Spring, in South Africa, is beginning to show the resilience of nature despite the turmoil of political quakes and demise of the philosopher king. Like all aspiring heroes he had his flaws but what is waiting in the wings is a buffoon and jester with little or no substance.
Thank Allah that winter, is gone perhaps now we will see a rebirth of the ANC, then again it might be the same old fool in drag, not that I harbour homophobic tendencies, anyway the constitution doesn't allow that! This being a liberal secular democracy, except of course in places like Lenasia and Mayfair and those other plaas plekke that Killa and others have been on about - where we still have a hypocritical code of conduct and aspire to some idealistic Islamic state within a state with our own set of manmade rules.
Women here float about on bat wings oblivious of the world beyond, deluded that they epitomise the essence of piety, they haunt the malls desperately shopping for an identity. They love the anonymity it accords them to surreptiously observe the crude masses who lack the intense spirituality acquired through listening to Radio Islam.
Their disembodied voices waft over airwaves asking the pious men of religion about their menses, detailing the colour and content. Its miraculous how these promoters of moral values can pronounce on bodily functions, and have such intimate knowledge of women's excretions, being ghair mahrams. (In public nogal) Once upon a time these doyens of virtue exercised their constitutional rights by demanding the muting of women's voices for their lilting aphrodisