then later as the Assistant Secretary of State for Africa, Jendayi Frazer has found herself in a remarkable position of power and influence regarding the daunting challenges of Africa’s new millennium. Her small stature and soft voice belies her passion and intensity for uplifting the African continent on multiple fronts through diplomacy, development and conflict resolution.

At a time when the Iraq war has made many people hyper-critical of the Bush Administration’s foreign policy, Frazer is proud to point to any of a number of success stories in the Motherland. She unapologetically views Bush as a bold leader with a strong vision for Africa, a president who is playing an unprecedented role in meeting Africa’s most pressing needs and development imperatives. As an African American woman, her work with the Bush administration has been especially edifying, as her ties to Africa transcend the purview of standard career ambitions.

“I’m especially proud of the fact that during his administration there have been 6 wars (in Africa) that have essentially been ended,” Frazer said in a telephone interview from her office in the State Department in Washington, D.C. “I’m very proud of the North/South agreement in Sudan that ended a conflict that killed 2 million people. In 2000 people were still being killed and hacked in Sierra Leone. In 2001 we helped put in place a more robust peace-keeping operation – specifically the Pakistanis – who took the diamond territory away from the RUF (Revolutionary United Front), ending that conflict.”

As the State Department’s top diplomatic representative for Africa, Frazer is especially concerned about peacemaking and conflict resolution. Frazer emphasizes that the Sierra Leone effort was a stark deviation from the Clinton administration’s policy of no military engagement in Africa, given the disastrous mission of landing marines in Somalia in 1992.

“Clearly one can look at what’s happened in Sierra Leone where we sent marines in and we broke from the Clinton administration’s policy that there would not be any ‘American boots’ on the ground,” Frazer said. “We sent marines in there and we helped transform that area into a democracy and hold accountable the individuals who were responsible for that conflict, including Charles Taylor.”

Beyond Sudan, Sierra Leone and Liberia, perhaps Frazer’s most personally rewarding work has been in Kenya. Early in her academic career as an undergraduate at Stanford, Frazer chose to specialize in Kenya, developing a heartfelt connection to the land and the people since first traveling to the region in the early 80s. It seems that her decades-long road of varied experiences and personal and professional contacts prepared her for a time when Kenya would face its worst crisis since the end of the British colonial era. Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice (her former academic advisor at Stanford) and President Bush placed a great deal of confidence in Frazer when it became evident that issues surrounding Kenya’s recent elections would lead to terrible unrest. The elections were held on December 27, 2007, and by January 3, Frazer was in Nairobi.

“Secretary Rice asked me to immediately go to Kenya both because she knew that I knew people in Kenya because I spent so many years there and secondly because it is such an important country for the United States,” Frazer explained. “We couldn’t stand by and watch it descend into further chaos and watch people be killed without trying to act.”

Kenya has long been considered one of Africa’s most stable nations, an important economic and political leader that seemed somewhat immune to the ethnic and political strife that at times has afflicted its neighbors Uganda, Somalia, Rwanda, Burundi, Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo. While many people around the world were perplexed at the post-election violence, Kenya’s problems were especially demoralizing for Frazer, given her personal friendships and long involvement with Kenya’s development.

“I think the thing that was most disheartening for me was the hatred that I heard in how people talked about each other’s communities. I’ve’ been living in going to Kenya for many years, since 1981, and I’ve never heard so much stereotyping between the communities,” Frazer said. “Obviously the violence and the killing were indescribable. But the heartening thing was the way that civil society was coming together, demanding something more of their leaders, calling for reconciliation, calling for a government of national unity.”

Frazer said that one could see “the best and the worst of Kenya on display” in the early days after the election. She described an emotional and inspiring “Save Our Beloved Country” media campaign that aired on television and in newspapers shortly after the outbreak of violence. Frazer was particularly proud of these efforts, as Kenya has a relatively strong tradition of civil society non-governmental organizations and associations that are active in promoting democracy, governance, education and development in Kenyan society.

Frazer had known both Kenyan President Mwai Kibaki and the opposition leader and new Prime Minister Raila Odinga long before the current crisis. She met with several times with both sides independently and then worked behind the scenes to brief former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan as he led the negotiations that resulted in the current power sharing agreement. Frazer feels confident that the current power sharing agreement will hold, as it represents an evolution of reforms that helps balance and reduce the concentration of power in the Presidency. Nonetheless, she feels the future of the agreement will in large part be determined by “good faith and good will,” and the ability of Kibaki and Odinga to work together.

In contrast to her mentor – Condoleeza Rice – who tends toward a rigid personality and professional persona, Jendayi Frazer is prone to quick laughter and a friendly, welcoming temperament even when elaborating upon serious policy issues. Frazer recalls being a teenage sophomore at Stanford when she took selected Rice as a faculty advisor and took her course on the Soviet Union and the Third World. Frazer later watched Rice leave Stanford over the years to work in both government and academia, and eventually ended up using Rice’s career path as a role model. Frazer says that her love for Africa has led her to see her work in government as an extension of her academic career, as Rice showed her that both pursuits were “always available.”

In addition to Rice, former Secretary of State Colin Powell helped shape Frazer’s career by suggesting that she consider taking an ambassador post in Africa. At the time Frazer had been working as for Rice at the National Security Council as a Special Assistant and Senior Director for Africa. When the South African Ambassadorship became available, Frazer believed her 20 years of academic background and expertise would be valuable in a country where “US foreign policy is critical.” The position in South Africa also seemed to be a natural progression from her work at the National Security Council.

“Because of that position I spent a lot of time working on South Africa and working with the principals – the Cabinet ministers, the Secretary (of State) and the President. So they came to know me based on the work that I was doing and when opportunities became available they would mention those opportunities to me,” Frazer explained. “I had been in the NSC for about 3 and half years and I thought it would be good to get another experience. I wanted very much to serve in the field actually implementing policies – not just designing them in Washington, but implementing them on the ground.”

As the first woman U.S. Ambassador to South Africa, Frazer found herself following the legacy of Ed Perkins, the first African American Ambassador to South Africa, who quietly worked to support African National Congress activists during the Reagan Administration. Frazer believes that American Ambassadors have been appreciated in South Africa “for standing for the right things.” While she feels that she was very well-received, she acknowledges that it can be a very difficult position because of the complexities of South African society.

“It’s a difficult place to operate in. You have South Africans that felt that even while the Ambassadors were helping on the ground our policies weren’t there fast enough for them. They didn’t feel that America took on the apartheid regime as quickly as we should have in terms of supporting sanctions,” Frazer pointed out. “So you have this very mixed feeling among the population, and then there are others who feel we abandoned them as well.”

Frazer said she felt very much at home in South Africa during her year-long tenure as Ambassador, although at times she engaged in heady arguments and disagreements about US foreign policy.

“They don’t particularly care for some of our policies – I’m talking more of our global policies – they would have more of what I would call “a European” dispensation,” Frazer said, with hearty laughter. “I enjoy fighting and arguing with the South Africans and I learned to ‘agree to disagree.’ I enjoy trying to help them get a better understanding of America.”

After finishing her stint as Ambassador to South Africa in August 2004, Frazer was appointed to her current position as Assistant Secretary of State for Africa. She has worked tirelessly on a wide range of initiatives for Africa, and she feels very strongly that the Bush Administration has promoted progressive, positive changes for Africa, particularly with regards to HIV/AIDS.

“I think that some of the areas where we experienced tremendous success were the HIV/AIDS pandemic in Africa and how the President and Secretary Powell and Condi Rice came together to work out the $15 billion PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief) program,” Frazer points out. “It wasn’t just them, it was also Tommy Thompson at Health and Human Services. But it was really Secretary Powell who was first to suggest a Cabinet level council on HIV/AIDS.”

Frazer also pointed out that President Bush has dedicated unprecedented resources to fighting malaria in the President’s Malaria Initiative (PMI), a $1.2 billion program that targets 15 countries with the goal of reducing mortality rates by 50%. In addition to the PMI program, Frazer says that the current Administration has exceeded expectations by raising American development assistant to $5.6 billion, while some international aid organizations have been pushing to get development aid to the $1 billion level. The Bush Administration’s development initiatives also include the Millennium Challenge Account, which provides debt relief to nation’s demonstrating good governance practices.

“Today 19 countries have benefited from debt cancellation, providing about 34 billion that can be put back into their economies for health and education of their people,” Frazer said. “So I’m very, very proud of all those initiatives.”

A woman with a soft voice and a big agenda, Jendayi Frazer pushed herself to the frontiers of diplomacy and development in the brave new world of Africa’s new millennium. Surely a future generation of African-American academics and leaders will build upon her notable work, with even more and greater achievements yet to come.

At the Edge of Time in Zimbabwe

Robert Mugabe and Canaan Banana, Prime Minister and President respectively, at a signing ceremony on Zimbabwe's independence, April 18, 1980.

Robert Mugabe and Zimbabwe have become such controversial catch phrases for fearful demonization that few people remember the history and context out of which Zimbabwe became a nation, and Mugabe its early hero. Of course, recent events in Zimbabwe are very disturbing, and this prompted me to finally have a long and heartfelt talk with a friend of mine who has a powerful and intimate connection with Zimbabwe. While Sulieman Dauda and I are pretty good friends, I had never really talked with him in detail about what drew him to Zimbabwe in the early 80s. From a journalist's perspective, I thought it would be a good idea to try to examine some of Zimbabwe's current issues through the eyes of a unique person who has experienced a lot of history there. From a personal perspective, our conversations affirmed that Africa is often about mysterious connections, synchronicities, heart and soul, patience and intuition; I would say that Sulieman Dauda knows this very well.

At the Edge of Time in Zimbabwe

I first met Sulieman Dauda in Yeoville, a hip Johannesburg neighborhood that was a favorite hangout for journalists, actors, musicians, activists, travelers and just about anyone who was looking for a good time. My good friend Jim Harris, a jazz musician, labor organizer and a respected elder of the African American expatriate community surprised me when he said he had an old friend from Denver who was coming into town for the April 1994 elections. African Americans were a novelty in South Africa back then, few and far between, and I could hardly expect to find someone from my home town.

Jim’s friendship with Sulieman went way back to 1981 and the early years of Zimbabwe’s independence. They both owned beautiful homes in Zimbabwe, and they both seemed intimately caught up in the vortex of energy that birthed the new nation. In Jim’s modest flat, just one block beyond the raucous vibe of Yeoville’s infamous Rocky Street, I was captivated by Sulieman’s easy going manner and his wealth of knowledge and experience in Africa. Often into the wee hours of the night, Sulieman, Jim and I would ramble on about African culture, race, politics and spirituality as we watched news of the national elections and waited for Nelson Mandela’s inauguration ceremony. Jim and Sulieman especially savored the moment; just like years before in Zimbabwe, they once again had their front row seats to witness African history in the making.

Tall and lanky, with a graying beard, wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans, Sulieman Dauda was humble, non-assuming brother, not someone you would expect to be a property owner in the lush and stately suburbs of Harare. His ear-to-ear grin and bright smile seemed to reflect the unbounded joy of the Motherland itself. On the street, Dauda blended in with ordinary South Africans, and you could tell that he could party with the best of them. Somehow I wasn’t too surprised when Jim and Sulieman told me how they befriended Richard Pryor in Zimbabwe and how their hilarious adventures became part of the material for Pryor’s legendary “Live on Sunset Strip” performance. (Jim Harris even went so far as to suggest that Pryor unabashedly stole a few of his choice lines, but I digress…)

Sulieman Dauda had many friends throughout Johannesburg and Soweto, and the three of us all ended up “jowlin” – as they say in Joburg – partying heartily throughout the massive celebrations and elation that permeated the weeks leading up to Mandela’s inauguration. Sulieman went back to Denver after a few weeks, and not long after that Jim and I ended driving across the Limpopo Province and over the border, through to Bulawayo and Harare. Crossing into Zimbabwe at that time one felt a sense of peace that was not present in South Africa, a feeling of calm, patience and ease. In June, 1994 exchange rate of the Zim dollar to the US dollar was 7 to 1; now the exchange rate has exploded beyond the realm of hyperinflation and speculative fiction to an incredible 30,723 to 1.

Times have obviously changed in Zimbabwe. A litany of human rights abuses, a crackdown on freedom of the press, a failing economy, new refugees and displaced communities have marred the reputation of president Robert Mugabe as a hero of the liberation struggle. After reading news reports from Southern Africa, I have often thought about Sulieman Dauda and his extraordinary bond to that beautiful and struggling nation, which not long ago seemed to have all the promise in the world. As a busy landlord, Dauda spends most his time – usually from early mornings until evenings – tending to the duties of his many properties in Denver and his hometown of Gary, Indiana. Recently, in between his demanding schedule, I finally caught up with him to have in depth, detailed conversations about his adventures and exploits in the Motherland. I found his stories compelling, and his experiences and perspectives were refreshing and insightful.

"I knew at the age 16 that I was going to travel to Africa, and I knew I was going to live there,” Dauda said, as we strolled through City Park, taking in the sights and sounds of the Denver Black Arts Festival this past summer. “I had to go and see the truth for myself, and I could see from the books that were available in the late 60s, that they weren’t telling the truth – everything that should have come out wasn’t coming out.”

After a period of radicalization with the Black Panther Party at Wilbur Force College in Yellow Springs, Ohio, Dauda left college and joined the Navy in order to get GI Bill education benefits. Through a long series of events, Dauda ended up at Metropolitan State College in Denver, where he chose to major in marketing and minor in Black Studies. In 1978 Metro offered its first ever educational travel program to Africa, and Dauda was the first student to sign up. While the trip was cancelled for lack of student participation, his teacher and mentor, Dr. Akbarali Thobani, arranged for Dauda to continue his trip with another tour group. Once he was in Africa Dauda could barely contain himself and decided he had to extend his travels beyond the limits of the tour.

“I said to myself I would get off at the furthest point (of the tour), and find my way back to the first point,” Dauda said with a smile and a soft laugh. “That’s what I did for three months. I went from Lagos, all the back up to Senegal.”

Perhaps his most important and telling experience in West Africa happened in Jos, Nigeria, where he met a blind spirit medium who told him, “Go to Zimbabwe, and all your dreams will come true…” The message was confusing, because at the time the name “Zimbabwe” was relatively unknown, as the country was still in the midst of its brutal independence war, and was then known as Rhodesia. But in late 1979 Zimbabwe grabbed more international headlines as the United Nations and the British government brokered an uneasy coalition government agreement that paved the way for free elections. Suddenly Dauda had a sense that destiny was calling him to a mysterious new country with a fascinating name.

At an African Liberation Day rally in New York City in 1980, Dauda listened to Robert Mugabe give a speech about his new country and its new government. Mugabe wanted African Americans to help in building the fledging society, and he told the crowd, “Be ye Africans, come home! Bring your skills to Zimbabwe!” The speech and the event so impressed Dauda that nearly 30 years later he still has the original brochure. Mugabe’s idealism and charisma sealed Dauda ‘s conviction that his future lay in Zimbabwe.

By the time Dauda embarked on his Zimbabwe sojourn a year later, he had taken two more trips to West Africa, and as a veteran traveler had learned how to make friends and barter, sell and trade his way through the region. Not long after arriving in Zimbabwe, he became friends Sam Mashata Paweni, a businessman that needed his marketing and management skills, and Dauda found himself writing proposals and tenders for to provide supplies and requisitions for various businesses, government agencies and the military. Their partnership was so successful that Dauda describes their business alliance as a “Halliburton” of Zimbabwe.

Paweni became one of Zimbabwe’s wealthiest men, and Dauda was responsible for 350 employees and an array of companies, departments and divisions. While Africans were sometimes a little suspicious or wary of African Americans, Dauda was able to turn his unusual circumstances to his advantage in affecting the way he was perceived by Africans.

“A lot of times they are just as ignorant about us as we are about them. It’s kind of difficult to overcome that, knowing that ‘here I am in Africa, and I’m completely at their mercy,’ ” Dauda said, adding that his personality and his accent helped him transcend awkward situations. “The street part of me came out over there. Without that, no telling what would have happened. I know that a lot of times you just gotta talk until they tell you to shut up. They just want to hear you talk.”

Dauda took a few cues from Jim Harris, and parlayed his job and earnings (and fall in property values due to white flight) into purchasing the home of his dreams, a lovely 3 bedroom dwelling with a cozy fireplace, perched on the edge of hill in cove, with a panoramic view and a river running through it.

“It looked like a golf course when I first saw it. It was beautiful,” Dauda says, and then suddenly his tone of voice changes, as he pauses after his long “stream of consciousness” descriptions of the path leading to his early years in Zimbabwe. A brief silence overcomes him, as we watch people moving to and fro through the various Black Arts Festival booths and stalls, eating, laughing and meeting old friends.

“Man, now you’re gonna sit up here and make me cry,” he says, smiling, with a touch of laughter and sadness. “You know why? I’m remembering all these good times about Zimbabwe and how much fun we had. I never laughed so hard in my life at all the funny stuff that went on.

“Meeting new people was my favorite thing. Every time you meet somebody new they invite you over to their house, and then you’ve made a friend for life. You sit down at their house, eat their cooking, and spend the day with their family…”

But the good times and the good feelings had their limits. The goodwill and lack of recrimination that had manifest during Zimbabwe’s early years was doomed to evaporate in the face of South Africa’s hostility and repeated attempts to destabilize its democratic neighbor. Towards the end of the “independence hangover,” racism from South Africa seemed to spill over into Zimbabwe, poisoning the atmosphere and creating a sense of fear and distrust.

“(In the early days) everybody had money, and gasoline was plentiful, and food was plentiful. You could take a dollar and buy a steak as big as this plate, and that would be enough to feed 5 or 6 people,” Dauda said, adding that in 1980, the Rhodesian dollar was stronger than the US dollar, and the two currencies traded almost one to one for about four or five years. “Then everything started going backwards. The first time I ever experienced a petrol shortage in life was in Zimbabwe. But it wasn’t because of Mugabe – it was because of the white South African blowing up the oil pipeline.”

The South African apartheid government organized a number of bombings, including the Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front (Zanu-PF) party headquarters in Harare. The failed assassination attempt on Mugabe killed mostly innocent civilians. Yet the most notorious event was the covert operation that resulted in a plane crash and the death of the popular Mozambican president and revolutionary leader Samora Machel. Dauda said the insidious South African attacks resulted in open clashes between Blacks and Whites on the streets in Zimbabwe.

“With the people in Zimbabwe, oh man, there were riots! They burned down the South African embassy, they burned the South African Airways building,” Dauda explained. “They were running up and down the streets slapping White people. Man, they knocked the sh-t out of them. White people were scared at that time, and that’s when things started to change. White people started leaving, after the death of Samora Machel.”

In his personal experience of Zimbabwean history, Dauda has as very different perception and understanding of President Robert Mugabe than the current media stereotype. Dauda speaks of Mugabe with reverence and respect for leader who faced a daunting task of building a new nation in extremely hostile and antagonistic conditions. He describes Mugabe as a man who had a lot of enemies and had to worry about his safety. Dauda is keen to point out that the vast majority of the Rhodesian forces were Africans, and thus the nature of the Black-on-Black conflict in the heart of the independence war was more complex than surface appearances.

“You see, it was actually a civil war, Africans fighting Africans. So Mugabe didn’t know who was who or what was what. The only thing he knew about Rhodesian forces was the soldiers had uniforms,” Dauda says, emphatically, his voice rising in emotion. “So his safety was paramount. That’s why he moved around in a large entourage. He had cars in front of him, cars in back of him, soldiers in back of him, driving around in 5 series Mercedes. They called him “Bob Marley and the Wailers” because everywhere they went they had these loud sirens.”

Dauda says his view of Mugabe has not changed, although he believes at times Mugabe has been ill-advised, and some of his cabinet ministers received jobs and appointments they didn’t earn or deserve. He also saw some people’s lives and careers ruined by misinformation given to Mugabe. Nonetheless, he remains a staunch defender of the controversial leader, and sees him “as a true comrade and a revolutionary.”

Dauda concedes that Zimbabwe has changed, and has become less secure and more crime ridden. On a recent trip he was mugged for the first time in Harare, which was a far cry from the time when Dauda walked down all the back streets of the capitol city without incident. He also feels that South Africa, like Zimbabwe, is not as safe as it used to be. Ironically, Dauda claims that he had the best time of his life in apartheid South Africa in 1987. He remembers a White South African border guard saying, “You’re going to have so much fun you’re going to want to move here.” He didn’t believe the guard, but the guard invited Dauda to come back and speak to him after his trip.

Hanging out with Black journalists, Dauda moved through Johannesburg’s racially-mixed neighborhoods like Yeoville and Hillbrow, and through Soweto’s neighborhoods like Dube and Pimville, and the vibrant but deeply impoverished township of Alexandra. A one month trip turned into three, and when he returned he told the border guard that South Africa was everything he said it would be, only “ten times more.”

“I still lay in the bed and think about that. What’s the difference between then and now? It’s nothing like it used to be. I don’t know what to say – I still had the time of my life,” Dauda says, as he reflects on his adventure under apartheid. “I can’t go there now and have the time of my life. I can’t go there now and have the time of my life – it’s not safe. I couldn’t go to the same border crossing and see that same border guard, because the whole border crossing has changed. It went from being all White to all Black. The people are very ornery…”

Such ironies have not escaped my remarkable friend.

The Bold Magic of Afro-beat Master Femi Kuti

Femi Kuti, inheritor of the Afro-beat tradition, will bring the bold magic of his music back to American audiences this summer, as he tours in promotion of a new 2 CD set, Definitive Collection: Femi Kuti.

When I read about brutal excesses of repressive regimes across the African continent, I can't help admiring the conviction and courage of Fela Anikulapo Kuti, a musician who dared to defy some of the most ruthless dictators of Nigeria's dark, post-colonial rule. Inspired by the Black Power movement and heavy sounds of James Brown, Sly Stone and soul music of the late 60s, Fela Kuti brought some of that fire back to Africa when he formed his own band and stage show that transformed him into Africa's most popular artist. But Fela seemed to care less about his comfort as an artist than becoming a voice for change in Nigeria, and he paid a terrible price in terms of endless beatings, harassment and imprisonment by the ruling authorities. When Fela Kuti died of AIDS in 1997, Africa was left with a huge hole in its heart. We are fortunate to have Fela's "Afro-beat" tradition live on in his son Femi, who in his own way, has expanded it and taken it to new heights.

The Bold Magic of Afro-beat Master Femi Kuti

It’s hard to imagine anyone bringing more of the bold magic of Africa to a musical stage than Femi Kuti. A distinctive master of the Afro-beat sound – heavy African drumbeats and bass lines interweaved with jazzy, blaring, powerful horns – Femi Kuti projects a whole new meaning into the words “funk,” “soul” and “rhythm.” Femi Kuti is once again touring with his band Positive Force in the United States, and will be performing at Belly Up in Aspen on Monday, July 30, and at the Boulder Theater on Tuesday July 31st.

Femi inherited the head of the Afro-beat mantle from his father, the late Fela Anikupalo Kuti, perhaps the greatest musician and activist voice to emerge from the African Motherland. With his undeniable magnetism and electrifying stage presence, Fela Kuti orchestrated a fabulous stage show with more than 30 dancers and musicians, who blazed their audiences with color, energy, sexiness and sublime artistry. Fela used his musical success and popularity as a platform to speak out against oppression, corruption and injustice. For many years Fela dared to criticize the brutal, repressive military rulers in Nigeria, and as a result he was continually harassed, beaten and imprisoned. Yet Fela never faltered in his criticism of the tyranny of the ruling elite and he became an icon to the Nigerian masses and West Africa as a whole; at his funeral in 1997, more than a million common Nigerians crowded the streets around his nightclub “The Shrine” and his home, to pay their respects.

In 1984 the Nigerian government arrested Fela on phony currency trading charges and jailed him for two years, which inadvertently thrust Femi into limelight as he unexpectedly was forced to assume leadership of his father’s band. Femi had only been playing with his father for a few years, and as a young man in his early 20s, Femi suddenly had to carry on his father’s legacy. He proved he was equal to the task, and after his father was released in 1986, Femi felt he had to establish his own band, and for a while he fell out of favor with his father. But with time Fela came to approve of Femi becoming a musical force in his own right.

Femi’s band, Positive Force, was originally formed in 1986, in the early years after Fela’s release from prison. Like his father, Femi played the Afro-beat sound, with a large stage ensemble of 17 people, including a six-piece horn section, two percussionist, guitar, bass, drums and keyboards, and four singer-dancers. After several European tours and two Nigerian albums, Femi and Positive Force debuted in the United States in 1995, captivating audiences much like his father did years before him. Femi sings about many of the injustices that his father decried, and his music and lyrics bear the same sense of compassion and humanity. Femi won a record contract with MCA as a result of the success of his 1999 release Shoki Shoki. One of his hippest grooves, a playful song about sex called “Beng, Beng, Beng” – which is actually intended to promote awareness about AIDS, was banned by the government for its supposedly lewd lyrics. Perhaps with the democratization of Nigeria the political authorities have moved away from the overt repression that plagued his father, but the “Beng, Beng, Beng” episode still leaves one to wonder if the government will ever allow Femi and his musical tradition to exist in the spirit of free speech.

I was fortunate to catch Femi in between performances in Nigeria. Femi had a great deal to say about Nigeria and Africa in general, and is keen on taking his tour back to the United States. His tour is promoting a new two-disc CD compilation set of his some of his best works with Positive Force called Definitive Collection: Femi Kuti. Femi also has been working on a studio album, which is due to be release later this year or in the beginning of next year.

JA: How did your father’s death affect you personally, artistically, emotionally and in terms of your career?

FK: It was devastating, he had been ill for a bit but we didn’t realize how ill. My father was a great man very strong and man ready to die for his beliefs. I still miss him for all reasons, chatting about music, personal problems and normal guidance a father can give. He made me the individual I am today, one day I asked him to teach me to play a saxophone and he said do it yourself, at the time you get annoyed but you realize he was teaching you to be a stronger person. The death of his 10th anniversary is coming up and we are going to have a huge party at the Shrine – a good way to celebrate his life.

JA: What was it like for you, as a young man, to take over your father’s band in 1984 when the government jailed him on trumped up charges? You must’ve been in your early twenties back then, and it must’ve been a great responsibility.

FK: My father was always getting into trouble with the authorities; he was often hounded harassed & jailed for his outspokenness. In 1977 his compound was attacked by 1000 soldiers and my father was injured. My grandmother was thrown out of a window and later died due to her injuries. So when in 1984 he was jailed for 10 years for currency smuggling by the authorities we couldn’t believe it. I then took over the band from 1984 – 1986, it was quite a daunting task because I had not performed by myself in front of so many people but I could not let my father down, once I started though it kind of came naturally to entertain the crowd. When my father came back I then decided to head up my own band which as you know he wasn’t happy with, but ultimately we made up.

JA: How has your band Positive Force evolved from its formation in 1986 to it current state now, 20 years later?

FK: We have changed many members, my ex wife is no longer in it or my sister Yeni. We have three dancers one of them was originally in my father’s band but the other two girls auditioned for the part and got it. With regards to the band only the lead trumpeter and the trombonist are from the original band everyone else has changed.

JA: Tell me about your song “Beng, Beng, Beng” and the government’s reaction to it. Is it still banned, or has there been a change in policy with the new democratic leadership?

FK: It is a bit of fun really and the authorities took it too seriously. I was trying to tell them that the whole issue of Sex has to be addressed and not hidden. One minute there is a huge campaign on AIDS and the next minute they are banning my song. The two go hand-in-hand, don’t they? We need to be more open about sex then the whole issue of condoms can be discussed. I also wrote a song about AIDS – “Cover your Bamboo!” – to try and make people aware of the problems of having sex. As we know AIDS is decimating Africa and unless we all become more open it will carry on at a rate it is. And yes it is still banned.

JA: How do you feel about the political and social changes in Nigeria in the past decade, with the coming of democracy and Obasanjo’s presidency?

FK: There have been no changes; if anything life has got worse. Where do I start… Nigeria is Nigeria… Nigeria is full of corruption and nothing has really changed since my father’s time. There is even more disparity of wealth. Nigeria being oil rich the young people do not understand why they are poor, and crime increases all over. And then there is the issue of religion and the fighting between the Christians and the Muslims, there is a lot of tension and Islamic fundamentalism has grown because of the larger worldwide issues going on. The only way is for the Africans to help themselves. We have to get over our colonialist/slavery mentality and start to change things for the better. Every country has corruption but there are now corrections in place to find out who the people are who are involved and therefore hopefully over time corruption will get better. Also if other countries could alter their foreign policies such as fair trade then yes, this will make a difference. But the reality is strong countries are not going to help weaker countries; they will only play at it. If they become fair-minded they will lose their next election! We live every day with limited electricity and water. We make the most of it. A new president was voted in recently – Umaru Musa Yar'Adua – but to be honest things are not getting better, just worse. When these people get into power they never fulfill their promises. You see them with their big cars, they buy houses in England or America, they give their kids the best education, but the crop of the people, the masses themselves, they lose. Nigerians are used to being let down by their governments. We are Africa's biggest oil exporter, then how is it that we have fallen far behind other developing countries? Here is a nice figure for you: since independence from Britain in 1960, an estimated $400 billion of oil revenues have gone missing, presumed stolen, by the military and political elite.

JA: Do you feel a strong need to face and challenge some of the same political problems and forces that your father spoke out against?

FK: Of course I do, but it is difficult to change anything unless there is a radical complete overhaul of the existing people in government. I sometimes want to stop talking about the issues because nothing will change. Fela accepted a lot of beatings and still nothing changed. Being a spokesperson for Nigeria will hopefully at least make people sit up and notice the problems we face on a daily basis.

JA: Tell us about your new 2CD set “Definitive Collection: Femi Kuti” – what makes this collection special?

FK: The first album is a good retrospective of my past albums Shoki Shoki and Fight to Win; I have also got two tracks from an earlier album. The second album I have put just my remixes, I think it is such an honor for someone to love your music so much to remix tracks. Finally a track I really love was a track we recorded for Red Hot and Riot – “Water No Get Enemy” – which was a favorite of my father’s, this was recorded with Macy Gray and D’Angelo

JA: How do you feel about how your music has been received in America since you first toured here in 1995?

FK: I get a great reaction every time I come over to America which is great.

JA: It seems that hip hop and Afrobeat are an unlikely combination. What was it like for you to collaborate with artists like Common and Mos Def on your “Fight to Win” album (2001)?

FK: It was fantastic, you have to keep on experimenting with your music, I think it really worked well.

JA: A friend of mine traveled to Nigeria and had the good fortune of being taken to some fabulous clubs and music scenes along the Nigerian coast, where she had the most incredible music and party experience of her life. She saw a side of Nigeria that very few hear about or know about, and she felt that there was great undeveloped potential for tourism there. Can you comment on this?

FK: I agree… Nigerians love music and it is a hotbed of musical talent. We know that Nigeria has a lot of tourist potential as the Shrine gets loads of tourists as well as local trade.

JA: Is there anything special you want people to know about your band and this upcoming tour?

FK: Just come and be prepared to enjoy yourselves

JA: Beyond this double CD set, do you have any plans for upcoming albums?

FK: Yes I have already recorded a new album, and my son is playing on it, I think the plans are to release it the end of this year, or early next year.

A Governor's Missionary Experience in Africa

Colorado Governor Bill Ritter and wife Jeannie on the campaign trail.

It's very unusual for an American elected politician to have experience living in Africa and doing Christian service work. When Bill Ritter - Colorado's new governor - was in high school, he thought he might want to be a Catholic priest. Years later, he found a way to express his Christian ideals at a Catholic Mission in Zambia, outside of the seminary and the path to priesthood. In doing this interview with Ritter, I found that he was very easy to talk to, and he has far more depth to his personality beyond public role as a politician. It is clear to me that Bill and his wife Jeannie have a deep and abiding love for Africa.

A Governor's Missionary Experience in Africa

Father Bill Morel believes it was divine intervention that led Bill Ritter and his wife Jeannie to become lay missionaries at the Mongu nutrition center in Zambia, Africa in August 1987. As an administrator of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, Father Morel was responsible for the religious order’s missions in Africa and other parts of the world, and yet his organization had never accepted a lay couple as part of their work before. But the future Colorado governor and his wife would prove to be an extraordinary exception.

Father Morel first met Ritter when he was an idealistic high school student coming to San Antonio, Texas, to study at St. Anthony’s, a special Catholic high school for young men considering becoming missionaries and priests. Ritter stayed at the school for his freshmen and sophomore years, and while he eventually decided to follow a secular path in his career and education, Ritter had been deeply impressed by his mentors at St. Anthony’s. Nearly twenty years after his seminary experience, married and with a one year-old son, Ritter felt a strong spiritual urge for service, and he called Father Morel with a special request.

“He called and said, Father Bill, but I don’t know if you remember me, but you taught me as a sophomore. I don’t want you to interrupt me, because I have something to say all at once, or I won’t have the courage to say it,” Father Morel said, recalling Ritter’s nervous voice over the phone. “I’m married to Jeannie and we have a one year-old child and we want to work as lay missionaries in Zambia, with Oblates of Mary Immaculate.”

Ritter didn’t know that the Oblates of Mary Immaculate did not work with lay couples; he also had no idea that Father Morel had received an unusual letter from the Bishop of Zambia that very day. The Bishop’s letter explained that a very important nutrition center in Zambia needed new leaders, and the Bishop requested a lay couple. Father Morel was stunned.

“To me it was perfectly clear – I had never in my life seen such a clear example of God intervening in kind of a coincidental way,” Father Morel said. After he told Ritter about the letter, Father Morel declared that the Oblates of Mary Immaculate were going to change their rules, despite their usual concerns about the complications of housing and accommodating lay missionary couples. Bill and Jeannie Ritter were going to see their wish come true.

While going through a year of training and evaluation, the Ritters sold their house and most of their possessions in preparation for their three-year missionary service in Africa. It would prove to be an indelible experience. Witnessing crushing poverty, the onset of the AIDS epidemic, horrible diseases and malnutrition, as well as experiencing beautiful traditional cultures and the great love and dignity of the Zambian people, Africa had a profound impact on the Ritter family.

The Oblates mission was in the town of Mongu, the capital of the Western Province of Zambia – but the provincial “capitol” was really little more than an isolated back-country hamlet.

“The paved streets were probably only a mile long through Mongu town. Most of the people there lived in villages with thatched huts,” Ritter recalled, adding that there were only a few other expatriates in the area. “We were saturated by Zambian friends, Zambian workmates and Zambian culture.”

Ritter describes the mission as having 45 “bush depots” that been established for distributing food to rural villages; he and Jeannie created more depots, and worked on diversifying the mission’s activities to stimulate economic development and help the mission achieve sustainability. In addition to running a nutrition education program for village mothers, they set up a poultry program, expanded a fisheries project and sold fishing nets to fishermen along the Zambezi River.

Ritter estimates that the mission moved 60 tons of agricultural commodities per month between Mongu, the rural village depots and Lusaka, Zambia’s capitol. Through buying and selling, Ritter was able to raise a cash fund that was eventually used to build rice mills, which was a significant expansion of a rice project that Japanese aid workers had introduced 10 years earlier. Between the fisheries, the poultry project and the rice mills, Bill feels that he and Jeannie were able to achieve modest success in expanding the mission’s profile from a nutrition center to aiding economic development in the region.

“Today it functions as a cooperative and outpost that helps in agricultural economic development and that was part of our vision,” Ritter says. “We began thinking about it in broader terms than just feeding people; we began thinking about it in terms of economic development. That was a really important part of us doing the right thing.”

Despite Ritter’s success with the Oblates mission, he was dismayed by many of the overwhelming development needs of Africa. Ritter arrived at a time when the AIDS epidemic was just beginning to make an impact in Africa, and the rapid spread of the disease was disheartening. The Oblates also ran Zambia’s only leprosarium – a special hospital for lepers – and Ritter worked closely with two lepers who were eventually able to return to their communities.

“The interesting thing about sub-Saharan Africa is you can work really hard on health and nutrition issues, but with something like AIDS, as much as you wind up doing, you are keeping the score down, unless you engage in other kinds of prevention work,” Ritter points out. “But what I always, say and this is absolutely true – what may be even more clear to me than the devastating affects of poverty, disease and AIDS is the grace with which these people handled all that.”

Beyond fulfilling Christian service work and providing tangible aid to the region, the Ritters’ experience in Zambia has had a unique and lasting affect on their family. When they arrived in Mondu, Ritter’s eldest son, Augustine, was a year and four months old, while their second son, Abraham, was born in Zambia in June 1988, and by the time the left in June 1990, Jeannie was pregnant with her third son, Sam. Young Augustine – who was four years old by the time the Ritters left Zambia – played almost exclusively with Zambian children and was deeply affected by his environment on a subconscious level.

Ritter loves to tell a story about how his oldest son was somewhat confused when they returned to Colorado from Africa.

“I have 10 brothers and sisters, and they all have children, so he has all these cousins who came in the first few days we were home and they just mauled him. And he looked at me after we had been home three days and he said, ‘Dad, are we white?’” Ritter said with a chuckle. “It’s great story if you think about it. It speaks to the innocence of childhood. It never had occurred to him that in spite of the fact that he was white – he was blonde haired and blue-eyed, with a light skin tone – it hadn’t occurred to him that he was different from all of his (African) playmates.”

By the time the Ritters returned from Africa, young Augustine had acquired a British accent with a hint of an African Bantu dialect. While Augustine lost his accent over time, Bill believes that all of his children were affected by the family experience in Africa, which had “some kind of positive impact on the breadth of their thinking.” Abraham, who was born in Zambia, recently returned to Africa, visiting Ethiopia with the Four Quarters for Kids program, run by Noel Cunningham, the owner of Strings restaurant.

Ritter keeps up with political events in Africa, particularly the situation in Darfur, Sudan, civil unrest in Zimbabwe, the ongoing conflict the Democratic Republic of the Congo and the International War Crimes Tribunal in Arusha on the genocide in Rwanda. Beyond his faith and concern for Christian social justice issues, governor Ritter feels that his experience in Africa has also affected his view of political leadership.

“I think that with all that I’ve seen in the way of devastation and the really serious crises that I’ve witnessed, I have some perspective. We have serious issues here I’ll have to handle as governor,” he says. “But I think I have some perspective and it gives me some ability to remain calm as we walk through some of the difficult issues we face as a state,”

Ritter also feels he’s learned some important lessons from the Zambians themselves.

“Zambians are people who have a different pace than the Western pace. While I work hard and work long days, there is something I think to being more focused on trying to do the right thing rather than the quick thing. And that I think has always been a help and a benefit to me.”

Pathways to Africa's New Information Age

The regional operating center of WorldSpace, the satellite radio company founded by African visionary entrepreneur Noah Samara. WorldSpace is the progenitor of XM satellite radio, and has two geostationary satellites broadcasting to all of Africa, the Middle East, Asia and most of Western Europe.

Pathways to Africa's New Information Age

Among the pantheon of digital media revolutionizing pop culture and entertainment – the Internet, iPods and iPhones, Blackberries and PDAs, laptops and game consoles, TIVOs and DVRs – Americans are just beginning to warm up to the notion of satellite radio.

Multi-million dollar contracts, massive PR campaigns and bidding wars between satellite radio giants XM and Sirius, drawing in the likes of Howard Stern, Bob Dylan and Oprah Winfrey, are driving much of this growing interest. In high-stakes bids for the satellite radio market, both XM and Sirius have moved beyond recruiting high profile personalities and into establishing powerful alliances with automobile manufactures. The result: virtually all new cars come equipped with satellite radios as a standard feature.

In 1990 – years before Americans had even heard about satellite radio – an African engineer was on his way to becoming a major force in developing the technology and making the concept commercially viable. Today, Noah Samara remains relatively unknown. The Ethiopian of Sudanese heritage sought to establish satellite radio as an economic and technological force initiating in Africa and spreading to Asia, Europe and the developed world.

“In the mid-1980s, I read something that changed my life,” Samara said at a commencement speech at his alma mater, Stroudsberg University of Pennsylvania. “It was an article in the Washington Post about AIDS in Africa and how it was spreading because millions of people had no information or the wrong information. It became clear to me that people weren’t simply dying of disease; they were dying of ignorance. Something had to be done.”

His idea was to launch a satellite over Africa that would broadcast digital radio to inexpensive portable receivers. He quit his job.

At an international convention in 1992, Samara convinced 127 developing countries to grant him satellite bandwidth on the L-band, outmaneuvering competing proposals put forward by the Canadian and Austrian governments. He secured $1.1 billion in financial backing from powerful Saudi interests, and won approval from the Federal Communications Commission for the first U.S. satellite radio license. Samara’s brainchild, WorldSpace – the world’s first satellite radio broadcaster – launched its AfriStar satellite from French Guiana in 1998. The launch of the AsiaStar satellite followed in 2000. WorldSpace currently broadcasts satellite radio to over 130 countries including India and China, all of Africa and the Middle East and most of Western Europe – an area that includes five billion people and more than 300 million automobiles.

“We needed around $1.5 billion to make it happen,” said Samara, who was a successful lawyer with the International Telecommunications Union in 1990 when he experienced his epiphany and literally sketched out his ideas on a napkin in a restaurant.

Samara and WorldSpace were prime movers in the creation of XM – the first satellite radio broadcaster in the United States. They developed the proprietary microchip technology used in XM receivers and financed a 20 percent stake in the initial venture. Eventually WorldSpace sold its stake in XM, and the latter concentrated on the North American market while WorldSpace focused on leveraging its technology in Europe, Africa and Asia. Four percent of WorldSpace’s satellite bandwidth is dedicated to meeting the special humanitarian needs of the developing world, such as long distance education.

Unknown Genius

Samara’s story and his relative anonymity speaks volumes about mass media perceptions of Africa and how little is known of the Motherland’s potential in this new age of globalization. Much like Koos Bekker, the South African wunderkind who helped create the encryption technology that is used for most satellite subscription services throughout the world, the achievements of Samara and others of his ilk seem perpetually obscured by tragic stories about HIV/AIDS, war, famine, terrorism and conflict in Africa.

The modern media is heavily skewed toward Europe and America and strengthening age-old stereotypes of Africa as both a backward continent and a futile place for investment or progress. Africa has wide swaths of untouched wilderness and vast rural areas with no power grids and cars, but the interface with modern forces of globalization is there nonetheless.

Very few people outside of those with specialized business and telecommunications interests are aware that the African continent is surrounded by a giant submarine network of fiber optic cable extending from Portugal to Cape Town, South Africa known as the 3rd Southern Africa Telecommunication/West Africa Submarine Cable (or SAT3/WASC). This 15,000 km cable is supplemented by another 13,800 km cable extending from Cape Town to Malaysia known as the Southern Africa Far East cable (SAFE) and by a third submarine cable reaching from Cape Town to The Sudan, called the East African Submarine Cable System (EASSy). The SAT3/WASC and EASSy cable systems were spearheaded by South Africa and funded by a consortium of 12 investors from Africa, four from America, eight from Asia and 12 from Europe, contributing more than $600 million. These fiber optic cables offer the widest bandwidth and highest speed for voice, audio, data and video transmission of any modern medium (including satellite) and provide Africa with a highly desirable, state-of-the-art telecommunications infrastructure.

In the coming years, residents of some of the world’s most geographically, economically and culturally isolated regions will gain access to a global information superhighway, “leap-frogging” the costly and environmentally intrusive infrastructure originally developed in the West. Limitless renewable energy from solar photovoltaic panels and low-cost technology (such as $100 laptops, using free, open-source software) will open a window on the world. Moreover, in light of new African regional and international forums for cooperation, such as the New Partnership for African Development (NEPAD) and the African Union, the possibilities are boundless.

Ubuntu Spirit

Like Samara, Mark Shuttleworth is an African entrepreneur who merged globalization into his own vision. Shuttleworth was a business student at the University of Cape Town in 1995 when he founded Thawte, an Internet consulting business that built a full-security e-commerce Web server available outside of the United States. Both Netscape and Internet Explorer came to see Thawte as a trusted third-party authentication certifier for public key encryption technologies.

After a rapid rise in the global market Shuttleworth sold Thawte to VeriSign for $600 million. Shuttleworth then dedicated himself to his love of space travel – training with the Russian crew of Soyuz TM34, and becoming the world’s second private “space tourist.” He also developed open-source computer software systems for use in Africa and the developing world. He created the Ubuntu project, desktop and server technology dedicated to making open-source software accessible and user-friendly.

Ubuntu is an African traditional concept that roughly translates into “humanity” or “I am who I am because of who we all are.” It essentially reflects the value of community, sharing and cooperation that is prevalent among various ethnic groups throughout the African continent. From the perspective of computer technology, open-source systems – unlike proprietary operating systems like Microsoft Windows – are developed by a community of software programmers who share free access to the source code to modify it and build their own interfacing software applications.

Shuttleworth’s Ubuntu software and hardware systems are aimed at making Linux open-source operating systems accessible to ordinary, non-technical computer users. With attractive interfaces and stylish graphic artwork that markets the values of community and sharing, the Ubuntu Web site proclaims “software should be available free of charge, that software tools should be usable by people in their local language and despite any disabilities, and that people should have the freedom to customize and alter their software in whatever way they see fit.”

Ubuntu distributes the Linux operating system free of charge and operates associated programs like Edubuntu, a platform of educational software. It also runs a variety of initiatives under the Hip2BSquare brand, which aim to make mathematics and science attractive to pupils who are beginning to choose their subjects for high school.

Many African governments recognize the value of open-source software in Africa’s development and they are making commitments to use Linux systems as well as Ubuntu products. Even Microsoft owner Bill Gates, aware of the challenge open-source and Ubuntu represent, has made overtures to subsidize low-cost versions of the Microsoft Windows operating system for African governments. The future could see Africa using different technological systems, formats and software that are distinct from Microsoft Windows’ domination of the West, and more suited to Africa’s unique cultural and economic imperatives.

In Africa, things are often not what they appear to be, and there is much to see beyond the distortions and superficial perceptions of mass media images. Unbeknownst to many in the West, there are brilliant minds in Africa creating and shaping their own versions of a bright, bold and extraordinary future.

Barack Obama: Dreams of an African Ancestor

Barack Obama being interviewed at the 2004 Democractic Convention.

Throughout the 2006 elections everybody was talking about Barack Obama, and everybody was asking the question, will Obama run for president in 2008? I'd like to to turn the question on its head somewhat, and try to look at Obama's rise to prominence from the perspective of his father, the perspective of an African ancestor...

Barack Obama and the Dreams of an African Ancestor

Now that the election results are in and we have witnessed a historic transfer of power in Congress (or “peaceful overthrow of the government,” as a lawyer-activist friend of mine says) pundits and commentators are naturally speculating about the mood of the country and the 2008 Presidential election. For the Democrats, the undisputed star of the 2006 elections was Barack Obama, who seemed to take the political world by storm. The charismatic Illinois senator broke fundraising records and made his presence felt as he stumped for just about every Democratic candidate who was locked in a critical or not-so-critical race. Jockeying for prime position in the national spotlight, Obama shrewdly timed a 13-city promotional tour for his book, The Audacity of Hope, to coincide with the most crucial part of the campaign season. Obama also used the Congressional August recess to travel to Africa, generating international publicity while making important stops in South Africa, Djibouti, Ethiopia and his father’s ancestral home of Kenya.

If Americans didn’t know Barack Obama’s face before his Africa trip, by October just about everyone caught a glimpse of him through various media outlets, from the covers of Time, Vogue and Vanity Fair to heavyweight television shows like Oprah Winfrey, Larry King Live and Nightline. Obama symbolized new hope and possibilities for the Democratic Party, and suddenly tongues started wagging about the first Black president of the Harvard Law Review making a very realistic bid to become the first Black president of the United States. Conservative New York Times columnist David Brooks urged Obama to run, paying him a compliment by saying that any Republican nominee should at least have to earn the distinction of beating Barack Obama. But his liberal colleague Maureen Dowd chided Obama for being caught up in the glamour of his own celebrity without settling down to the hard work of “being a man of history” and declaring his candidacy.

Interestingly enough, reaction among African Americans to Barack Obama and his presidential aspirations has been more mixed than one might expect. Before the elections, columnist Earl Ofari Hutchinson proclaimed that Obama is “not the right tonic for Democrats” to win the presidency in 2008. Hutchinson pointed to Obama’s youthful inexperience, and a fear that the Republican South would not respond kindly to the idea of a Black president. Looking more deeply into African American perceptions about Obama’s candidacy, I was surprised to find considerable ambivalence or even outright resistance to the senator’s meteoric rise to media prominence. One writer described what he called "the Wayne Brady factor” with Black folks, who automatically become suspicious when they see a Black man being adored by White people. On one message board I made a comment about Obama being an intellectual, and another brother corrected me. “W.E.B. Du Bois was an intellectual. Franz Fanon was an intellectual. This n----a just got some hype.”

It later dawned on me that traditional African-American civil rights activists and community leaders might be uncomfortable with Obama because he breaks the oppositional mold and represents a new kind of Black political leader who has a broader focus and wide appeal. Obama has so many dimensions to his background and personality – a White mother from Kansas and an African father from Kenya, community organizer in Chicago’s inner-city, exemplary Harvard Law scholar – that people become befuddled when they try to fit him into their preconceived notions about politicians. A friend of mine who is Black and White and pointedly insists on describing Tiger Woods and himself as “interracial,” cynically wonders why the media should get excited about a potential presidential candidate just because he happens to be “interracial.” But Obama seems to distance himself from Tiger Woods’ philosophy of racial identification; among White crowds Obama refers to himself as a “Black guy” and among Black crowds he describes himself as a “brother.” Obama’s chameleon-like persona seems natural and without pretense; many journalists are fascinated by his ability to engage large crowds with an authentic, affable, “conversational” style. Both of his books, The Audacity of Hope and his autobiography, Dreams from My Father, read as intimate yet sophisticated and lucid conversations on complex topics viewed from his own personal experiences. Time columnist Joe Klein describes Dreams from My Father as possibly “the best-written memoir ever produced by an American politician.” Obama’s books illuminate the motivations and insights of a remarkably intelligent man who is very comfortable navigating the high-speed post-modern cultural and technological forces that are reshaping American society.

Barack Obama is often criticized as being inexperienced, long on speeches and media publicity and short on actual legislative accomplishments. Some critics note that his political views are not particularly innovative or visionary, but rather reflect the standard ideas and positions that liberal Democrats have been espousing for years. Others tend look at the hard possibilities of winning Southern states, and are skeptical that Obama is up to the task, at least for the upcoming 2008 election. But whatever Obama may be lacking in legislative experience, he compensates for with sheer intelligence and motivational idealism. A Barack Obama presidential candidacy would be good for the nation, pushing the envelop of what Americans believe is possible, as Americans – especially African Americans – have always found a peculiar excitement in breaking barriers. Ironically, Barack Obama may be the only Democrat with the charisma and magnetism to challenge the near mythical hero status of Republican candidates like former New York City mayor Rudy Guiliani and Senator John McCain. Obama’s greatest strength may lie in his seemingly unique ability to identify with different sectors of America’s society, perhaps even including evangelicals. As a community organizer in Chicago, Obama found his home in the Black church, and is comfortable talking about religion during his political speeches. Obama even devoted an entire chapter in The Audacity of Hope to the subject of “Faith.”

As I watch Obama’s carefully crafted chessboard moves within the media spectacle surrounding his life, I can’t help wondering about the one dimension of his life that may be the least well-known or understood. I can’t help thinking about his African ancestry, and what his father, Barack Hussein Obama Sr., might feel about his son’s political fortunes were he alive today. I find myself captivated by the looming figure of Barack Obama’s father and his African origins.

Barack Obama the elder was born into the Luo tribe in Nyangoma-Kogelo in 1936, a small village in rural western Kenya. Inasmuch as a son’s destiny is connected with his father, the American Obama’s story really begins in this remote part of Africa, when missionary schoolteachers noticed a certain young African’s precocious intelligence, and sent him to a boarding school in Nairobi. The bright young man distinguished himself again in Nairobi, and was selected among the most promising Kenyan students of his generation to attend American universities. Barack Hussein Obama Sr. went on to receive scholarships from the University of Hawaii – where he earned his bachelor’s degree graduated at the top of his class – and Harvard, where he received a master’s degree in economics.

Barack Obama Sr. returned to Kenya in 1963, during the early years after independence, when many of Africa’s great leaders, such as Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, Julius Nyerere of Tanzania and Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya – had bright visions about their nations’ futures. Armed with his ambition and his Harvard credentials, Barack Obama Sr., a Luo, was assigned to a top government position, only to see president Jomo Kenyatta appoint a less-qualified fellow Kikuyu tribesman to become Obama’s charge. The move infuriated Obama Sr., who complained loudly that tribalism was going to be the downfall of the new Kenyan nation. But Jomo Kenyatta – the proud founding father of Kenya – reportedly told Obama Sr. that he would never find a job in Kenya again, and closed ranks against the brilliant Harvard economist. Kenyatta’s vengefulness made earning a livelihood and providing for his family extraordinarily difficult for Obama Sr., and this is one of the heartbreaking stories in Dreams from My Father. One can easily see why Barack Obama Jr. has spoken out forcefully against corruption in Africa, even to the point of addressing the Kenyan Parliament during his recent African trip about the intertwined problems of corruption and tribalism.

Although Obama’s speech stirred some controversy, his visit to Africa was overwhelmingly successful. Obama engaged in fruitful and impressive dialogues with South African leaders, and in Kenya he drew huge, adulating crowds wherever he went. Many Kenyans, one would assume, cannot help being proud of the fact that their “favorite son” could possibly win election to the most powerful office in the world. Surely the most educated and sophisticated Africans, as well as the most humble, know that Obama’s potential success portends well for Africa, the developing world and the international community. One can perhaps imagine the spirit of Barack Obama Sr., silently urging his son to live up to his talent and potential, and to fear nothing in a society that is supposed to be built upon individual freedom and merit. Like his father before him, Barack Obama is pushing the envelop, striving to fulfill his ambition. Judging from the results of the 2006 elections and Obama’s role in the Democrats’ success, there are many Americans who would like to see this highly gifted and compassionate African American become the next president of the United States.

The Refugee All-Stars and the Power of Music

It’s hard to imagine a war where hands, arms and legs are amputated with machetes and family members are tortured and murdered in front of each other for the maximum terror effect. A war fought over and fueled by the accessibility and profits of diamonds. While Foday Sankoh and Charles Taylor ruthlessly spurred some of the worst atrocities of the 20th Century, people like Reuben Koroma, Franco Langba and Arahim Kamara were left to bear the brunt of their excesses and pick up the pieces. Their music – the music of the Refugee All-Stars – is magic in and of itself, let alone considering the extraordinary circumstances in which the group formed. To hear or see the Refugee All-Stars is to experience the real healing power of music, to know inner strength and to be part of a fantastic vibe.

Be sure to check out Zach Niles and Banker White's award-winning film "The Refugee All-Stars" and buy the All-Stars new CD "Living Like a Refugee." It's great music and it's bound to make you feel good... My favorite title is "Garbage to the Showglass," an ironic, supremely joyful chant about their improbable rise to fame. "They found us in the garbage, and put us in a showglass in the biggy biggy time..." "Black Nature" delivers a wickedly beautiful rap about God with interwoven English, Krio, French and African inflections, and everyone jumps in verse-by-verse to sing their own story.

The Refugee All-Stars and the Power of Music

Reuben Koroma has known the terrible depth of suffering and grief in Africa, yet his music has carried him from hopelessness to heights of abounding joy and ecstasy.

As a refugee from the diamond killing fields of Sierra Leone’s decade-long civil war, Koroma was one of some 2 million displaced people who witnessed one of the world’s most gruesome conflicts, a war full of horrid atrocities. Throughout the 1990s tens of thousands Sierra Leoneans were killed or maimed as the ruthless Revolutionary United Front (RUF) rebel forces made a brutal bid for political power and control of the country’s lucrative diamond trade.

Yet in the midst of the horror, seeds were being sown for an astounding breakthrough for Koroma and his music. In 1999 at Sembakounya Refugee Camp, deep in rural Guinea, Koroma found Franco Langba and Arahim Kamara, fellow musicians he knew and had jammed with in Freetown. With an old, beat-up guitar and makeshift drums, the artists began playing music to entertain and uplift the spirits of their fellow refugees. They were eventually joined by six others – including a rapper – and created their own spirited blend of reggae, R&B, hip hop and West African genres, dubbing themselves “The Refugee All-Stars.”

American filmmakers Zach Niles and Banker White happened upon the Refugee All-Stars in 2002 while they were traveling through Guinea, seeking to make a documentary on the devastation of the civil war. With financial help from some high profile celebrities including Keith Richards, Bob Geldof, Graham Nash and Steve Tyler and Joe Perry from Aerosmith, Niles and White followed the Refugee All-Stars for three years as the band performed in various refugee camps and grappled with the prospect of returning home to Freetown. With the assistance of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), the band members visited Freetown and then returned to the refugee camps to spread the word that the war was “done-done” and Freetown was safe once again. By mid-2004 Koroma and the All-Stars were back in Freetown recording their first album, “Living Like a Refugee,” at Island Studios, a sparse one-man operation run by Sam Jones, an easy-going British expatriate.

“The Refugee All-Stars,” Niles and White’s sensitive and poignant film was released in 2005 and won numerous national and international film festival awards while introducing the Refugee All-Stars and their music to enthusiastic audiences. Beginning with their performance in March at the South by Southwest Film Festival in Austin, Koroma and his band have captivated crowds with the irrepressible joy and energy of their unique sound. The groundbreaking Austin gig was punctuated with dynamic summer concerts throughout the US, Canada and Japan. The Refugee All-Stars current 26-city tour hits the Boulder Theater on November 7, and includes December concert appearances in London and Paris.

All of the band members have faced horrific tragedies, and some of them even had limbs cut off by the rebels. (Amnesty International estimates that the RUF mutilated about some 20,000 people in Sierra Leone, hacking off hands, arms and legs with machetes and axes, to terrorize people into working the diamond fields.) The soft-spoken Koroma – who witnessed his mother and father being killed during the war – is utterly amazed at the All-Stars’ journey from jamming in isolated rural refugee camps to polished stage performances at large international music festivals.

“My life was very bad a few years ago in the refugee camp – I was suffering in very bad conditions and I didn’t have something to hope for. But now things are really happening for the Refugee All-Stars,” Koroma said during a phone interview, in his soulful, rhythmic Krio English. “I believe this kind of success is a very good thing for us, and we feel important – we feel successful. I always feel good that I have been able to achieve and have many of the things that I was dreaming.”

From the 19 year-old rapper “Black Nature” to the silver-haired elder rasta Ashade Pearce, the Refugee All-Stars have a unique, eclectic sound that holds together diverse influences. Their album, “Living Like a Refugee” – released in the US in September on Anti Records – blends the familiar flavors of reggae and hip hop with rhythms and tones that are more deeply African and unfamiliar. While Koroma’s lyrics tell the story of the war, life in the refugee camps and themes of oppression, love and compassion, the music itself does not bear a hint of sadness. It’s clear – as Koroma points out – that music is intended to heal.

“It’s because of the love of music that we get together and then despite all of the struggles, all the constraints we are facing, we still really have some happiness within our hearts.” Koroma says, describing their music as having the power to heal trauma. “It’s treatment for us, because when we play music it feels like most of our problems are minimized. And then not only for us, but we saw hundreds of thousands of refugees were interested in listening to us. And then I think to myself, this might help them to minimize their problems, because everybody in the refugee camp has psychological problems.”

From the moment the Refugee All-Stars set foot in the United States, their music has taken the Western world by storm, and the band found itself thrown into a whirlwind of music industry machinations. Their very first performance at Austin’s South by Southwest Festival led to an on-the-spot negotiation for a major tour and promotion deal with the Rosebud Agency. With the tremendous buzz being generated by their concerts and the “Living Like a Refugee” CD, it seems that the Refugee All-Stars are on track to emulate the success of the Buena Vista Social Club, the Cuban artists who sold millions of CDs worldwide after being propelled to fame through a film documentary by famed musician and impresario Ry Cooder.

While the Refugee All-Stars have electrified crowds at Central Park in New York and the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., Koroma describes a peak experience in Niigata, Japan at the Fuji Rock Festival, where the band’s music appeared to break cultural barriers.

“Before we played people were telling us that it’s difficult for Japanese people to dance to music – they like listening but they don’t normally dance to international music. But when we came on stage we saw that more than 4,000 or 5,000 people were dancing,” Koroma said, barely able to contain his enthusiasm as his voice rose in excitement. “Everybody was dancing –it was like magic! I just thought it was wonderful, because I was not expecting that. I was just expecting 10, or three or five people would dance and the others would sit. To my surprise I saw everybody dancing, people coming from all different directions.”

Koroma is optimistic about the future of Sierra Leone and the impact the Refugee All-Stars are making on their local music scene and international music. He says that before the war there was only one radio station in Sierra Leone, and now there are six in Freetown, and each regional district has its own radio station. He also says that the people of Sierra Leone are “very, very proud” of the All-Stars for “making history in the world,” and as a result local musicians are gravitating toward playing instruments and live music as opposed to computerized, digital songs.

Koroma likes to point out that the Refugee All-Stars are revolutionizing music by introducing certain indigenous West African rhythms to the rest of the world.

“We have a traditional beat that is called the goombay beat, and we have another traditional beat in Sierra Leone that is called muktivange,” Koroma explains, adding that goombay is specific to Sierra Leone when muktivange is played all over West Africa. “This kind of beat (goombay) is really a traditional beat that has never been exposed in the Western world, and we are trying to do that. We are playing it one of the sounds on our album, “Ya N’Digba.”

To their credit, the Refugee All-Stars have demonstrated the resilience of Africa and the extraordinary power of music to heal and transform human emotions. Their triumph over adversity and their boundless optimism offers a much-needed ray of light in world of escalating conflict, fear and violence.

For more information on the Refugee All-Stars visit www.refugeeallstars.org.

Motherland of the Mind, Body & Spirit

Maurice Haltom in a live concert performance.

Africa, of course, is a continent, a location on our planet; but there are many dimensions and many ways of accessing Africa. While people jam to the latest pop dances and grooves, it sometimes escapes us that the common practices of African American popular culture or African traditional culture can be the gateway to a profound inner wisdom and intuitive knowledge. Teachers like Maurice Haltom – or “fundis,” as they say in South Africa - remind us that we can find an infinite world of truth and beauty through the Motherland within ourselves.

Motherland of the Mind, Body and Spirit

Jamming to the latest R&B or hip-hop joints, or marveling at the grace and beauty of dancers in an Usher, Ciara or Aaliyah music video, we are captivated by a certain style and grace that is Africa. But it sometimes escapes us that the inherent sense of movement that created an endless variety of fascinating dances can also be the gateway to a deep intuitive wisdom, in much the same way that yoga in India - and Kung Fu, Tai Chi and Qigong in China - are profound spiritual mind-body disciplines.

Indeed, just as African American pop dances are varied expressions of a certain inner theme or quality, and jazz music can yield many different renditions of a “standard” piece, Africa itself has the endless ability to adapt, absorb and morph its great identity into a multiplicity of manifestations. Sometimes certain teachers are able to illuminate these associations, to remind us that Africa has a richness of knowledge, congruities and connections that extend far beyond surface appearances.

As one such teacher, Maurice Haltom has never set foot in Africa, yet he carries the Motherland in his heart and mind, and throughout his whole being. In fact, it seems that virtually all of his aspirations and life’s work have been dedicated to exploring the profound wisdom and cultural connections underlying African music, movement and dance.

After more than 30 years of teaching, Haltom – who currently lives in Ithaca, New York and runs the Cayuga Center for Wellness and Healing Arts – has developed distinctive innovations synthesizing spiritual practices from India and China with fundamental aspects of African culture. His unique perspective has evolved from amazing life experiences spanning decades of encounters with remarkable teachers and mentors.

Perhaps his journey was sparked in the late 50s, when Haltom was high school student in Berkeley, California and his family lived a few blocks from the coffeehouses of beatnik poets, who at the time were sowing the seeds of the radical social movements of the 60s. Unbeknownst to his parents, young Haltom’s talent for African drumming was drawing him into startling new relationships and outlooks.

“The beatniks were vital and interesting to me because they appreciated the bongo drum. They would have the bongo drum playing behind their poetry and that’s where I got my first stage appearances – behind the beat poets,” Haltom explained, adding that his parents thought he was out running his newspaper routes. “In the meantime I’d be at the coffeehouses really getting my mind opened up. I could pop in there and find a whole different reference point. My own peers were no longer my reference point.”

The beatniks had an “artistic, European and French non-materialistic orientation” that Haltom says encouraged him to look for novel philosophies and alternative perspectives to mainstream ways of thinking.

After graduating high school, Haltom enlisted in the Air Force and was stationed in England when he met Aubrey, an African-American drummer and flutist who also practiced Karate. Haltom was intrigued by Aubrey’s ability to bridge the avant-garde world of jazz and martial arts; his new mentor introduced him to salsa music and Latin and Caribbean drumming styles, as well as the discipline of Oriental fighting techniques. But as Haltom delved further into Karate, he felt there was a natural connection between African dance movements and the martial arts, and he kept trying to create a more fluid fighting style, which ran against the grain of Aubrey and his other Karate teachers.

“There was a certain grace and a certain rhythm I was trying to get to and they couldn’t stand it,” Haltom says.

During the height of the radical changes of the 60s – from 1964 to 1969 – Haltom played music while immersing himself in the exciting social scenes that were developing in London, New York City and San Francisco. Haltom played for a variety of bands in California – including The Loading Zone, Kwandidos and Tower of Power – that at times opened for rock music icons Jimi Hendrix and Jefferson Airplane at the Fillmore in San Francisco. During one of his rehearsals, an Afro-Latin percussionist who learned that Haltom was interested in martial arts challenged him to spar. Haltom later learned that this non-assuming, talented musician had acquired the nickname “Sal the Assassin.”

“He took me outside and we spread out to spar and he just took me back to school in a way that I just could not ignore,” Haltom says, unable to suppress his own hard, hearty laughter. “And he did it in a way that like dancing. He was into music and dance, and he was an alcoholic at the time, but he had a mind that was really open. He was trained by a Kung Fu master and I asked him to take me to his teacher.”

As a result of his “schooling” by “Sal the Assassin,” Haltom then began studying with Kung Fu master Steven Hou. Kung Fu, with its continuous, circular movements, seemed to have the fluidity that Haltom had been yearning for. Not long after beginning his tutelage with Hou, Haltom also witnessed the Chinese Dragon Dance, and he saw a cultural connection between China and Africa that he had intuitively sensed. While unmistakably Chinese, the Dragon Dance – with its colorful tassels and loud firecrackers symbolizing the thunder of springtime – also has an essentially African drumbeat and rhythm. Haltom noticed that even the movements of the Dragon dancers themselves resembled African dance styles.

With time, Haltom became more and more aware of fundamental, archetypal expressions of African movement and dance, seeking to integrate these movements into his own martial arts and fitness practices. When he decided to pursue a Master’s degree in psychology at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York in the early 70s, Haltom found a surprising number of students who were drawn to his multi-dimensional approach to music, dance and martial arts. He taught his first Tai Chi class in the summer of 1973 with one student, but by the next year the class ballooned to 70. By 1982 Haltom found himself opening the Aquarian School of Movement Therapy; four years later the center moved to another Ithaca location and became the Agape Institute for Movement Studies, offering a full range of classes in African drum and dance, Tai Chi, Kung Fu and yoga.

Haltom developed new techniques and practices that were based on the idea that “you could be rhythmic and continuous, and that could still be a basis for a kind of strength and power.” He envisioned both the Aquarian School and the Agape Institute as embracing a “multi-cultural approach to becoming more mindful and more conscious of the body.” One of his most compelling classes, which he calls “Atlantean Yoga,” combined the fundamental postures of Indian Hatha yoga with circular motions of African dance.

Haltom was surprised at the growth of his organization and the general interest in his teachings.

“I never really thought that I was evolving something, but by about 1982, I was pretty aware that there was something going on here between Africa and China – and India, with the yoga postures,” Haltom explained, as he described the basis of his from of yoga. “Atlantean Yoga involves the idea of taking postures which appear to be still, but because you’re breathing there is an opportunity of engaging in small, spinal flexing movements. You can find ways to keep the posture intact but at the same time undulate the spine and thighs.”

Haltom says that his work with the intensified breathing and movement innovations of Atlantean Yoga develops a particularly powerful sensitivity and connection to the Life Force, and presaged some of trends that would occur with the widespread popularization of yoga in the 90s. In particular, the practice of “Power Yoga." a form of athletic yoga with enhanced cardio-vascular activity developed by Rodney Yee in California, and Sanyasin Yoga, are both somewhat similar to Haltom’s Atlantean Yoga system.

During the time that he was developing the Aquarian Center and the Agape Institute, Haltom also studied with Chinese martial arts master Mantak Chia in New York City. He found that Chia’s teachings on the Chinese philosophy of Taoism and its body systems were applicable to almost all aspects of his personal life, right down to his African drumming technique and the way he played salsa music. Haltom developed a close relationship with Chia, and after a few years Chia invited him to work more directly in transmitting Chia’s knowledge to a wider range of students. It was a difficult decision, as master Chia was becoming a world-renowned teacher and his work eventually resulted in new interest in Qigong – Chinese esoteric yoga and healing techniques – in the United States and the Western world.

“Mantak Chia invited me to join him in the process of taking his teaching forward to a new level. And I really had to think about it, because I knew that in the back of my head there were other things that I didn’t really understand or know, and I turned him down,” Haltom explained. “It was very strange because I was getting a lot from his teachings, but I declined because of this inner feeling that I could see all of these connections between Africa, China and India (in my own work). That was the vision in the back of my head and so I declined, and that was hard.”

Haltom believes that African traditions and practices are generally not appreciated for their potential contribution to health and healing because they involve a mind-body orientation that is quite unlike standard Western thinking. But developing these practices are well worth the effort, because they can lead one to a new awareness of inner knowledge and the “collective unconscious” that is not accessible through conventional education.

“I call it from the bottom-up, because you are learning and thinking and cognizing from a different part of your whole being, which I think is part of the collective unconscious anyway,” Haltom explains. “I think we all have this going on inside of us – it’s just about getting different ways to stimulate and open doors so this knowledge can come out.”

Haltom currently teaches a few classes per week at the Cayuga Wellness Center, but his life has been somewhat redefined by his psychotherapy work with Cornell students and in his own private practice. Although he does less mind-body activity, Haltom still feels his work as a psychotherapist parallels his involvement in music, African drumming and the martial arts and is similar to the traditional role of a shaman.

“Even right now, as a psychotherapist in a place as diverse as Cornell, I would see myself not so much as a psychotherapist as a shaman,” Haltom points out. “I say that because what I’m doing is assisting people to come in touch with a deeper part of themselves. We all have housed in us a relationship with the Life Force that is in each of us and in all life.”

Beyond the wealth of awareness and inner knowledge that can be developed through African music, movement and dance, Haltom believes Africa has a more general “gift” for humanity through the cultural processes that are reflected in jazz music and improvisation. Much like he adapted Tai Chi, Kung Fu, yoga and music to his own inner themes of rhythm and movement, Haltom sees a powerful adaptive intuitive consciousness that is inherent in African culture. Haltom believes it “takes a lot of training” to develop this consciousness, but the effort leads to “the opportunity you might have to start living a life like that.”

“I think that Africa comes with a unique plan for adapting right now, in the current moment – and to each and every moment – in a very spontaneous and fluid fashion,” Haltom says. “Each and every moment in life is a mystery, and the mystery is solved when I come to the mystery myself, connected to my inner lawfulness, and I can relinquish control and give over to this trust of there is something within myself that can adjust perfectly and adequately to a certain moment.”

Truly well spoken, like a griot, a fundi, an African sage. Through jazz, drumming, martial arts and more, Haltom has shown us that there are many inner gems of African mind-body wisdom, and many pathways to the Motherland in the heart.

Africa's Environment and a Woman's Mission

A group of Nigerian women protest environmental hazards in the Niger Delta. Insert: environmental justice activist Leslie Fields.

Before I interviewed Leslie Fields and talked in depth with her, I had given some thought to ecological issues in Africa, but I didn't see them as clearly as I do now or with the same sense of urgency. I knew something about the problems in the Niger Delta as well as climate change, soil erosion and desertification, but Leslie gave them a new prescience and a new realness. One thing I didn't mention in this article - although Leslie hinted at it - is the effect global warming is having on flooding, as the snows of Kilimanjaro and nearby mountains are melting. It's not as big as a problem as desertification, but it fits in the whole environmental-ecological picture in Africa. As African Americans - and people in general - travel to and become interested of Africa, we also have give consideration to ecological concerns and become more involved in environmental justice issues.

Africa's Environment and a Women's Mission

Leslie Fields is an African American woman who battles for sanity and reason in an insane, unbalanced world. Her long dred locks, high cheekbones and welcoming smile project soft-spoken character and a deep bond with the African Motherland she works so hard to protect. At first glance, one might not expect that this non-assuming woman is an international attorney who takes on the likes of Shell Oil and powerful government interests on behalf of unknown, powerless people. Yet throughout her career, Fields has found herself tirelessly admonishing, cajoling, exhorting and otherwise influencing an extraordinary array of ambassadors, cabinet ministers, senators and congressmen, CEOs, community leaders and Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) on environmental issues.

Most people think that ecology and environmental activism are the purview of liberal, touchy-feely Whites who live in suburbs and wear Birkenstock sandals. While there appears to be a lack of African-American interest in environmental activism, Fields encourages people to look beyond surface appearances and see that many ecological issues have important racial implications.

As an idealistic law student at Georgetown in mid-80s, Fields never studied environmental law, nor did she see herself becoming involved in the field. But during her early years as a practicing attorney working for the Texas Legislative Council and volunteering for the Sierra Club and the NAACP, she began to discern trademark patterns of community exploitation by large energy corporations.

“I got started doing environmental justice work here, in the United States. I realized very quickly all these companies were doing the same kind of exploitation – whether it’s “Cancer Alley” in Louisiana, or the “Chemical Corridor” between Baton Rouge and New Orleans,” Fields explains. “You can’t live down there and not notice this. It’s very obvious; all these chemical companies and petrochemical companies are all sited in Black and Latino low-income neighborhoods.”

Through her legal role with the Texas Legislative Council, Fields drafted the first Texas Birth Defects Registry. At the time, many babies with birth defects were “being born in clusters” of locations near polluting plants, factories and chemical refineries. The Birth Defects Registry helped disseminate information from county hospitals so the problem could be viewed from a wider perspective. Her work on the Birth Defects Registry sparked off a new interest and lifelong passion for understanding the specific impacts of environmental policies on families and communities.

Fields adventurous backpacking trips and various travels through Mexico, Central America and South America only confirmed the same problems she saw in Texas and Louisiana. As she became more aware of the broader scope of environmental issues, Fields began meeting and networking with people from the countries she traveled in.

“As I traveled, I saw how the same companies were contaminating the same kinds of neighborhoods in Mexico and Central America,” Fields said. “Then I went to Ecuador for the first time, and I went to the Esmeraldas area, which is all Black, and that’s where they have their oil. And again, the same oil companies and their subsidiaries were contaminating that area.”

Fields new contacts would lead to involvement with larger groups such as the Indigenous Environmental Network and the National Black Environmental Justice Network, an organization she helped found. Fields gets excited when she talks about the friendships and sense of community she developed through her environmental justice work. She feels environmental justice is unique because anyone with an interest can get involved – from scientists, lawyers and students to grandmothers, church members or community leaders.

“My favorite people are older women, kitchen table advocates who see a problem, with no funding, no big organization behind them, and they get themselves together and they take on the city council or they take on whomever,” Fields said, laughing as she describes the culinary joys of her regional “Interstate 10” diet. “They’re involved in everything, they’re the keepers of the neighborhood and they also feed you. They give you bread pudding and sweet potato pie and barbeque and you drink beer and it’s just wonderful. People still sit around on their front porch and drink iced tea or beer and you see plant in the background with the flair and that’s where everybody has to work.”

Fields believes that everything she has done locally in the United States “translates globally” and naturally fits into the same patterns and environmental justice trends worldwide. At the World Conference Against Racism in Durban, South Africa in 2001, Fields and other activists worked hard to write platforms and draft position papers to elevate environmental justice issues to same level of other human rights issues like human trafficking, racial and sexual discrimination and torture. In Durban Fields met Niger Delta and Angolan activists who would help her focus on some of the most pressing environmental problems in Africa. After the Conference Fields became the director of the Friends of the Earth’s Global Sustainability Initiative, and then returned to South Africa to participate in the World Summit on Sustainable Development in Johannesburg in 2002. Her work with Friends of the Earth – one of the world’s largest environmental organizations – initiated a new phase of involvement with African environmental causes.

With the highly visible martyrdom of Ken Saro-Wiwa in 1995, the international media was gradually becoming aware of the exploitation of the Ogoni people and other ethnic groups in the Niger Delta region through the actions of multinational oil companies like Shell, BP and Agif. As Fields traveled to Nigeria and worked with NGOs and government officials she became sensitive to many of the complexities of Nigeria’s economic growth and development. She feels very strongly that the problems in the Niger Delta are one of the world’s worst – and least followed or understood – environmental crises.

“The Niger Delta is a civil war that no one is paying attention to. Everybody hears about Iraq, everybody hears about different places in the world like Palestine, but this is a civil war, and people are suffering and dying, people are being contaminated, and women are having miscarriages,” Fields explained sadness and anger in her voice, adding that many problems are accentuated by poor oversight and lack of environmental regulations and standards. “Nigeria flares and wastes more gas than any (other) place in the world because BP and Shell and Agip just care about getting the oil – they don’t care about what happens to the gas getting burned off in the production process.

“They flare it on the ground, they flare it ceiling high, they flare it all over the place. So all these communities have terrible pollution. I’ve seen pipelines next to health clinics and elementary schools – they just put them everywhere.”

The situation in the Niger Delta is part of a bigger problem with other countries in Africa like Angola and Equatorial Guinea. Fields describes these places as being “awash in all these new oil wells, and people are living in filth.” These problems have new implications for African Americans, as volatile global conditions are forcing the United States to get one-quarter of its oil and gas from West Africa. In the drive to satisfy its thirst for oil, the American government and US foreign policy will “follow the same model” of Shell and BP, creating conditions that oppress the lives of Africans.

Fields is adamant about raising these issues in African-American organizations and forums like the Association of Blacks in Energy, the NAACP and the Congressional Black Caucus, where often she is the lone environmental justice advocate. She feels too many Blacks do not see the multi-layered connections between America and Africa.

“As African Americans, we cannot walk around now with our newfound knowledge and our Akente cloth and pretend like nothing’s happening over there. People are dying so we can drive SUVs,” Fields says passionately, adding that environmental hazards have created a cholera epidemic in Angola. “In the Niger Delta and in Angola people live in the most appalling filth so that oil companies can get that oil out of there and sell it to us at a price that we can live with. We can’t pretend that we’re buying African art and everything’s ‘brothers and sisters’ over there and we’re part of the problem because of our consumption patterns.”

Fields says she has had some success and positive response from the American Association for Blacks in Energy – an organization of African Americans in executive positions in energy industries – and the Congressional Black Caucus. During Congressional Black Caucus week in Washington, D.C., a great deal of networking occurs between Black Congressional Staff, the Energy Department, energy professionals and Ambassadors and diplomats from African countries. Fields says she has met the Ambassador from Angola, Madam Ferreira, who has said she would love to get support for renewable sources of energy in Angola, but her country needs direct foreign investment to build basic infrastructure damaged from their 30-year civil war.

Beyond environmental and economic issues related to the oil industry, Fields is even more passionate about her work combating the problems of climate change and global warming. She describes ecological issues as the “back-story” to many of the conflicts occurring in Africa, and she feels more people need to understand climate change in the context of soil erosion, desertification and the effects it has on African populations.


“Climate change creates more conflict and migration than anything. People migrate because of floods and famines and because of desertification,” Fields says emphatically, her voice rising in indignation. “Remember those floods in Mozambique a few years ago? And the situation in Darfur is the way it is because women have to go out and find water and get fuel because there isn’t any anymore because of desertification and climate change, and then they get attacked by the Janjaweed.

“Climate change is fueling migration and making people move to areas where other people don’t want them. And it’s all about water, and it’s all about energy.”

While these global challenges appear daunting, Fields is enthusiastic because activists are making breakthroughs by applying pressure through critical avenues in the corporate world. Ironically, Fields points out that these new movements are being driven by some of the same activists who organized the divestment movement to stop American universities from investing in apartheid South Africa. Along with Sister Pat Daley, one of the progenitors of the divestment movement, Fields served on the board of the Coalition for Environmentally Responsible Economies (CERES), an organization that encourages large pension funds, insurance agencies, banks and institutional investors to vote for shareholder resolutions that reflect the true costs of “climate risk.”

Climate risk may include damage costs related to floods and hurricanes such as Katrina, which devastated the Gulf Coast last year, or any costs associated with the ecological impacts from climate change. Fields did similar work through Friends of the Earth by advocating that international financial institutions such as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, as well as the US Export Import Bank and the Overseas Private Investment Corporation carefully monitor costs associated with oil companies investing in the Niger Delta and Angola. Fields lobbied for more stringent requirements and standards regarding political risk insurance, making it more difficult for oil companies to write-off losses associated with business activities in regions known for poor environmental regulations and oppression.

Fields is very proud of the work she and other women activists are doing in Africa. She says one of her highlights in Africa was meeting Wangari Maathai, the first African woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize, at the World Conference Against Racism in 2001. Dr. Maathi founded the Greenbelt Movement in Kenya, which has planted 30 million trees to stop soil erosion and desertification while also enhancing Kenya’s development position via the Kyoto Protocol on Climate Change.

“Women are holding up half the sky there – they’re doing it. I’ve met all kinds of women ministers and parliamentarians and women who are running NGOs, and women who’ve been through a lot,” Fields says. “Wangari Maathai is the best example of what I’m talking about. She went through a lot – she was imprisoned and beaten. Ellen Johnson- Sirleaf (the new president of Liberia) was also incarcerated.”

Fields feels blessed to have the opportunity to work in Africa, and she feels hopeful that growing numbers of African Americans will continue to travel and work in Africa.

“I definitely feel connected (to Africa), in a very, very broad sense, whereas growing up, we didn’t have that. Now I know more Africans, I know people from Africa who have friends here, and it’s enriched my life in a lot of ways that I can’t even put words to,” Fields says, with a sense of gratitude. “I search things out, and if something has an African Diaspora angle to it I will gravitate toward that. I’m much more of a critical thinker as an American because I have this Diaspora feeling in me. I try to think how my life will affect other people, particularly Black people.

“Because if we don’t do it, nobody’s going to do it.”

Experiencing Soweto and the Real South Africa

The Soweto Gospel Choir during a live stage performance.

This month marks the 30th anniversary of the June 16, 1976 Soweto riots that led to a nationwide resistance movement that eventually culminated in the unbanning of Black political parties and the release of Nelson Mandela from prison. There's a lot more to Soweto than meets the eye. Africa's most famous community is colorful, sophisticated, vibrant and full of joy. With a little bit of extra effort and some help from the right Black tour companies, you can transcend the surface level and get more into the real groove of the people and their lifestyle. Soweto is a great community to visit, and there are many ways to experience its unique African urban culture and sense of unity and oneness.

Experiencing Soweto and the Real South Africa

“When Soweto sneezes, South Africa gets a cold,” is a favorite, tongue-in-cheek saying among many Sowetans. But then again, certain Sowetans – doctors, lawyers, politicians and business leaders – tend to hide or conceal the subdued seriousness of the inference.

Most Americans have heard of Soweto, and the sprawling, unruly South African township conjures many images to mind, although most of them are confusing, limited or inaccurate, or at least only partial pictures of the beautiful whole. Soweto itself is more of a reflection of the many contradictions and paradoxes of South Africa. It is a ghetto, to be sure, but Soweto is also a place of aspiration and wonder, a place of leaders and entrepreneurs, a place rich with its own history, languages, music and vibrancy. When you’ve tasted Soweto’s restaurants and friendly shebeen ‘juke joints’, its crowded streets and playful markets, its love, laughter and hospitality, then you understand why a favorite bumper sticker reads, “To live and die in Soweto.”

What is often confusing for visitors is that Soweto – an acronym for South Western Townships – is actually a vast grouping of neighborhoods and townships of 3.5 million people that is larger than the city of Johannesburg itself. Soweto’s first township, Klipspruit, was formed in 1904 to provide African workers for the mining industry and menial laborers for white Johannesburg; since then Soweto has exploded into an expanse covering some 200 square kilometers of seemingly unending dirt roads, tiny homes and makeshift shacks. As Johannesburg grew, more and more people from rural homelands swarmed into the city looking for work, and Soweto in turn became more crowded, drawing the countless masses to its bosom like a compassionate mother who always manages to take in more orphans.

Africa’s most famous community is more than just an apparition of apartheid – it is home to some of South Africa’s most influential media personalities, writers, actors, musicians, celebrities, athletes and professionals. Soweto has its shanties and informal settlements, as well as its own mansions, model homes and middle class communities. Many of South Africa’s high profile national politicians and business leaders still can be found in Soweto during the weekends or when Parliament is not in session – even though they own expensive homes in the exclusive suburbs of Johannesburg, Durban, Pretoria and Cape Town.

This June – without much international notice or fanfare – marks the 30th anniversary of one of South Africa’s most important holidays, a source of great pride for Sowetans. It can be argued that on June 16, 1976, the new South Africa was born, with the violent riots that broke out after Soweto school children protested against changing the language of instruction from English to Afrikaans. The young Sowetans knew the implications; studying in Afrikaans – a modified form of Dutch – would isolate them further from the mainstream economy and the rest of the world, and make them even more subservient to the Dutch descendent white Afrikaners, the creators of apartheid. The frustration with apartheid’s uncompromising segregation in housing, jobs and virtually every aspect of life had been building up – like a pressure cooker – and the Afrikaans policy was the final straw that broke the camel’s back.



On an otherwise quiet, overcast June afternoon, the young Sowetans took everyone – and perhaps even themselves – by surprise. They agreed to walk out of their classrooms and meet at Orlando West Secondary School on Vilikazi Street, and then march from there to Orlando Stadium. By mid-morning thousands of students had gathered at Orlando West, streaming in from all over the township, until more than 15,000 uniformed students, ranging in age from about 10 to 20, joined the march. But along the way to the stadium the young protestors were met by a phalange of policemen who ordered them to disperse. When the students refused and began singing the spiritual anthem “Nkosi Sikeleli” (God Bless Africa), the police fired teargas canisters into the crowd; the students were unwilling to retreat, and some responded by throwing rocks and bottles. Police then fired indiscriminately, and children began to drop. Although the official estimate is that 23 students were killed, it is well known that in Soweto, everything and everyone is undercounted; other sources indicate that some 200 children were killed, not to mention those who were injured or crippled as a result of the police action.

A photographer for The World newspaper, Sam Nzima, witnessed the riots and snapped the now iconic image of 12 year-old Hector Pieterson being carried in the arms of Mbuyisa Mkhubo, running alongside Hector’s sister, Antoinette Sithole, from the scene. The haunting photograph was carried on news wires around the world and portrayed the brutality of apartheid repression in stark, terrible terms. As the first youth to die in the riots, Hector Pieterson became a symbol of the defiance and restlessness of South Africa’s younger generations, yearning for change. Later that night, as Soweto went up in flames, the rioting spread to the Black township of Alexandra, and then throughout all South Africa. It was as if Pieterson’s death was a unanimous signal that flashed across the nation, saying the time of waiting is no more.

The Soweto uprising set the government at loggerheads with Black urban communities in what would become a non-stop civil disobedience movement that finally culminated with the release of Nelson Mandela from prison and the unbanning of Black political parties like the African National Congress (ANC). Many of the youth involved in the Soweto conflict chose to leave the country, going into exile to join the armed resistance. The “Soweto Detachment,” as they became known, bolstered the ranks of various liberation armies that at times infiltrated South Africa and sabotaged government or military facilities. Other Soweto cadres were fortunate enough to be given scholarships and opportunities to earn college degrees in Europe, the United States and the Soviet Union.



Even before the ’76 Soweto riots, another popular movement based in Soweto had a different, yet in some ways more formative role in the prolonged struggle against apartheid. During the 1950s Defiance Campaign – when a fiery, young Nelson Mandela led people of all racial groups in a series of boycotts, strikes and civil disobedience – another birth of sorts took place in Soweto. On June 6, 1955, more than 3,000 delegates of resistance organizations, of every race and ethnicity, made with their way to Kliptown to approve The Freedom Charter, a declaration of human rights that became part of the foundation of South Africa’s 1996 Constitution. In the middle of one of the poorest sections of Soweto, the representatives gathered on the parched, crowded, dusty land and agreed upon an eloquent statement of their ideals, a dream that would only be fulfilled decades later.

Kliptown today is being transformed through an ambitious redevelopment project that includes the Walter Sisulu Square of Dedication – a memorial on the original Freedom Square site – along with a housing development, a shopping mall and a luxury 4-star hotel. The Square and the entire site are built on a new cosmopolitan vision of Soweto, and are adjacent to some of the most colorful and thriving street markets in the township. Yet Kliptown is also home to one of the poorest squatter camps in Soweto. The contrast typifies Soweto – a modern urban world of information and a hip, multi-cultural African personality, with new aspirations – and a village community that is not far removed from the earthly humanity of traditional Africa. This fascinating contrast seemingly keeps drawing the CEOs and the CFOs, the marketing directors, the Members of Parliament, celebrities, entrepreneurs and musicians back to Soweto.



As South Africa opened to democracy and the international community, a new generation of Black Soweto tour operators created new opportunities for travelers and visitors to experience the energy, joy and beauty of Soweto. Despite its history as a “location” preserve for Africans, a region walled in from white Johannesburg – Soweto is more accessible and welcoming to foreigners, visitors and tourists than one might think. Typically tourists interested in Soweto take a standard bus tour to the Hector Pieterson Memorial, perhaps with a visit to the old homes of Nelson and Winnie Mandela, and Desmond Tutu. Yet these tours only skim the surface and leave visitors with a very superficial contact and understanding of Soweto. Some Black-owned tour companies like Jimmy’s Face to Face and Imbizo Tours take tourists directly into the homes and communities of Sowetans, with surprising results.

Mandy Mankazana, who started her Imbizo Tours business in 1994, offers tourists the opportunity to live with a Soweto family, to experience their community and township life firsthand, in more intimate person-to-person encounters. “Imbizo” – which means a cultural or community gathering in Zulu – offers a wide variety of “township” tours, including a night-time “shebeen crawl,” which takes visitors on an adventurous party through many of Soweto’s famous home pubs, where Black South Africans love to socialize. But the most rewarding and powerful of her tourist experiences are the live-in visits with Soweto families.

“I propose to the client if they want to stay with a poor, middle class or rich family,” Mankazana explains, pointing out that she allows each tourist to determine the kind of family experience they would like to have. She says she gets “a lot of requests” for the live-in experience – from both Black and White clients – as most of her business comes from word of mouth, personal referrals and the Internet. “For the tourists it is a lifetime experience. When they come back from South Africa they’ve had a lifetime experience. They’re not treated like tourists – they’re accepted like a family member and they feel like they are a part of the family.”

Mankazana says that tourists have many misconceptions about Soweto, but once they experience her tours they always feel safer in Soweto than they do in downtown Johannesburg. Invariably they have great experiences in Soweto, whether they are Black or White, even though tourists usually have stereotyped views of the residents and how they might be accepted in Soweto. Mankazana feels that the tourism sector in Soweto is underdeveloped, and certain factors contribute to confusion about what Soweto has to offer and the kind of tours that are available to visitors.

“I don’t think the tourism sector is really opening up to Bed and Breakfasts in Soweto. They could do more business; they’re not as busy as hotels in Jo-burg,” Mankazana says. She also feels that some White tour operators have set up tours that take people to the Hector Pieterson Memorial and rush them through Soweto, without having contact with ordinary Sowetans, or allowing tourists to patronize Soweto’s curio shops, restaurants, arts and crafts stores, etc. She hopes that more tourists – particularly African Americans – will research the tour operators carefully to find a Black company that will offer more in-depth experiences in Soweto.

Angelia McGowan, a public relations contractor with the Colorado Department of Transportation, recently returned from a 10-day trip to South Africa where she tried the Imbizo live-in experience in Soweto and “shebeen crawl” before she went to an international conference on traffic safety in Durban. McGowan, 33, was overwhelmed by the friendliness and hospitality of Sowetans, and Black South Africans generally. She stayed with her host, Jane Oarabile-Monakwane, in a one-room Soweto dwelling that was in the backyard of a larger home. McGowan said her host’s room – one of three rooms in the same backyard, all with plastered walls and ceilings – was “set up nice, like a dorm room in a college, with a wardrobe” and had a TV along as well as a computer with an Internet connection.

“Everyone in South Africa was very open – more open than I expected for me being a foreigner there. If I didn’t open my mouth I felt like I fit in, but as soon as I opened my mouth I felt like a foreigner,” McGowan said. She said that Sowetans usually greeted her in Zulu or Sotho, but quickly switched to English once they heard her African-American accent. “As soon as I opened my mouth they knew I came from somewhere else.”



During the shebeen crawl, McGowan found that Sowetans were eager to talk to her about living conditions in the United States, and subjects like the recent Hurricane Katrina disaster. Sowetans were quick to open up to her, with a sense of love and community that seems to be an inherent part of African culture. At the shebeens she met lawyers and doctors, and people in the entertainment industry, along with ordinary Sowetans, all in the same setting. Some of the Sowetans she met invited her to stay with them during future visits to South Africa.

“Everyone was so open, I couldn’t believe that people would tell me the next time I come I could stay with them. This was only after five minutes of talking,” McGowan explained, saying she was taken back by the kindness and authenticity of the Sowetans. “It wasn’t a pickup line. They were just being very genuine. They are always open to visitors. They take great pride in hosting and entertaining visitors.”

Through Imbizo Tours, McGowan was also able to arrange to stay with a Black South African host in Durban, the site of the international road safety conference. Her host, Fikile Molefe, also accompanied her for many of the conference evening parties and socials, and took her on various tours of Durban. At a cost of R300 per night, or about $50, McGowan spent about half of the money she would have spent at the conference’s official hotel accommodation and yet had a more personable and varied experience of Durban. McGowan’s Soweto tours, including accommodation, pickup and transportation to the airport, was R500, for two days and one night, or about $83, savings that ultimately gave her more options for her entire travel package. By contrast, on her first night in South Africa, McGowan spent R550 or about $91 on a bed and breakfast in Melville, one of the trendy White neighborhoods in Johannesburg.



It seems that McGowan and other tourists – Black and White – are finding that experiencing Soweto and the real South Africa can be both cost-effective and personally rewarding by tapping into the spirit of “Ubuntu,” or African love and community, through the personal networks of Black South African tour operators. When she left for South Africa, McGowan had only two contacts and some far-sighted ideas about what she wanted to encounter; she returned home a much wiser woman, knowing the depth of the African heart.

To learn more about Johannesburg and Soweto, visit www.joburg.org.za, www.imbizotours.co.za and www.face2face.co.za.

The New Battle for Broadcasting Rights in Africa

In the next few years, the telecommunications environment of Africa will change dramatically as South Africa turns its formidable technological and economic prowess towards the rest of the continent. The history and context to these developments are just as intriguing as the new picture that is beginning to emerge as regulators, entrepreneurs, investors and industry players make their mark on the vast, open landscape.

Satellite Wars: The New Battle for Broadcasting Rights in Africa

Africa often seems lost in a perpetual technological and economic time warp, desperately isolated from mainstream of modern globalization. Oddly enough, satellite television in the Motherland reflects this same trend, yet also contradicts it, with certain peculiar complexities. Africa is the only continent in the world where one company—South Africa’s MultiChoice International Holdings (MIH) and its DStv platform of channels—maintains a tightly controlled monopoly on pay television broadcasting throughout the entire region.

But this decades old monopoly is being challenged, as a new Black-owned satellite television venture, Black Entertainment Satellite Television, or BEStv, was recently awarded a broadcasting license from the National Broadcasting Board (NBB) of Botswana. Moreover - in the wake of BEStv’s bold move - a host of players in South Africa’s sophisticated high-tech telecommunications industries are jockeying for position as the Independent Communications Authority of South Africa (ICASA) plans to issue licenses for new satellite and cable subscription television services. All of these developments will revolutionize the existing broadcasting environment in Africa, as the Motherland enters a new era of Pan-African programming, broadcast content and signal distribution. The history and context to these developments is as fascinating as the future promise of Africa’s new media age.

MultiChoice: Unlikely Beginnings of a Global Player

In 1982, Koos Bekker, a South African graduate student at Columbia University, diligently completed his broadcasting Masters degree thesis on the possibilities of establishing a subscription television service in South Africa. Bekker was fascinated by the budding success of HBO, which at the time was just beginning to pioneer the new market for pay television, as it targeted hotels, motels and home subscribers while experimenting with program content and pioneering cable and satellite broadcasting. HBO's company headquarters was located near Columbia - which had one of the world’s leading research units on telecommunications – and Bekker spent many hours interviewing HBO executives and technical staff. After obtaining his degree Bekker faced a crossroads between choosing a career with HBO, or returning home to grapple with the uncertainties of advocating his pay television ideas in the highly authoritarian broadcasting environment of South Africa.

Once back in South Africa in 1984, Bekker carefully completed his research and made a business presentation to Ton Vosloo, the chairman of Naspers, a publishing company that ran the nation’s top Afrikaans newspapers and was considered a mouthpiece for the conservative Afrikaner establishment that conceived, legislated and maintained apartheid. Vosloo was certainly very well connected; he was a member of the Broederbond, the secret society of lawyers, judges, parliamentarians, cabinet ministers, business and political leaders who ran the government and sought to empower the white Afrikaner population. Vosloo was intrigued by Bekker and was won over by his thoughtful planning and thorough command of the subject matter. Moreover, Naspers was keen to diversify its media interests, and was also very interested in television, although it was a new medium (television was first introduced to South Africa in 1976) and was tightly controlled (for propaganda purposes) by the apartheid government.

Bekker and Vosloo made their pitch to Foreign Minister Pik Botha, who also managed the Telecommunications portfolio. Like Vosloo before him, Botha was also thoroughly impressed with Bekker. Botha agreed to grant the new company a broadcasting license under the condition that no news would be broadcast and other publishing groups would be allowed to participate in a joint venture, albeit with Naspers as the managing partner. In a later interview Botha said he had never met anyone as singularly determined as Bekker, and that the 30 year-old entrepreneur had a wisdom and demeanor that was well beyond his age.

After securing their license, Bekker and his team of engineers began to identify and develop broadcast and encryption technology that would allow them to utilize terrestrial broadcasting systems to do what HBO was doing via cable. The new technology they developed into an over-the-air format would establish Nasper’s new company, M-Net, as a world player in subscription television for decades to come. M-Net made their first broadcast in September 1986, a few months after Canal Plus from France also went on air, making France and South Africa the first countries to operate over-the-air pay TV. By the time Rupert Murdoch’s British-based Sky TV followed suit in 1990, M-Net’s cutting edge encryption technology was already growing in demand throughout Europe and Asia.

M-Net invested heavily in infrastructure in its early years, and lost more than R32 million (about $40 million, at the 1987 exchange rate) in its first two years of operation. But trends and ideas catch on quickly in South Africa, and sometimes it seems the South African economy can churn and grind with a speed that rivals America, Europe, Japan or Australia. By 1990 M-Net turned its massive losses into a profit of R19.9 million (about $7.5 million, at the 1990 exchange rate), and listed on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange with a bright outlook and ambitious plans for future growth.

In the ‘90s M-Net morphed into three divisions: MultiChoice International Holdings (MIH), its subscription television ventures throughout Africa, as well as Greece, Thailand and China; M-Cell/MTN, one of Africa’s most successful cell phone operators; and Open TV and its affiliates, which manage the MIH broadcast and encryption technologies. Naspers also still maintains its highly profitable newspaper and magazine publications, which have also been expanding into Nigeria, Angola, Kenya and other African markets. Because of its media and technology holdings Naspers is listed on NASDAQ. Ironically, Naspers – the Afrikaans publishing house with Broederbond roots - has grown into Africa’s most successful media conglomerate, a true multinational force in the age of globalization. In 1996 Naspers sold its European subscriber base to Canal Plus for R7 billion (about $1.62 billion), with Bekker - its chief strategist - leaving Europe to concentrate on China as well as other Asian and African markets. Bekker has always maintained a progressive view of the developing world, and believing that China was “the place to be” and “it didn’t help to go to mature markets like Europe.”


The MultiChoice Monopoly Faces New Challengers

At the turn of the century there was great speculation in the South African telecommunications industry that there was room for another satellite or cable pay TV operator, and many CEO’s and their marketing teams developing business plans and strategies for South Africa and the entire African continent. ICASA, South Africa’s broadcasting regulator, had been investigating the issue, and after receiving comments from the industry, announced that in March 2006, it would invite applications for cable and satellite subscription services, scheduling hearings for July, 2006, with an eye toward granting operational licenses by mid-2007. The expected competitors were institutional giants, like Telkom (South Africa’s telephone operator) SABC (South Africa’s public broadcaster), Sentech (SABC’s signal distribution arm), Orbicom (MultiChoice’s satellite company), WorldSpace (an African satellite radio broadcaster), and Vodacom (a South African cell phone company). All the muscle and might of South Africa’s telecommunications industry was primed to take on MultiChoice, aiming to bring the most successful 21st Century business models and high tech systems into the vast expanse of the Motherland.

But a news leak in January 2006 – that followed with a formal announcement - sent shockwaves through broadcasting and media circles. A small company in Johannesburg, Black Earth Communications, and its satellite pay television venture Black Entertainment Satellite Television, or BEStv, had been invited to apply for a satellite television license by the National Broadcasting Board of Botswana (NBB). Flying under the radar, BEStv’s daring coup now threatened South African competitors with the prospect of going on air a full year in advance of others players, thus stealing both potential program content and market share. Furthermore, by operating out of Botswana, BEC and BEStv challenged ICASA and South Africa itself with competition to its own previously unrivaled position as the dominant regional and continental force in satellite broadcasting and telecommunications.

Suddenly, South African newspapers, radio and television programs were awash with stories about BEC and its relatively unknown CEO, Andrew Jones, an African American television producer from Richmond, Virginia. Bloggers and Internet message boards were buzzing with excitement, as the South Africans and Botswanans - previously only peripherally attuned to the ICASA proceedings - were suddenly confronted with a more real and immediate potential alternative to MultiChoice. While many questioned how the service would work, what program content it would offer (MultiChoice has exclusive distribution agreements with CNN, BBC, Discovery Channel, ESPN, MTV, VH1 and other popular global channels), etc., the general sentiment was excitement about the prospects for new competition. A surprising number of people – Black and White – seemed to be frustrated with MultiChoice’s monopoly and its service.

Jones, who initially approached MultiChoice and later Sentech to broadcast channels on their satellite systems and was turned down, is bullish on the market and optimistic about prospects for going head-to-head with the MultiChoice behemoth.

“MultiChoice rakes in about R600 million a month in subscriptions and another R700 million a year in advertising, what they really need is competition,” Jones pointed out. “US customers get 500 channels and pay half of what they do here.”

BEStv – which was formally awarded its broadcast license on April 3, 2006 - is targeting the emerging Black middle class with an initial service of 5 – 10 channels at a cost of less than R100 a month (about $16, at the current exchange rate), then plans to upgrade their service to an additional 100 channels within a year, without a significant increase in price. The initial BEStv channels will include music, sports and entertainment. MultiChoice currently offers 55 channels, for about R399 (about $66) per month. While MultiChoice offers CNN, ESPN, VH1, MTV, Discovery, E! and other popular international channels, its subscription offerings do not include any of the American subscription channels like HBO, Cinemax or Showtime. BEC and BEStv has adopted an innovative strategy aimed at cultivating content for its African market, which includes courting African American and African Diaspora programming from the United States, the Caribbean and Latin America, programs from Asia, Australia and New Zealand, and creating HIVtv, the world’s first dedicated HIV - AIDS channel. Currently, Black Entertainment Television (BET) is not broadcast as a part of MultiChoice’s DStv platform, and thus BEStv – as well as the major South African pay TV hopefuls – will be vying for the African American channel.

Jones said the question of who will license BET’s programming will be a key factor in the development of the satellite television playing field in Africa.

“Well that’s the $64,000 question. Without giving up any company secrets, obviously, we plan to approach the big cable channels in the US that might appeal to Black audiences in Africa and in South Africa and see if we can be the entry point by which they can come into the African market,” Jones explained, adding that securing the Botswana license allows BEStv to negotiate the content it would like to bring to the Continent. “By all means we intend to get the best programming and the best content that will appeal to our Black market. If you look at the big Black cable channels out there, this looks great... And that certainly includes bringing the best and most established people from the United States as well as Europe and the Caribbean.”

Perhaps the most fascinating and innovative aspect of the BEC venture will be the dedicated AIDS channel, which will actually be the flagship of the BEStv satellite platform. Jones describes HIVtv as a “non-partisan channel dedicated to educating the global population on HIV/AIDS and celebrating the progress made in the fight against the disease.” He said HIVtv will feature interviews with medical professionals, psychologists, celebrities, those living positively with the disease, documentaries, footage from conferences, music videos, peer group discussions, entertainment and AIDS news.

“The AIDS Channel would be launched initially on BEStv in late 2006 or early 2007 and then be made available immediately on any satellite platform or any broadcast outlet willing to carry it. BEC expects that at maturity, the channel will be watched by hundreds of millions of people on every continent daily,” Jones said. “In fact, we firmly believe that HIVtv has the potential of becoming the most important satellite TV channel in the world. It would be an unbelievable channel, and if BEC fails it can succeed.”

While BEC and the BEStv venture appears strategically well-positioned amongst its larger South African competitors, it faces a number of legal and technical battles to successfully operate its platform, which include using MultiChoice decoder boxes to distribute its broadcast signal to African audiences. To receive the BEStv service, customers will be able to buy a new smart card, which can be used in any MultiChoice decoder, which range anywhere from R250 (about $41) to R3,000 ($500) in price. The low-end, R250 decoders are sufficient for receiving the BEStv signal, Jones said. BEC’s legal position is that the decoder is the customer’s property, and MultiChoice should have no right to determine what customers do with the decoders once they’ve been purchased.

In response to Don’t Panic, a 24-hour pornography channel that sold smart cards to distribute programming originating outside South Africa, Multichoice installed software in their decoder boxes that made other smart cards inoperable. Don’t Panic, which has been operating since 2002, has had an ongoing legal battle with MultiChoice since 2003, and the case was referred to ICASA. In April 2006, ICASA issued a decision stating that question of smart cards for use in MultiChoice decoders should be “self-regulated” by the industry. MultiChoice has stalled somewhat on the issue, claiming that their decoders will only accept DStv services. In this respect, Don’t Panic and BEStv – as well as other operators who plan to use MultiChoice decoders - may now have to turn to the South African Competition Commission, if agreements can’t be reached with MultiChoice.

Jones feels very strongly that the legal winds auger in BEC’s favor, and he feels the Competition Commission will compel MultiChoice to remove the blocking software.

“What we’re saying is that those decoders do not belong to Multichoice. They were sold to the consumer and Multichoice made a whole lot of money selling those decoders to consumers,” Jones pointed out. “Therefore Multichoice doesn’t have a right to put anything into those decoders other than what it needs to get its programming to its subscribers.”

Even after hurdling the decoder problem, BEStv faces the issue of acquiring a broadcast license in South Africa and facing the competition of much larger rivals like SABC, Sentech and Telkom. Yet while there are still questions to be answered for BEStv, it is clear that in the coming months more eyes will turn towards Africa as the new “winds of change” hit the broadcast airwaves.

Conflict Diamonds: Africa's Hidden Pain

Nothing shines like a diamond, and probably nothing else in this world is the source of so much greed and misplaced suffering. To examine the whole issue of what has been happening with illegal diamonds is an eye-opening experience. Doug Farrah's book, "Blood from Stones: The Secret Financial Network of Terror," is a fascinating expose of the international criminals, moral degenerates and terrorists exploiting the illicit diamond trade in Africa.

Conflict Diamonds: Africa's Hidden Pain

The great reggae artist Peter Tosh was fond of saying, “I am from Africa. I stone you with diamonds. I stone you with gold...” Tosh loved these patois poetic references to Africa, and he was obssessed with the continent’s vast abundance of mineral wealth. In his song “Mama Africa,” he describes the Motherland as “the maker of diamonds, Mama, the maker of gold.” But beyond the profound natural forces that create the mysterious beauty of diamonds and gold are equally astounding transformations in the human world that create the massive demand and multi-billion dollar profits of the global gem industry. Diamonds are cherished worldwide as symbols of love, wealth, power, beauty, glamour and success. But behind all the shine and bling of "ghetto fabulous" rappers, traditional Hollywood glitz and the mass appeal of wedding bands, earrings and necklaces—lies the sad fact that over the years conditions in Africa have made buying diamonds a human rights issue.


South Africa – The Beginnings of a New Industry

Driving through Johannesburg, South Africa, one can’t help noticing heaps of artificial hills and small mountain ridges, layered with golden, yellow-hued dust. Along the main highways, or from downtown skyscrapers, a vast series of rolling plateaus—man-made mountains created by the debris of gold mines—can be seen stretching east to west, as the outer, visible signs of the world’s largest gold deposits. It soon becomes obvious to visitors that this ridge that encompasses Johannesburg, Pretoria and many outlying smaller cities fuels the giant economic engine of South Africa.

Some 250 kilometers to the southwest, in Kimberly, near the confluence of the Vaal and Orange Rivers, is the "Great Hole," another man-made oddity protruding from nature. With a circumference approximately one mile wide, and a depth of about 700 feet, the Great Hole was formed with the removal of more than 22 million tons of earth and stands as a monument to humanity’s hunger for the money to be made from mining diamonds. The gaping hole has a frightening and horrid presence; until it is seen, it is hard to imagine that something of this nature can actually exist, and it invokes archetypal fears of falling in pits or caves or being consumed in great darkness.

The gold reefs stretching around Johannesburg and the Great Hole are symbols of Western civilization’s contact with Africa’s hidden treasures. With frenzied fury, white miners, engineers, merchants and financiers began extracting diamonds in what became the Great Hole without any regard for the benefit of the land or its indigenous African people. As capital consolidated all the claims into the De Beers Mining Company, the kings of the new diamond industry experimented with a system of labor where Africans were confined to the most arduous, backbreaking work and were housed in sparse, prison-like dormitories called hostels. The hostel encampments allowed De Beers to maintain strict control of its African workers and created the foundation of the migrant labor populations—in both the diamond and gold industries—that eventually formed the financial backbone of apartheid.

Throughout the 20th century De Beers amassed billions in profits while paying its black workers pittance wages that were carefully calculated to a level just above the subsistence living conditions of rural African communities. With its gigantic surplus value De Beers formed itself into an unprecedented global diamond syndicate, controlling the production as well as the sale, pricing and distribution of diamonds worldwide. The shrewd capitalist elite at De Beers wielded powerful influence on the consumer demand side of the equation as well. The “A Diamond is Forever” advertising campaign—which De Beers started in 1938—is considered one of the most successful of all time. It created the notion that diamonds symbolize marital love and commitment (and thus never to be resold), and craftily identified diamonds as a luxury item synonymous with the glamour of celebrities, movie stars, royalty and high society.


The 1990’s: The Emergence of “Conflict Diamonds”

By the 1990s--just over a century since its inception--the De Beers diamond industry cartel remained more or less intact, controlling some 60 to 80 percent of the world diamond trade valued at more than $8 billion annually. After the freeing of Nelson Mandela and the dismantling of apartheid, the outcry over the plight of African diamond and gold miners in South Africa subsided and their oppression was more or less forgotten, or perhaps even legitimized—in all its racial ugliness and sad injustices—with the birth of the “New South Africa.” With the low-wage, hostel migrant labor systems firmly entrenched in South Africa, Namibia and Botswana—and with high consumer prices maintained at inflated levels by the De Beers cartel—the tradition of African exploitation by the diamond market forces morphed into new frontiers. As quickly as apartheid seemed to fall apart, various rebel groups, militia leaders and warlords across Africa suddenly discovered the military hardware, wealth and power that diamonds could bring them. In Angola, Sierra Leone, Liberia and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, civil wars and regional conflicts were fomented by arms merchants who used the diamond trade to bankroll local armies while making fortunes through subterfuged networks of front companies and transnational corporations. The profits also filled the coffers of Al Qaeda, and possibly Hezbollah–terrorist organizations notorious for their violence and human rights abuses.

In Angola, the infamous UNITA rebel strongman Jonas Savimbi—who previously had been supported by the apartheid government—found in the trade of “conflict diamonds,” a new source of wealth to sustain his guerilla movement. Despite a negotiated peace settlement and years of UN economic, military and diplomatic sanctions, Savimbi and his UNITA forces were able to re-arm and resume the Angolan civil war based on the proceeds of diamond sales from UNITA-held territories. While the resumption of the Angolan civil war in 1998 first drew the attention of the United Nations Security Council to the issue of conflict diamonds, it was not until Savimbi, along with two of his senior brigadiers, was ambushed and murdered by government forces in February 2002 that UNITA was finally disbanded and its diamond trading activities ceased.

While Savimbi’s violent intimidation and megalomania was legendary—it seems the worst conflict diamond abuses occurred in Sierra Leone. The Revolutionary United Front (RUF), a rebel force headed by strongman Foday Sankoh, waged a civil war in Sierra Leone for 10 years by controlling the diamonds fields on Sierra Leone’s eastern region bordering Liberia. Unfortunately for the people of Sierra Leone, the diamonds there are of very high quality and can be found on the earth’s surface, accessible to anyone with a few basic hand tools. Much like Savimbi, Sankoh was brutal in suppressing anyone who opposed his rule; but Sankoh’s trademark tactic was to amputate the hands of locals to terrorize them into working the diamond fields. Amnesty International estimates that the RUF eventually mutilated about some 20,000 people, hacking off hands, arms and legs and otherwise maiming or butchering their victims with machetes and axes. Working in alliance with Liberian dictator Charles Taylor, Sankoh pushed his blood diamonds on to the world market, exchanging them for weapons and cash that sustained their political power. The RUF’s reign of terror finally came to an end in May 2000 when British and Guinean special forces intervened and crushed the rebel army. Sankoh was arrested and eventually died in captivity while being tried for war crimes, including crimes against humanity, rape, sexual slavery and extermination.

Conflict diamonds also created problems in the Democratic Republic of Congo, a nation that had finally witnessed a rebel movement overthrowing Mobuto Sese Seko, a dictator siezed power in a coup in 1965 and ruthlessly pillaged his country of billions of dollars. But shortly after coming to power in 1997, the new government of Laurent Kabila began to experience a wave of insurgency in its eastern regions. Once again, the same pattern evidenced in Angola and Sierra Leone emerged in DRC. The eastern diamond mining regions of the DRC were overwhelmed by rebel factions, primarily the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of the Congo, or FDLR, which were being supported by neighboring Uganda and Rwanda. The sale of diamonds from the FDLR on the international market provided resources for unending geopolitical conflict between various rebel factions, DRC and Uganda and Rwanda. Despite periodic negotiations and peace agreements, the fighting continues, resulting in the forced displacement of Congolese people living the mining areas, as well myriads of human rights abuses.


Global Activism and Global Action

During most of the Sierra Leone civil war, the international community was somewhat unaware of or indifferent to the atrocities committed by the RUF. Thanks to blistering international human rights campaigns by Amnesty International and Global Witness, public knowledge of the abuses increased, and grotesque pictures of amputated arms and hands threatened to tarnish idealized consumer images of diamonds as symbols of purified marital love. The Amnesty International and Global Witness “blood diamonds” campaigns, along with appeals by the United Nations, had a strong impact on the international diamond industry, which began discussions in 1999 on developing a regulatory framework to trace diamonds from their point of origin. Fuel to the fire was added by a November 2001 Washington Post investigative report by Doug Farrah linking $20 million in conflict diamonds sales to al Qaeda operatives as well as a Lebanese diamond dealer associated with Hezbollah. Farrah’s expose provided strong evidence demonstrating that al Qaeda was transforming its capital assets into hard-to-trace mineral commodities, particularly diamonds and tanzanite.

The industry negotiations culminated in the formation of the World Diamond Council, composed of representatives of diamond traders and diamond manufacturers and government observers, as well as the Kimberly Process, a new certification and paper identification process tracing rough diamonds to their place of origin. Established in November, 2002, the Kimberly Process requires diamond producing countries to provide a Kimberly Process Certificate verifying the origin of all rough diamonds mined within their borders; the certificates must also accompany the sale of diamonds at all subsequent export and import transfers. While the organizational structure and regulatory framework of the Kimberly Process is impressive, some NGOs have complained that the process is flawed as it relies too much on industry self-regulation and is susceptible to corruption at the government certification level. Nonetheless, the attempt at regulation of the massive diamond industry represents a step forward in stemming the dangerous trafficking of blood diamonds.

Sadly, diamond mining in Africa—and the massive profits of the diamond industry—have always been associated with the exploitation and hidden pain of African people. But with the most grevious abuses of the sales of conflict diamonds abating, and the diamond industry moving into a new era of regulation, at least some of Africa’s suffering is being reduced. Newlywed couples admiring the gleaming beauty of their wedding rings seldom give thought to the hapless miners who live and labor in horrible conditions so that comfortable Westerners can enjoy these “precious” gems. African Americans themselves rarely contemplate these connections, or the fact that the high demand and supposed “scarcity” of diamonds has been artificially manufactured by the De Beers cartel. Rappers flaunting their "bling" have unconsciously bought into the De Beers hype, propagating their egos on the twisted machinations of an elaborate profit-making scheme of distorted value.

Undoubtedly, human rights groups have changed the problem and perception of conflict diamonds, causing consumers to look beyond surface appearences into the some of the forces behind the mining and distribution of diamonds. Activists have forced more regulation, more conscience, more concern and compassion on the industry. Perhaps with time, people around the world will also learn to see more of the mystery and humanity of Africa itself in the magnificient reflection, brilliance and beauty of the Motherland's gemstones.

Lost Boys of Sudan: Searching for Peace

One of the "Lost Boys" carrying supplies at Kakuma Refugee camp in Kenya.

The “Lost Boys of Sudan” is truly an incredible story. It’s a story about war, cruelty, suffering, endurance, faith and deliverance… In our global village, somehow, the things that happen to James Manyror and Michael Deng are more and more everyone’s responsibility. Meeting and James and Michael was an inspiration--the distance they’ve traveled, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually is unbelievable. The world is changing and evolving at a breakneck pace, and some people are caught up in the vortex. James and Michael should be a reminder to us that while mass events are often beyond of our control, individual lives do matter, and we should do what we can to make a difference.

"Lost Boys" of Sudan: Searching for Peace

In the Western mind, the name “Sudan” denotes a land and a region, as much as a modern nation-state. Extending below the Sahel grasslands on the southern edge of the Sahara, from the “French Sudan” (Mali) east to the Red Sea, the Sudan is a region rich with connotations and images. It is a land of profound history; a place where the mystery of ancient Egypt and Nubia, the pyramids, the great desert and the rest of the African continent all converge. Sudan is also known for the most beautiful shades and darkest hues of the African race; it is also a land where the racial mystery of what is “black,” and what is “African” and what is “Arab” is so fine as to be indistinguishable, yet full of violence, separation and warfare.

How does a place of such beauty and history become rife with conflict and suffering? Over the last 20 years Africa’s largest geographical nation has also become home to its most protracted and brutal war. More than 2 million people have been killed and another 4 million displaced in a civil war where accusations of genocide, ethnic cleansing, slavery and crude horrors abound--horrors that are nearly impossible to conceive behind Western TVs, computer screens and the conveniences of modern living.

Most recently, Darfur has commanded world attention, as the combined attacks of the Sudanese military and the Janjaweed militia have bombed, killed, raped and pillaged, carrying out a scorched earth policy that has decimated the livelihood of peaceful, agrarian people. As hundreds of thousands have been driven to destitution and starvation, many world leaders, aid organizations and human rights groups have called for international intervention.

It seems that these massive conflicts, tragedies and displacements have their own special names and places in the history of the African continent. There is the Maaf or the great crisis of slavery; the Mfecane or Defacane, the vast destruction and migrations of tribal groups in the wake of Shaka Zulu’s ruthless expansion; and now a new Diaspora of African Sudanese seeking refuge from continent’s latest conquerors.

But even before we began to hear about the problems of Darfur, another extraordinary saga of suffering was emerging from the Sudanese north-south conflict. The desert of Sudan and Egypt has been a land of epic migrations and the scene of biblical exile and deliverance—and it seems that in our modern times we have witnessed a new mythical tale in the sad story of the “Lost Boys of Sudan.”

In 1987, the Sudanese government—in coordination with loosely organized militias—intensified its bombing raids and attack on towns and villages the southern region, killing adults and raping and enslaving women and young girls. Thousands of the male children from these pastoral regions were typically herd boys who tended goats and cattle on the outskirts of their villages and by chance survived the devastation. Suddenly homeless orphans, these boys gradually coalesced into larger and larger groups seeking to escape the violence and possible enslavement or conscription. Ranging from about 5 years old to 13 or 14, the wandering bands of “lost boys” had no idea of the terrifying ordeal that lay ahead of them. Originally some 26,000 (according to UN estimates), less than half would survive the agonizing journey on foot that would eventually cover nearly 1,000 miles of desert and months and years of wandering from one village or temporary refugee camp to another.

Dogged by hunger and thirst, the Lost Boys ate leaves and wild berries and sucked water from mud and desert plants to stay alive. Sometimes the pain was overwhelming and some of the boys just collapsed to the ground from exhaustion, or slowly lagged behind, becoming easy prey for lions. When the smallest boys were in too much pain to walk, some of the older boys would pick them up and carry them on their shoulders. Sometimes the Red Cross helicopters dropped food and supplies to them, but aid organizations were unable to land because of the fierce fighting in the region. For the most part, the Lost Boys were on their own.

The boys walked for several months across southern Sudan and into Ethiopia, where they lived for three years in various refugee camps. But fate was not on their side, as Ethiopian insurgents staged a coup d’etat in 1991 and the rebel military forces chased the boys out. In their desperate attempt to escape Ethiopia, many of the Lost Boys drown in the River Gilo, or were eaten by crocodiles or shot.

For more than a year the boys walked back into Sudan, and then south to Kenya, where they finally found relative stability at Kakuma Refugee camp in 1992. Over the past 10 years Kakuma has grown into one of the world’s largest refugee camps and is now home to more than 80,000 dispossessed people from Somalia, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda and Congo, in addition to the Lost Boys and other Sudanese. While Kakuma provides some security and basic health and educational services for the boys, it is a desolate environment of sweltering 100-degree desert heat, tin-roof mud slab homes and pit toilets. The refugees are unable to cultivate their own crops, and must rely on a low-calorie one meal per day food ration. But the Lost Boys at Kakuma were grateful for their survival, and are eager to take advantage of primary education classes and English lessons in hopes of a better life.

James Manyror knows firsthand about the terrifying experience of the Lost Boys. But sitting in his comfortable Aurora apartment, with his 49ers jersey, baggy jeans and basketball sneakers and the TV blaring ESPN NBA highlights, you would never guess that he was among the thousands who made that harrowing journey through the desert. Manyror looks like an ordinary African American teenager or hip-hop kid. His dimpled smile and easy going laugh show no signs of someone who lost his innocence and childhood in the Lost Boys’ ordeal. If you ask him about the past, he’s eager to tell his story and share his amazement where life has taken him.

“Life was really a struggle. When I think back then, it looks like a nightmare—you can’t figure out where you are. You can’t imagine that year,” Manyror said, as his voice suddenly becomes animated. “I never thought that I could sit here. on a couch like this, in a place like this and go to school. We really struggled and we didn’t know where we would end up.

“Sometimes trying to explain it is really difficult. There was no food some days; there was no water some days; sometimes you are sick and you don’t know if you’re going to stay alive.”

Manyror’s roommate Michael Deng is also a Lost Boy from Paireng, the same village that Manyror was also born in. They come from an isolated rural area with no electricity, no TV or radio, no running water. The two boys made the long journey together in allied groups, and have a very deep bond and friendship; they came to Denver together from Kakuma in 2001. In four years they've gone from learning how to use can openers and telephones to attending college and mastering the look and feel of American youth. Deng is more introspective and reserved, but with his fly shirt. crisp pants, handsome boots and smooth haircut, he looks ready to hit Pierre’s Supper Club or the Casbah on the prowl. But when he speaks, Deng appears serious and thoughtful, carefully considering his words.

“You can’t imagine it,” Deng answers ponderously, replying to my question about his experience during the war years. He speaks slowly and shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t explain it. It would take an entire year or two years. It was such a large history that you cannot cover it in one day.”

Manyror then proceeds to describe the general events of their great trek. The government attacks in 1987, their escape to Ethiopia, being chased out of Ethiopia back into Sudan, and finally walking all the way across the Kenyan border to Kakuma. He said they had nothing when they left Paireng, but sometimes people would give them supplies along the way. Language was often a barrier and at times they could only communicate with hand gestures; sometimes villagers were openly hostile. One of his worst experiences happened when they were leaving Ethiopia and a local gang opened fire on them.

“After we left Pinchalla, when we were in Kopita, we were attacked by local villagers—it was a very tragic attack. One of my friends was killed that night—oh man, I was so scared,” Manyror said with a tremble in his voice, adding that he had many nightmares long after the event. “They started shooting at night. Nobody saw them come up to us.”

Deng seemed calmer and less traumatized by the attack, and explained that the villagers were “shooting randomly” and those who happened to remain prone, close to the ground, survived; the unfortunate boys who stood up and ran were killed. Manyror was terribly shaken by the loss of his close friend, who they buried later that day.

“I think it was his day to go,” Manyror shrugged.

When I asked both young men about the roots of the conflict and the perceived racial differences between the Sudanese Arabs and Africans, Deng let go a bitter, sarcastic laugh, again shaking his head in disbelief. Manyror however, was more inclined to discuss the political context.

“When you say you don’t see a (racial) difference between (the Sudanese) Arabs and Africans, you are right. But political differences play a role. It comes to religion—the Arabs think that they are Moslem, and the others are infidels,” Manyror pointed out, explaining that the Arab government has imposed Islamic fundamentalist Sharia law and controls job opportunities and economic development. “Some who are a little lighter think they are separate from the south, but it is heritage that is the biggest difference.”

Deng and Manyror are from the Dinka tribe, the largest ethnic group in Sudan, and they both hail from the Ruweng clan of the Dinka. Like many of the Lost Boys, both young men are not quite sure of their ages or birthdays. Manyror says he was born in 1979, and was 12 or 13 by the time they made it to Kakuma in 1992. Deng says he was born in 1980.

True to his solemnity and contemplative character, Deng speaks of becoming a priest or pastor. He works during the day at Safeway and takes theology courses from the Catholic Church at night. Manyror works as a Certified Nursing Assistant—he studied nursing at Aurora Community College—and intends to transfer to a university to earn his Bachelor degree. Both young men say they are so busy with school and work that they have very little time for TV, movies web surfing or other kinds of youth entertainment.

Manyror returned to Kakuma for two months in April and May of 2005, and he has now become consumed with a vision of starting an organization to help other Lost Boys at Kakuma. There is a continuing influx of refugees from Sudan, and after talking with Kakuma officials and local church groups, Manyror would like to assist in a project to construct 10 dormitory buildings and 10 classrooms for some 200 young orphans who are now semi-permanent residents at the camp. Like Manyror and Deng, the orphans will receive some education, and many of them may be resettled in the United States, Great Britain, Australia and other countries. Manyror calls his organizations the Sudanese American Orphaned Rehabilitation Organization (SAORO) and has applied for tax-exempt status as a non-profit. The organization plans to launch its web site—www.saoro.org—in March.

Manyror is very excited about the prospects for SAORO and he believes he is in a position to make a difference for Kakuma, which he describes as a “horrible”—if relatively safe and secure—place. He hopes more Americans will learn about the crisis in Sudan and will help the plight of Sudanese refugees.

“People in the United States hear all kinds of stories in the news—good stories and bad stories. If they don’t hear these stories, they won’t know what is happening.” Manyror explained, saying he believes “people of goodwill” can help the Lost Boys. “I think for me, not to get this story out, is not an option.”

Kyle Baker's Contemporary Vision of Nat Turner

It's been years since I picked up a comic book, but reading this and interviewing Kyle Baker was a fanatastic experience.


Kyle Baker’s Contemporary Vision of Nat Turner

Kyle Baker is at it again.

As if his renown as an animator, cartoonist, illustrator and one the comic industries finest artists weren’t enough, the multi-talented writer is turning his prodigious creative energies to writing a graphic novel about the infamous slave rebellion leader Nat Turner.

But perhaps this is expected of someone who helped pioneer the graphic novel art form itself with such treasured gems as the hilarious hip hop critique “Birth of a Nation,” sophisticated social satires like “Why I Hate Saturn” and “The Cowboy Wally Show” and a comic book version of the Bible’s King David. It seems that Baker ‘s consistency lies in his penchant for taking his readers and fans beyond the expected boundaries of his previous works.

For people who haven’t touched a comic book since fourth grade and believe that comics can’t take on serious subjects, think again. Ever since Art Spiegelman broke new literary ground with “Maus”—a graphic novel about his father’s harrowing experience surviving the Nazi Holocaust—graphic novels have set the publishing world on its head. Taking his inspiration from Spiegelman, Baker was one of the first to experiment with the graphic novel format in the mid-80s with “The Cowboy Wally Show,” which one reader called “the single funniest graphic novel ever written.”



But Baker’s “Nat Turner” series is anything but funny. Nat Turner, of course, has a curious and enigmatic place in our nation’s history. Like John Brown, Denmark Vesey and other slave rebellion leaders, Turner was caught up in the injustices and emotional upheavals that would eventually spark the Civil War. William Styron fired up the American imagination with his Pulitzer Prize winning “The Confessions of Nat Turner,” in which he, a white southerner, took artistic liberties to write from the psyche of a 19th century slave,

Baker’s “Nat Turner” is quite the opposite of Styron’s. Between beautifully vivid, explicit artistic images there is no dialogue, save the actual writings from Nat Turner himself, as told to Thomas R. Gray, the sympathetic attorney who recorded Turner’s last words and confessions in his jail cell as he awaited execution. The result is an extraordinary historical journey that goes back in time to the capture of Nat Turner’s mother in Africa and her horrid slave ship journey through the “Middle Passage,” and on to the story of Nat Turner’s childhood, youth and eventual rebellion.

Baker sought to avoid some of the controversies that followed Styron’s book by adhering to original sources for his story.

“Everything in the stories is actually true—they happened to somebody. A lot of the experiences aren’t particularly well-documented just because they were slaves,” Baker says, with an earnestness that belies his lighthearted sense of humor and irony. “I have a lot of books, and during the Depression there were a bunch interviews done with slaves through the WPA, and they were an excellent source. I’m trying to stick with primary sources because it is such a controversial subject and there’s also been a lot of misinformation written about Nat Turner too, just over the years.

“You can’t argue with actual quotes. You might argue with whether what that guy said was accurate, but you can’t argue that Nat said it, at least.”



“Nat Turner” stirs turbulent emotions as it carries the reader through the trials and tribulations of slavery. The drawings are black and white—revealing Baker’s amazing power of illustration—and vibrantly dramatic, yet starkly visceral and haunting. I found myself returning to the images again and again, reliving events, absorbing the story and developing an unusual affinity for the characters. It’s been many years since I flipped through a comic book, and “Nat Turner” was a pleasurable return to a fascinating—if under appreciated—media.

Baker finds the ambiguity of Nat Turner as a historical figure is perplexing. African Americans and white Americans often have very different views of Turner, and that confuses and fascinates him.

“One thing that I had encountered before I started the book was that every time I told a black person I was writing a book on Nat Turner, they’d get very excited and say, ‘That’s a terrific idea, I can’t wait to see it,’ “ Baker explains. “And whenever I’d tell a white person I was doing a book on Nat Turner they had no idea who Nat Turner was.

“I thought it was very interesting that there’s a guy like that—you ask almost any black person who he is, and he’s a hero. And one of the things that really fascinates me about the guy is that he is controversial and I honestly don’t know why.”

Baker uses his artistry to paint a broader canvass of slavery itself, and while he is known for his deft linguistics and wry sense of humor, “Nat Turner” is more of a sparse, Zen-like journey through historical records and collective images of the “peculiar institution.” He considered including more dialogue, but since he decided to confine his work to historical sources, he felt some of the dialogue could actually diminish the impact of the story.

Baker also pointed out that he had to put more into the art to convey what a character is thinking and saying to compensate for the lack of dialogue.

“If I had added dialogue, it would have had to been in a slave dialect, which is very hard to understand anyway, so I couldn’t see how it would help the story. When I read some of those old things written in dialect, it’s like they almost didn’t speak English,” Baker explains, adding that it’s harder to make the characters sympathetic if the reader can’t understand the narrative. “Slaves were uneducated. They talked like you see in those Mark Twain books. I just felt it real distracting—it’s another problem for the reader to deal with.”

While Baker is held in high esteem in the comics world (he received the Harvey Award and the Eisner Award, considered the two top honors of the industry), he still faces certain editorial battles when he ventures into new experimental territory. He decided to circumvent potential conflicts by self-publishing “Nat Turner” through his own company.

“When you’re signing the contract (with a publisher) you’re taking a guess, because you haven’t written the book. I often get into trouble because as it gets nearer the deadline I realize, “Oh God, this is lot more work than I thought,” Baker pointed out, with his regular chuckle. “In the case of Nat Turner, that’s exactly what happened. The comic books were originally supposed to be 32 pages, but as I was doing them, I felt it really didn’t work at that length, and they needed to be 48 pages. And even that would’ve gotten me fired.

“And then bringing it in late (would be a problem). When I’m working on something like Batman, I can’t get away with that.”

Beyond extending the length of the book and the time he spent working on it, Baker is also choosing to break the format mold with “Nat Turner.” He says an average Superman comic book has six to nine drawings per page, while “Nat Turner” has far more variation, and corporate publishers might have a hard time accepting the project.

“I think if you go into a publisher that traditionally is used to seeing 5 or 6 drawings per page and you bring in one drawing on a page, with no color and no dialogue, it looks you’re trying to pull one over on them,” Baker said, bursting with laughter. “It looks like I’m trying to work less, which isn’t at all the case. The reason I’m doing less drawing per page, is because I want to spend more time per drawing.”



Apparently, the formula is working and the response has been positive. Baker has published the first two comic books in what will eventually be a series of four, and the first one sold out, while the second is also selling out fast. After the final two are printed, the entire series will be published as a graphic novel. Baker will not reprint the comic books, and hence they are becoming collector’s items. He expects to complete “Nat Turner” within two months, although the book is already available in pre-orders on the Barnes & Nobles web site. He started “Nat Turner” around June, 2005, although he conceived the project a couple of years before that.

Baker believes his innovative marketing strategy is helping popularize the graphic novel version, although he feels “Nat Turner” can reach a far wider audience than the young males who typically frequent comic book stores. People who buy and trade comic books aren’t necessarily representative of the kinds of readers who will likely find a Nat Turner graphic novel appealing.

“The thing about the kind of stuff that I tend to do for comics is I’m trying to push the envelope. But the problem is regular readers don’t want the envelope pushed. The people who read Spider Man every week aren’t saying, ‘Boy, I really wish I could have a Nat Turner comic book,’ “ Baker says, with his trademark chuckle. “The reason its being done this way now is because I’ve been in this business for 20 years. I happen to know the distributors and retailers, and now I’m trying to get more into schools and bigger book stores where I think the audience is going to be.”

Depending on the success of Nat Turner, Baker is considering writing other historical graphic novels that might be suitable for teachers and schools. The 40 year-old lifelong resident of New York City has plenty of options in comics, cartoons, film and animation. He recently worked on Shrek II, providing character development for the Eddie Murphey’s donkey. Baker also worked on “Looney Tunes: Back in Action,” with Brendan Fraser, Bugs Bunny and other Warner Brother’s cartoons, where “they spent millions of dollars on it and had tons and tons of meetings and they were wrong.” His experience with the Bugs Bunny movie reinforced his concept of not being afraid to test his own ideas independently in the marketplace.

Baker’s old friend, film director Reginald Hudlin—who worked with Baker and Aaron MacGruder of the Boondocks cartoon series to create “Birth of Nation”—recently became the head of entertainment at BET, and Baker says they are planning a television animation project. But he’s a little concerned about the uncertainty of the budget, which he believes will have a big impact on the quality of the final product.

“I think with TV and video the more you spend, the better it looks. The people he’s hiring are all very good, so it should be okay,” Baker opines, pauses for a moment and laughs. “If the budget’s not that good, I just won’t be that excited about it, but I’ll still do it.”

“The Bakers,” a comic book and graphic novel series about his wife and three children is another one of his self-published projects that is close to his heart. His wife Liz says, with a slightly strained ambivalence, “He gets paid to make fun of me. Very few people can get away with that.”

Buddhism and an African Greeting

This essay is really an extension of my post on "The Beauty and Wisdom of African Languages." It's an attempt to describe how the emotional associations and meanings of certain African words can create an intuitive bond between people that has a transcendental wisdom and natural beauty. This kind of linguistic intimacy and transference is virtually entirely lacking in English and European languages, and in the Western world we desperately need some way to connect with each other emotionally and intuitively in day-to-day simple encounters. While we have a vast proliferation of words, phrases, technologies, terms and terminologies, we have somehow lost a sense of wholeness and unity that is refreshingly present in African culture.

In the Zulu and Xhosa and the Nguni languages of Southern Africa, many millions of times every day people greet each other by saying "Unjani?" or "Ninjani?" ("How are you?" or "How are you and yours?") and answering "Nkhona" or "Sikhona" ("I am well" or "We are well"). But the word "khona" has an interesting double meaning, as it also means "to be present" or "to be here" and I always thought this was curious pun, and at different times I've tried to work out in my mind the significance of the associations. African languages are full of these words with multiple- layered meanings, and they often lead to many natural intuitive connections and realizations and this is one of the reasons why many Africans feel strongly about using their own languages. I imagine the "khona" double meaning probably evolved from a common saying, "Nkulungkulu nkhona," meaning both "God is good" or "God is here" and "God is present" (with us).

But as I've given it more thought, I'm beginning to wonder if there is a deeper connection in the meanings. If you're speaking one of these languages, you have to know the context of the word in order to intuit whether the speaker means more specifically that the person is "here," or the more general meaning that someone is "good" or "well." I recently had a flash that this idea of goodness can perhaps be related to idea of "presence" in Buddhism. The idea of using the practice of meditation to see things as they are, without mental projections and illusions and to cultivate wisdom ("prajna," in Sanskrit), is central to Buddhism. Buddhist "sitting" meditation involves mindfulness, or continuously watching the mind, observing thoughts and feelings as they arise and fall in consciousness. Through regular meditation and disciplining the mind to be in the here and now--the eternal present--the practictioner develops an ability to cut through the confusion and "mental noise" of distracting thoughts and emotions. The objective or end result of this continuous practice is peace of mind and a strong sense of presence where a person relates to situations and circumstances directly, authentically and honestly, without being lost in labels, categories and extraneous attachments or projections about the past or future. Maybe in this sense being "present" is also something that has an inherent beauty and value in and of itself.

I'm not suggesting that Africans speaking these languages have an outlook on life that is meditative or like a Buddhist worldview. But I do think that this particular use of language lends itself to a similar use of the sense of "presence," in an intuitive connection. When someone asks, "Unjani?" or "Ninjani?" the answer, when it's given intentionally and not mechanically, almost automatically puts the answerer into a frame of mind where the dual meaning becomes salient. In my experience, the greeting has a way of making people feel emotionally grounded with each other in the context of that encounter. The answerer can be saying "I am good," and "I am here" or "We (all of us) are good/here together." In fact, the latter phrase is even more commonly used, as African language speakers more often use the first person plural to build a feeling of inclusiveness. As these meanings reinforce each other, people almost instinctively help create a stronger feeling of presence that can have wider associations.

More presence to listen carefully and hear what others have to say.
More presence to respond compassionately and tactfully.
More presence to think carefully and moderate one's speech.
More presence to recognize the needs of others.
More presence to help avoid misperceptions and misunderstandings.
More presence to see a person and a situation on its own terms.
More presence to stop a situation from unraveling.
More presence to take care of details that later may lead to problems.
More presence to think of a possibility that might not be considered.
More presence to notice something that may be significant to others.
More presence to be aware of children.
More presence to be respectful of elders.
More presence to be aware of neighbors and the people around you.
More presence to be one with a circle of friends and family.
More presence to celebrate the moment.
More presence to affirm the joy of being.

I believe these qualities are at least tangentially associated with the "nkhona" or "sikhona" because they are also elements of African culture itself--the idea of community, inclusiveness, togetherness and family, love, respect for elders, etc. One finds in these constructs a sense of connectedness to other people, a feeling a unity and oneness that is held together in very basic, fundamental day-to-day interactions.

Another common answer for "Unjani?" is "Ngiyapila" (I am well) or "Siyapila" (We are well). "Pila" is another African word with multiple meanings. "Pila" can mean "life," or "to live," "to feel," "to be healthy," or "to be well" depending the context. It's fascinating that this root word has so many associated meanings. When a person answers "Siyapila," they are saying "we are well" or "we are alive" or "we are feeling" or "we are healthy" all in one breath, in one simple phrase. In the Nguni languages, life is equated with health, which is equated with being, which is equated with wellness or goodness. Once again, this circular connection of meanings is continually reinforced with African cultural qualities that emphasize unity, oneness, compassion and togetherness. Hence profound meaning, emotion and feeling are transmitted or conveyed with a few elementary words. From a fundamental ground of compassion and unity, there is also no guilt, no sense of separation between God, life, goodness and human existence, and there is an infectious joy and celebration in ordinary encounters.

All cultures and languages have their strengths and limitations. I'm definitely not trying to suggest that African cultures and traditions are perfect. After living in Africa for many years I have my own way of thinking about Africa without trying to idealize or patronize it. The question of why many African countries are burdened with political conflict is an issue that has historical antecedents and is something quite different from the experience of day-to-day language and culture. Despite outward appearances and media images of poverty, strife, disease, etc., there are many things that people living in dominant Western societies can learn from Africa. In the new emerging cultures of the global village, we will all inevitably take constructs of different cultures and different ways of thinking and perceiving and patch them together in our own experience. Africa has many gems of wisdom, many rough diamonds and other treasures--and much to offer in its great reflection.

**2005: An End of the Year Message

This is my December Eye on Africa column. I believe What the Bleep Do We Know? was one of the most extraordinary and important films of the past year--not only because of its novel word-of-mouth marketing, but also because of the way it affects the way people think and perceive. It was one of my precious gems of 2005. I think What the Bleep Do We Know? can have unique significance for Africans and African Americans, particularly for those who are willing to open their minds to see new models of reality and to develop their intuition about science, the brain and consciousness. In fact, it's imperative that we find new ways of seeing things. The world is changing at hyper-speed, and the old paradigms are falling apart... What is perplexing and frustrating (and sometimes funny) is that a lot of people don't even realize that their thinking is actually confined to 'limited paradigms'...

2005: An End of the Year Message

With 2005 coming to an end and the holiday season upon us, we always look for meaning in the past. Looking back, this year has brought unprecedented attention to the Motherland, with the worldwide Live 8 concerts for Africa and a seemingly endless stream of journalistic reports: genocide in Darfur, pirates off the coast of Somalia, famine in Niger, and the election of Africa’s first woman president, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, in Liberia. All too often media images of poverty, war, political instability and the HIV-Aids crisis bombard us, but the real Africa, the true Africa, is something far more vast, beautiful, daunting, and innocent than people who have never been there can sense. It becomes a challenge to look for the small fine threads of stories, telling pictures, and human perspectives that paint something beyond the dark electronic vignettes that dominate the Western view of Africa.

Standing on the threshold of change, Africa pushes forward, pressing itself into the consciousness of the Western mainstream world, in dribs and drabs, subtle and overt. Cell phones and the Internet are making startling new connections between remote African villages and the global village, adding a new, direct human dimension to aid initiatives and organizations. Solar energy, open-source software, $100 laptops and World Wide Web connectivity are gradually seeping into the Motherland, bringing new visions of access to knowledge, education, and enlightenment in Africa’s dawning Information Age. In the United States we face a very real scenario where an American of Kenyan descent, Senator Barack Obama from Illinois, may become the first Black president or first Black vice president of the United States. Worlds of possibility, worlds of change and quantum leaps of growth surround us, although they are sometimes clouded and discounted in the weary dust of ordinary mundane day-to-day survival.

Sometimes we, as African Americans, have a tendency to get caught up in our own media reflection. The barrage of our own images in advertising, film, and television have power far beyond our measly 12 percent of the American population. Online, at the office water cooler, in clubs, bars, and theaters we catch up on our Black celebrities, artists, and entertainers, and movies like Crash, Hustle & Flow, Four Brothers, or Mike Tyson’s porn flick, or CDs from John Legend, Kanye West, Mashonda, Trina, or Toni Braxton. We are so immersed in our own cultural creativity that we often take its omnipresence and growth for granted, diminishing its extraordinary history and emergence, and detaching from or blinding ourselves to what is coming out of Africa and the Diaspora. In terms of entertainment in this post-modern world, we become our own spectacle, consuming ourselves, sometimes to the detriment of participating in other media audiences and dialogues.

What the Bleep Do We Know?, a movie about the brain, consciousness and quantum mechanics, was a pop culture phenomenon in 2005 that did not appear as even a tiny blip on the African or the African American radar. The movie, which featured interviews with scientists and psychologists and an accompanying storyline with actress Marlee Matlin, managed to gross $12 million at the box office with limited marketing, no reviews or publicity, relying essentially on word of mouth and targeted marketing on the Internet. What the Bleep Do We Know? was panned by a few critics who felt its message was incoherent and obtuse and the scenes with Matlin seemed stiff and contrived; but box office success and the film’s nonchalant marketing strategy testified to its popularity and broad appeal. While the title may not catch our eye like The Gospel, Jarhead, or Get Rich or Die Tryin’, What the Bleep Do We Know? may be more relevant to African Americans and Africans than many of the flashy celebrity blockbusters we’re constantly ranting and raving about.

What the Bleep Do We Know? is relevant because it offers insight into sub-atomic physics, consciousness, and the brain in a way as that allows people to see everything--matter, emotions, thought and feeling, even perception itself--from entirely fresh perspectives. The movie is a journey inward that is both structural and scientific as well as philosophical and mystical. The film is strung together by a series of edited interviews and sound bites, but with no narration, and hence at times may be confusing or difficult to follow, especially since the concepts are novel and unfamiliar to most people. Nonetheless, What the Bleep Do We Know? is highly popular because it presents compelling views on how emotion affects one’s biochemistry, how addiction reinforces itself neurologically, and how we can even become addicted to emotions like anger, hatred, fear, jealousy, resentment, self-pity and sadness.

One of the advantages of being Black or African is that we have an easier time deconstructing many of the myths that American society builds around itself and its people. We have the opportunity to approach religion and science from our own unique soulful African perspective. We have the opportunity to reject science as materialism and we can also reject religious fundamentalism’s attempt to define everything about life and the universe in exclusion of facts. We can feel and use our intuitive cultural perspectives to find truth in qualities and experiences that resonate with us. Like Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, we have the capacity to see the spaces in between, the syncopated beats and jazzy impressions of an unorthodox worldview. One would not expect a film about quantum mechanics and the brain to mention Blackness or African qualities, yet What the Bleep Do We Know? inauspiciously presents a world view and psychological concepts that potentially fit and augment our own intuitiveness.

More importantly, in a world where many Black youth are often hypnotized by their environment and over-identify with destructive behaviors they see around them, this kind of film may stimulate a youthful mind into a mode of self-examination that allows the old concepts of how they view themselves and the world to change. We are also very much in need of new models for how we understand and cope with addiction, and new ways to look at how people get trapped in repeating cycles of negative emotions. With thoughtful analysis and careful examination--all of the scientists and contributors and their writings can be researched on the Internet--the model can be extended to ideas about meditation, developing more coordinated and extensive thought activity and neuronal connections in the brain, and understanding the soul or the “Observer” in all of us, the conscious spirit lying behind manifestation.

I’m not saying that What the Bleep Do We Know? is without its flaws or imperfections or controversies. Some scientists say the film takes scientific concepts and tries to convert them into a kind of new age religion. But everyone can consider the film on its own merits. I think the What the Bleep Do We Know? might be beyond the grasp or at least difficult to understand for those who lack basic middle or high school biology and chemistry. But if offers a wealth of knowledge and ideas for those who want to see “how far down the rabbit hole” they can explore. One usually needs to see the film more than once to absorb the material, and it helps to discuss it with others who might see different things and talk about different interpretations. During the holiday season, the What the Bleep Do We Know? DVD might make an inspiring Christmas gift, or maybe a Kwanza present to be shared with family and friends. That may be quite an appropriate modern African offering for a world that is changing at hyper-speed and moving into a New Year, in a New Millennium.

On African and African American Actors

Don Cheadle and Sophie Okonedo in "Hotel Rwanda"

Ah, Bra John, "Their blacks are better than yours"? I think you're a little misguided on this...

Much respect, John Matshikiza--much respect... Don't get me wrong--your work in theater, stage, film and television is uncompromising. I loved you in that artful, stupendous film, "The Heart of the Country." Between the breathtaking scenery, shining cinematography, and passionate portrayals of idiosyncratic characters karmically entwined in the Free State, I saw a glimpse of the possibility of what real, world-class South African cinema could be. And you had me in sitches when you were steppin' around in the white baas' boots and taking his daughter's virginity! As a director, writer and actor, you know your craft, and you know how to bring out the best in folks. I can't help agreeing with most of what you've said--for years I've longed for really seeing more of what South Africa has to offer the world on the silver screen--I think the issue is a little more complex. African Americans and Americans aren't the only ones who are making the decisions and controlling what ends up as the final film product. I'll give you an example, and I'll even start with the 1950 version of "Cry the Beloved Country," which you point out as the genesis of baffling accents and confusing African Americans taking South African roles. Personally, I thought both Sydney Poitier and Canadee Lee did fantastic jobs in that film. When Anant Singh and Darryl Roodt remade "Cry the Beloved Country" in 1995, they captured the splendour of the Drakensburg and added rich textures and great scenery that gave life to Sophiatown and Jo-burg in the 50s. But Canada Lee delivered an eerie line with a singular grace that gave the movie its intense emotional power. But Anant Singh and Darryl Roodt wouldn't touch that line, maybe for fear of offending the "Rainbow Nation New South Africa" 'I'm okay you're okay' ethos. Or maybe because they're not Black (is Indian really "Black"?) James Jarvis has an eiphany, after accepting his son's death, he see's his son's humanity, and he recognizes his own failings. He turns to the Black minister, Rev. Stephen Khumalo, and says:

James Jarvis: "All my life I have lived in darkness."
Rev. Khumalo: "Every white man I have ever known..."

My point is that even the most respected South African producers and directors can make their own decisions and their own mistakes. And sometimes they get it things right, and they have an extraordinary capability of telling their own South African stories. Whatever resistance you might have to African American actors, Anant Singh did the right thing in casting James Earl Jones as Stephen Khumalo. Maybe he didn't speak with a Zulu accent as you know it, but his performance was impeccable nonetheless. I may not have liked what Anant and Darryl were up to with changing the climax and most powerful part of the film, but they did a lot of other things very well. At the end of the day, having Richard Harris as Jarvis and James Earl Jones as Rev. Khumalo brought international attention and acclaim to the film that otherwise would not have been.

As you pointed out, this thing of African American actors and South African films and themes goes way back, and I often hate the marbled accents as much as you do. But sometimes really good actors have a way feeling a part, and making it their own, even when the character comes from a different culture. I'm thinking of Don Cheadle's performance of Paul Rusesabagina in Hotel Rwanda. He played the role well, and he drew the audience that that film deserved. And many South African actors benefitted from the African American element in that production. The actors learned from each other and pulled together something dramatic, powerful and haunting, something that hopefully opens people's eyes to a cinematic journey beyond comfortable suburban mindsets. The genocide in Rwanda was a story that very much needed to be told, to as large and wide an audience as possible.

Maybe Don Cheadle is one of the few African American actors who has enough talent and verbal dexterity to really immerse himself in an African accent. Nonetheless, I'm sure there are ways in which African American and African producers, directors and actors can collaborate constructively, as they did in HBO's "Sometimes in April." And none of these productions--however fabulous or flawed--precludes South Africans from making their own bold and intelligent independent films that can grab attention at Cannes or Sundance. South Africa definitely has the industry infrastructure and abundantly talented writers, producers, directors and actors.

But this thing of South African actors and American actors has a history, and it's something we're all trying to work through. A lot of African American models and actors have been coming to South Africa since the early 90s and were getting parts and opportunities that they couldn't access in New York or LA. I remember meeting a young African American brother at a Gallo record launch in 1995--after a few introductory remarks he escalated into a bragging spiel about how successful he had become. "Man, the opportunities that are out here are FANTASTIC!" he told me emphatically. At the time he was more of a curiosity to me, and I was more interested in listening to him and observing. Our involvement in South Africa stemmed from completely different understandings and motivations. All the while I was thinking, "God damn, man--do you realize that some people gave their lives so that this country could be open and free?" He should read Don Mattera's poem, Child.

As I spent more time in South Africa, I learned that there were a good number of young brothers like the one I met, and it seemed to me that the South African advertising industry was quite happy to accommodate them. Then, after a little more observing, talking to people etc., I also began to see that there was a lot of racism in the South African advertising industry, a kind of racism that an outsider might not expect from surface appearences. Once I was on the set of a commercial shoot where a Black transvestite donned a platinum wag and did a hilarious imitation of Marilyn Monroe singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President," for some kind of advertisement. It was a funny concept, and very well executed, but there were no Black folks on the set save the transvestite and the caterers (and myself). After years of observing White people, one becomes sensitized to certain things... The conversations of the director and the crew, their facial expressions, body language and the way they treated their talent spoke volumes about their insulated arrogance and the kind of social environment they are accustomed to operating in. I could also see that this was an environment that in many ways was more welcoming to African Americans than Black South Africans. Some of this has to fit into the equation you have titled, "Their blacks are better than yours."


The larger picture is that in this era of globalization, Africans from all over the planet need to collaborate and come together to do great, creative things in the film industry. We need to look beyond tribal and national identifications to reach a new, higher definition and understanding of Africanness. After all, Don Cheadle can play an Rwandan with subtlety and Idris Elba, a Brit, can play an African American with chilling intensity. Black actors in New York City like Giancarlo Esposito have often demonstrated incredible versatility with performances that bridge culture and point the way to a new African multi-ordinal identity. Our traditions, our experience, our cultures, our heritage and the stories that made us are a tremendous source of wealth. Hugh Masekela really spells this out when he talks about "cultural synergy" as a potential engine of economic growth for African people. But if all we see is an "African American" actor, or a "South African" actor, or a "Nigerian" actor or a Zulu or Xhosa or Hausa or Yoruba or whatever, we miss the greater vision...

Note: John Matshikiza is a columnist for the Mail & Guardian and is an acclaimed playwright, actor, director and producer. He's a brilliant, talented brother with a crooked smile, an easy manner and a hilarious sense of humour that belies his seriousness and depth. You can read his "With the Lid Off" column here.

Their blacks are better than yours

John Matshikiza: WITH THE LID OFF
23 September 2005 03:30

Thank goodness I’m too old to join the humiliating queue of black actors looking for work these days. I no longer have to fret about black Yankees being cast in roles that African actors can fulfil with ease, grace and, dare one say it, the whiff of authenticity. I’m at peace, way beyond the petty debate.

It was never a debate anyway. It was, and is, a transatlantic monologue, occasionally interrupted by cheeky, indignant, heckling interruptions from down here in the South -- out-of-work Bantu would-be actors yelling: “Why can’t we be given a fair crack of our own whip?”

You can fool yourself into believing that the phenomenon first raised its futile head in the 1980s, with the likes of Denzel Washington as Steve Biko in Cry Freedom, my buddy Danny Glover in the title role of the HBO television movie Mandela and as “Boesman” in the dead-in-the-water Boesman and Lena, starring alongside Angela Bassett as typical Korsten coloured trash. Then there was Sydney Poitier in another Mandela television film (while Morgan Freeman chafes in the wings to play the same role in Anant Singh’s endlessly upcoming epic based on Long Walk to Freedom) and James Earl Jones as the humble Zulu vicar in the remake of Cry the Beloved Country. The roster of heavily sponsored black-on-black exploitation is brought right up to date with Samuel L Jackson in the film adaptation of Antjie Krog’s Country of my Skull, and, of course, Taye Diggs in Zola Maseko’s glossy, hollow Drum.

Then there are the ubiquitous Slovo sisters making Hollywood hay while the sun still shines on the memory of their father Joe’s impeccable struggle credentials, conniving in the casting of a black British actor in Red Dust (written by big sister Gillian) and yet another honky black American in the gritty, gory Umkhonto weSizwe thriller Hot Stuff, written by middle sister Shawn, and co-produced by baby sister Robyn and currently shooting on location on various white-owned farms in the Transvaal.

No, you’d be wrong in thinking that the “our blacks are better actors than your blacks” thing began as recently as that. Poitier and Canada Lee twanged through the native roles in the first version of Cry the Beloved Country in the 1950s. And even before that, Negro extras jumped around pretending to be Zulu warriors in a long line of B movies shot in New Jersey and California way back in the early days of cinema itself in the 1920s and 1930s.

The directors of these films, all white (with the noble exception of Maseko) have always argued, as does Hot Stuff’s award-winning director, Philip “Rabbit Proof Fence” Noyes, that exclusion of the authentic African article has nothing to do with discrimination against Africans. “I looked at everyone there was to look at all over the world, and simply chose the best actor for the job,” they cry with one, well-rehearsed voice.“So there. Go make your own movies.” Conveniently forgetting that the cash to make movies, like the Negroes who end up starring in them, is over there, not over here.

While our leadership berates the West at the United Nations for continuing to subsidise their own farmers as a way of blocking the potentially wealth-creating export of African produce into their own countries (Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 metaphor of the American government paying American farmers not to produce alfalfa come to prophetic fulfilment) they make not the slightest suggestion that films shot on the African continent should empower African actors and screenwriters (Maseko was kicked out of that role in favour of an American writer in his own movie).

And, of course, it would be Hollywood sacrilege to expect an African actor to get the chance to even audition for the role of Shaft in Shaft, or for one of Washington’s drearily upright vigilante detectives in any number of American skop, skiet en donder flicks. Imagine the embarrassment of Third World “Angel of mercy” Angelina Jolie or Meryl “I had a farm in Africa” Streep struggling to introduce Seputla Sebogodi at the Oscars -- wouldn’t work.

There is something distinctly odd in standing on set with Denzel, cameras rolling as he struggles half-heartedly to emulate Biko’s Eastern Cape accent. The producers are paying him a cool few million US dollars to do his best, no more. But we cannot exclusively blame our slave-escapee “African- American” brothers and sisters for kicking dust in our faces, laughing over their shoulders as they rush back to Beverley Hills with the loot. I-job-I-job, after all -- even over there.The more flamboyantly political brothers have taken the fight into their own camp on our behalf. A burly cat with a stack of menacing talent gave himself the Ghanaian sounding name of Yaphet Koto, and continues to make a good living playing burly, menacing American gangsters. Then there was the late, great Adolph Caesar, who cocked a snook at the establishment by naming himself after two of the Western world’s most ruthless dictators, swaggering like a warped, high-yellow mirror of the society that made him, while still showing that, when it came to serious acting, he was up there with the best.But these are the exceptions that prove the rule. We can surely look forward to nothing better in the future than Will Smith playing Oliver Tambo, or Ice-T cast in the role of Kwame Nkrumah.

All of this is beyond my concern nowadays, however -- except when my daughters drag me along to see the latest, big screen travesty of our tough yet dignified history, told the American way. At that point I feel a strange hotness under my collar and an even stranger burning sensation somewhere in the seat of my pants.

That’s when I try to persuade them to switch screens in the Eastgate multiplex and go and have a good old laugh at Shrek instead, for the umpteenth time. At least he’s green, mean and a Glaswegian-accented anti-colonial freedom fighter -- with a genuine, ghetto-Negro donkey as a sidekick.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

**Es'kia Mphahlele's African Literary Journey

Es'kia Mphahlele, as a dapper Drum magazine journalist in Johannesburg

in the early 50s. This photo is courtesy of Jurgen Schadeberg,

who captured Black South Africa during the Drum era.

Check out his web site--it's a fascinating visual journey.

Once again, this article is part of my Eye on Africa series. I feel honored that I had the opportunity to meet and interview Ezekiel Mphahlele. He is truly one of the giants of our African cultural leaders, and given his age, this recent visit to the States may be his last--he doesn't travel here very much. Meeting Es'kia reminded me somewhat of a chance encounter I once had with James Baldwin 22 years ago; they both had a powerful presence, a profound wisdom and soft-spoken intellect that is subtle yet overwhelming. I would have loved to have spent more time with Es'kia (or for that matter, James Baldwin), but alas, there never seems to be enough time to spend with these great "fundis." Their writings live on for future generations, but sadly, their time is limited in this world. In this article I wanted to present Es'kia in the broadest context of his life, and to hint at his ideas of "African humanism" which I believe can form the basis of a viable and creative African educational system.

Es'kia Mphahlele's African Literary Journey

“The minds I would be dealing with were
already unchained by their own effort. Give people a poor education and the mind will soon find a way out. Revolt is then inevitable. No, the mind cannot be chained forever...”

- Es'kia Mphahlele

Throughout my experiences and travels in Africa, I have followed the shadow of Es’kia Mphahlele--his reflection, traces of his footprints—until one fine, late August day, I met face to face with the world-acclaimed novelist, educator and African philosopher. The 85 year-old former University of Denver professor lives in Johannesburg, South Africa, and was in Denver on a rare trip (and perhaps his last) to the United States. I had the good fortune of being introduced through a mutual friend and spending an afternoon of evocative conversation in the backyard shade of a quiet Park Hill home. It was an extraordinary encounter.

Ezekiel “Es’kia” Mphahlele is one of Africa’s most revered writers and scholars, known both for his literary works as well as for his activism in arts, cultural and educational matters. He was initially trained as a teacher, but after he spoke out against the inferior standards of “Bantu” education the apartheid government banned him from teaching anywhere in South Africa. Subsequently Mphahlele became a political reporter and fiction editor for Drum, a continent-wide African magazine that printed daring political exposes by brilliant investigative journalists, peppered with colorful features and creative writing styles blending English with African idioms and narratives. Drum mirrored a literary renaissance in the 1950s, an era when South Africa was burgeoning with creative energy in the music and the arts. (Interestingly enough, a recent South African film, Drum, by director Zola Maseko and starring Taye Diggs, tells the story of Henry Nxumalo, one of the most popular Drum journalists who was found murdered in Johannesburg.) Notwithstanding the attention he and others received through Drum, Mphahlele aspired to be a writer, and after he finished his Masters degree at the University of South Africa in 1956 he went into exile with his wife Rebecca and their three children.

Mphahlele began teaching in Nigeria, later saying that “West Africa gave Africa back to me,” awakening him from the alienation and deep-rooted emotional traumas of apartheid. The 1959 publication of his autobiographical novel, Down Second Avenue, drew worldwide interest in Mphahlele as a writer, and focused a powerful spotlight on the internal dynamics of South Africa as it steadily drifted toward greater racial oppression and greater world isolation. Now a classic of African literature, Down Second Avenue had successful printings in English, French, German, Russian, Dutch and Japanese, which reflected the impact and international popularity of the book. Mphahlele’s second novel, The Wanderers, a story chronicling the experience of exiles in Africa, earned him a nomination for the Nobel Prize in literature in 1969.

Mphahlele thrived on his teaching activities in Nigeria, but he also found himself drawn into a whirlwind of creativity activity among West African writers and artists such as novelists Wole Soyinka, Chinua Achebe, Ngugi Wa Thiongo and Amos Tutuola, sculptor Ben Ewanwu and painters Demas Nwoko and Uche Okeke. Mphahlele felt he had been plucked from a South African literary renaissance only to be dropped into the heart of a West African cultural renaissance. He was appointed director of the Congress for Cultural Freedom in Paris, for which he traveled and worked extensively in Kenya, Senegal, Sierra Leone, Ghana, Nigeria, Cameroon and Uganda, in addition to lecturing throughout Europe. At the end of his term with the Congress, while teaching at the University of Nairobi in 1965, Mphahlele was offered a teaching fellowship at the University of Denver and an opportunity to earn his PhD, an offer that he gladly accepted.

By the mid-1970s Mphahlele had built a thriving career in academia and a comfortable life in American suburbia, but the “tyranny of place” dominated his heart and mind. He could feel the land of his forefathers calling him, and he yearned to make his teaching and writing relevant to the actual conditions of life in South Africa. In August, 1977, barely a year after the Soweto riots, and less than a month before the death in detention of Steve Biko, the Mphahleles returned permanently to South Africa, exchanging their British passports for the infamous South African passbook ID, the “badge of oppression.” And this very fact makes Es’kia Mphahlele’s life distinctly different from most South African exiles, who generally left the country in the 50s, 60s and 70s and returned in the early 90s, after Nelson Mandela was released from prison and Black political parties were unbanned.

The return to South Africa was not without its controversies. Many of Mphahlele’s fellow exiles—prominent political activists, writers, musicians and poets—told him that going back to South Africa was a mistake. Not only was he possibly endangering himself and his family, but they also argued that returning at that time would be a propaganda coup for the South African government, which would then appear to be more liberal and open in its policies. Mphahlele dismissed these arguments, but he also paid heavy prices for his return. Within a few months of being back in South Africa, his son Puso began to get his first ugly, bitter tastes of racism apartheid style. He was not conditioned to the survival instincts of living under apartheid, and they feared for his safety. The older Mphahlele children had already become accustomed to individualistic, independent American lifestyles, and so Es’kia and Rebecca sadly gave their son “back to America.” After some discussion, they all agreed that it was best for Puso to live with his sister in Washington, D.C. and finish his high school education in the United States.

Mphahlele had returned ostensibly to assume the chairmanship of the English Department at the historically Black University of the North, and the teaching staff voted unanimously for his appointment. But once again Mphahlele was destined to confront the face of government repression, as the Minister of the Department of Education vetoed his appointment, leaving him jobless. White supremacist politicians could not tolerate the idea of an African being the head of a Department of “English” over a White staff that was actually much less qualified. Despite the rebuke (and thinly-veiled retribution) of apartheid officialdom, Mphahlele had the last laugh. He was eventually asked by the vice chancellor of the private University of Witswatersrand—South Africa’s most distinguished university—to become the chairman of their new Department of African Literature.

In the South Africa of 1977—as compared to 1956, the year of his exile—Mphahlele found worsened conditions in the urban townships (Soweto was “monstrously slummier”) and an educational system ravaged by the sub-standard “Bantu” apartheid program. He traveled around the country in various capacities lecturing and teaching new ideas for transforming African education based on “African humanism,” an overarching concept that he felt was valid for the continent as a whole. In Black universities and schools, he often drew large, overflowing crowds of people, young and old, students and non-students, eager to hear from the worldly scholar and Nobel prize nominee who had returned to be with his people and fight the system from within. For that reason, Mphahlele was nothing less than a hero, a contemporary African prophet.

Mphahlele’s African humanism embodied the ideal that Africans should express their own unique approach to education, and get to know themselves and their continent through a study of African history, religion, cosmology, literature and the arts, before moving on to other areas of world knowledge. Although he never drew the apparent parallel, Mphahlele’s African humanism pedagogy presages a comprehensive introspection of African traditional culture, not unlike the Edo period in Japan, where the Japanese barred Europeans from their society and experienced a flowering of their classical culture while simultaneously learning Western technology and economics.



Over many years, I slowly discovered and learned why Es’kia Mphahlele is so revered by South Africans, the world academic community and Africa’s intelligentsia. Sitting in the shade of a plum tree, I had come full circle, and I could not help but love the small, soft-spoken literary giant. We talked for quite some time about his days with Drum magazine, his years in exile, trends in African art and literature and the future of South Africa and the Africa continent as a whole. His aged, graying eyes belied the intensity of his intellect moral courage and fierce honesty; his words conveyed the hard-won wisdom of years of travel, copious study and astute human observation.

I asked Es’kia if he felt Africa had a living spirit, and if that spirit touched him or spoke to him in some way. His poignant answer seemed timeless and full of meaning in light of the overwhelming darkness and strife South Africans, African Americans and many African people have faced in recent times.

“Yes, it speaks to me, because I tend to listen to much of the wild voices of now, of present day politics and ethnic problems and conflicts. (But) I (also) listen to the subterranean voices, the voices coming from the past, from my forefathers and our ancestors. That’s how Africa speaks to me. Never mind the political noises that one hears, this way or that way. I’m talking about something much more solid, as well as spiritual. And there are ugly things happening in African countries. The poverty of Africa touches me deeply, especially because our leaders seem to be so impotent in dealing with it. There’s a good deal of corruption among some African leaders who simply want to have power and wealth. They don’t care two hoots about what happens to the people, and that is the sad part of it. But if you stop and listen to the voices of ancient wisdom, and you can hear the voices in the metaphors of our languages and in the mannerisms in which we as Africans approach each other... If we listen to the voices of those forces, you get somewhere. You realize that you have some protection from other kinds of foes and forces that work on you.”

Ethiopian Lions and a Young Girl

Co-evolution? Spiritual communication between species?

Africa is full of mystery, overflowing with wildlife, and nature has a passion and energy that seems to be more intense than in other continents. The bond--as well as the struggle--between the human kingdom and the animal kingdom seems unusual there as well. When I read this article it fascinated me, and I cross-checked it with another article that said basically the same thing--it confirmed that a young girl had been found, apparently being protected by lions. Co-evolution is essentially about behavorial communication signals between different species. An evolutionary leap occurs when the species develop a new relationship or interaction based on a transformation in the response to communication signals. The lions heard the girl's whimpers, and instinctively chased away her attackers. I suppose I'm not really talking about co-evolution, but rather a unique instance of inter-species communication. Homo sapiens sapiens has the ability to domesticate, but what about circumstances where communication between the animal kingdom and the human occur spontaneously, from the animal side to the human side? Would that all young girls--or young boys for that matter--could have the protection of fierce, wild lions when they're threatened by human sexual predators...


African lions protect abducted girl, fend off attackers

By Anthony Mitchell, Associated Press

ADDIS ABABA, Ethiopia - A 12-year-old girl who was abducted and beaten by men trying to force her into a marriage was found being guarded by three lions who apparently had chased off her captors, a policeman said Tuesday.

The girl, missing for a week, had been taken by seven men who wanted to force her to marry one of them, said Sgt. Wondimu Wedajo, speaking by telephone from the provincial capital of Bita Genet, about 350 miles southwest of Addis Ababa.

She was beaten repeatedly before she was found June 9 by police and relatives on the outskirts of Bita Genet, Wondimu said. She had been guarded by the lions for about half a day, he said.
"They stood guard until we found her and then they just left her like a gift and went back into the forest," Wondimu said.

"If the lions had not come to her rescue, then it could have been much worse. Often these young girls are raped and severely beaten to force them to accept the marriage," he said.
Tilahun Kassa, a local government official who corroborated Wondimu, said one of the men had wanted to marry the girl against her wishes.

"Everyone thinks this is some kind of miracle, because normally the lions would attack people," Wondimu said.

Stuart Williams, a wildlife expert with the rural development ministry, said the girl may have survived because she was crying from the trauma of her attack.

"A young girl whimpering could be mistaken for the mewing sound from a lion cub, which in turn could explain why they didn't eat her," Williams said.

Ethiopia's lions, famous for their large black manes, are the country's national symbol and adorn statues and the local currency. Despite a recent crackdown, hunters also kill the animals for their skins, which can fetch $1,000. Williams estimates that only 1,000 Ethiopian lions remain in the wild.

The girl, the youngest of four siblings, was "shocked and terrified" after her abduction and had to be treated for the cuts from her beatings, Wondimu said.

He said police had caught four of the abductors; three were at large.

Kidnapping young girls has long been part of the marriage custom in Ethiopia. The United Nations estimates that more than 70 percent of marriages in Ethiopia are by abduction, practiced in rural areas where most of the country's 71 million people live.

Bali Bombing - A Personal Perspective

A woman says a prayer for the dead after

the first Bali bombing in October, 2002

Anyone who has ever been to Bali must be feeling a profound sadness today... Before the ascendance of Jemaah Islamiyah and al Qaeda, Bali was probably the most peaceful place on Earth. I always thought of Bali as one of the most evolved civilizations on the planet, a place overflowing with creativity, gentleness and laughter, where everyone seems to be a painter or a woodcarver or a jeweler or a musician or some kind of artist. There is magic and wonder all throughout the island. Lazaris would say they were people in touch with their "boundary dweller"--that creative power that lifts us out of the mundane human experience. The Balinese have maintained the beauty of their traditional culture, their sense of the sacred and artful, and yet they have also managed to absorb and balance the impact of the Western world. Every year, more and more people learned about the "paradise" of Bali, and every year, more and more tourists would come. And every year the Balinese welcomed all of them, openly, with laughter, innocence and love. I had a wonderfully funny spiritual experience at the temple dedicated to Hanuman in Bukit Sari, the sacred monkey forest, but I digress... But how long will Balinese culture endure suicide bombings, carryed out by fanatics whose stealth is only matched by their perverted hatred and messianic arrogance? In Maluku, Jema Islamiya destroyed groups of Christian villages because the Indonesian military turned a blind eye to the arms that were being brought into islands by Muslim militant ideologues. What will happen in Bali?

Poetry, Politics and Power, and a Good Friend

Two women and a man wait to be moved to Soweto from Sophiatown, the famed multi-racial, multi-ethnic community that symbolized the great literary, musical and theatrical creativity in South Africa before the dawn of apartheid. Sophiatown was the first community targeted for forced removal under the notorious "Group Areas Act." Africans were sent to Soweto, mixed-raced Coloureds to Western Areas, Indians to Fordsburg and Lenasia, while Sophiatown was bulldozed and rebuilt into a White working class suburb called "Triomf," meaning victory in Afrikaans. Sophiatown was Don Mattera's roots, the source of his poetry and personaltiy. His book "Memory is a Weapon" describes the destruction of Sophiatown and how the seeds of hate and suspicion were sown between different racial and ethnic groups by forced removals. This elegant, haunting photograph was taken by Jurgen Schadeberg, a German immigrant who documented the life of Sophiatown. You can visit his web site, which tells many fascinating visual stories about South Africa.

Poetry moves things, poetry changes the world…

I was watching “No Direction Home” on PBS, a film about Bob Dylan by Martin Scorsese, and it struck me how much Dylan and the beat generation gave a certain voice to the civil rights struggle, and masses of people responded to that voice. With what I see in new street cafes, "slam" contests and Def Poetry Jam, it seems that spoken word art is becoming powerful again, reflecting that same passion and potential. That's really what true hip hop--early hip hop--was all about anyway. It was poetry of the streets.

Allen Ginsberg said, “Poetry is words that are empowered that makes your hair stand on end. Words that you recognize instinctively have some form of subjective truth that has an objective reality to it, because somebody has realized it. Then you call it poetry later...”

When I lived in South Africa I had the good fortune of becoming good friends with Don Mattera, one of South Africa's great poetic voices. In his own way, Don embodies the humanity of South Africa, and his words are full of rich meanings and great truth. Not unlike Tupac and Biggie, Ice T and Ice Cube, Don was a gangster who lived the streets and later found his voice in poetry. Don was a mentor, a guide and father figure to me, and as they say in South Africa, Don was a "fundi." I walked with Don, through various ghettos and ethnic neighborhoods, and I watched him talk to anyone and everyone in Zulu, Sotho, English, Afrikaans and tsotsi taal, and I even prayed with him once on the street with a sangoma. Don was the same brother, whether he was eating at a local dive, lecturing at a university, writing poetry, speaking at a stadium rally or leading prayers of the Eid Festival at the end of Ramadan. The same brother...

Three of my favorite poems, from Don's book, “Azanian Love Song,” are "Black Plum," The Day They Came for Our House" (which is about Sophiatown) and "Child."

BLACK PLUM

This land
The soil so stiff necked and proud
This beautiful earth is a garden
And I am the fruit
Squeezed of energy
Drained of love
Dried of hope:

a garden watered by anguish
fertilised by the tears
of my people,
strewn with the seeds
of their lives

I am the black plum
Fruit of mama africa
The spirit that cries out beyond the horizon
The soul that seeks emancipation
I am africa

THE DAY THEY CAME FOR OUR HOUSE

Sophiatown, 1962

The sun stood still
in the sullen wintry sky
a witness
to the impending destruction

Armed with bulldozers
they came
to do a job
nothing more
just hired killers

We gave way
there was nothing we could do
although the bitterness stung in us,
in the place we knew to be part of us
and in the earth around,

We stood.
Slow painfully slow
clumsy crushes crawled over
the firm pillars
into the rooms that held us
and the roof that covered
our heads

We stood.
Dust clouded our vision
We held back tears
It was over in minutes,

Done.

Bulldozers have power.
They can take apart in a few minutes
all that had been built up over the years
and raised over generations
and generations of children

The power of destroying
the pain of being destroyed,

Dust
...

South African Police executing forced removals in Sophiatown.

CHILD

For my daughter Noeleen

The leaves of my tree
grow brown and thin
soon they will fall to earth
and be forgotten

Much fruit has withered
only a few strong boughs remain
but they too will be broken
by the fury that will sweep our land

But of all my fruit
of all things clear and close to my heart,
are you and the hope that is manifest
in your being
you the offspring
of an invisible dream

All my seeking my fervent cries
and the depth
of longing are but distant echoes
my wounds mere relics
yet all I ask of you
is that you should remember me
for what I tried to do, tried to offer
so that a new bright sun would rise on your day;
that a portion of
my dream for the freedom of my people
would find a match in your song
my name and those who marched with me
be recorded on your scroll

What does a man live for
if not to be remembered by his beloved?

I wanted
to offer you sonnets
And springbuds unfurling to the sunlight
sing about the fir trees pointing to God
but how can I sing of the tree when
beneath it my brothers lie bleeding
and their wounds unfurl the horror of existence
and their prayers are cries of death
and their hearts curse God

Yet amid all the hate and hostility
I do not hate those who hold
us in servitude
though I have tried hard to do so,
I just cannot hate

Perhaps it is a weakness on my part
perhaps the folly of the oppressed
is that we do not hate enough
or that we love too much but
it is a truism that revolutions
are born out of love;
love for land and liberty
love of humanity and love of oneself

I have watched many suns sink
seen phantom shadows raise their ominous banners
and I have heard my name called
while dreams, desires of a lifetime
whittled under violent feet

I hold the bloody scroll
with shakey, awe-struck hands
the cup will not pass untouched
for the lips that hunger after justice

How often have I asked God
whether there was something we missed
or a teaching that went unheeded
from the prophets in whose shadows we walked

But your blood is changing;
a vibrant light glows in your eyes
a sacred fire of unseen power within you
claims its bounty of life
tomorrow belongs to you
yours through strength and defiance
that flows in the struggle carved from God's image

The world is teeming with unrest
everywhere men are fighting to be heard
to walk upright in the
land of their fathers
it is no different in our continent
nor in our country where the tin gods
teach their offspring to despise and humiliate us

Greed, selfishness and hypocrisy
have blinded most white people
verily, they live by the sword

Yet there are many good, well-meaning
justice-loving white folk
men and women of conscience
who sacrifice their days that others might be free

Those who did not conform were broken

those who refused to break
were imprisoned or killed
others persecuted to self-exile
but many millions remain silent
enjoying the ill-gotten harvest

I am not influencing you to hate whites
I could not ask such a thing
for it would negate my own humanity
the enmity I feel is for the denial of black dignity
for the sacred right to love unhindered

I tell you that even our finer emotions,
those which sustain us with inner succour
when debasement exacts its toll on our lives,
are now the white man's past-time
and God is made the lie with which we are deceived

But as there are evil white people
so are there black ones
who have become the tools
with which we are fooled and indoctrinated
black men and women who travel
for the colonial crumbs of comfort
selling their souls for money

Child, I look at the slow decaying
of our people in the cities
in the dry foodless reserves in
the prisons, and a thousand angry rivers
rush inside of me:
the deaths they die will not be in vain,
they are the foundation of your freedom

I look at you and the fear I had for death falters
as I touch your dimpled hands
drink of your warm laughter
certain that you would outlive
the tempest which must first lash the land
in order to set it free

Yet it was in a dream
and it was by the river
that I heard the plaintive voices of men in chains
black men naked and shining, singing the
slave's song:
How long Lord, how long?
and the moon fell on the
shimmering water
lighting up their faces and I was among them
shackled but singing

So that our voices rose heavy with sound
breaking the fetters that held us bondage

And children came with seed
and where we stood,
they planted a new people

These words I give you
as a testament of my deepest love for you
and for our beloved land

written in the hope that you will remember
those valiant folk who marched with me
and in remembering, cherish the legacy
bequeathed to you through their blood
in the final hope that a new bright sun
will rise on your Tomorrow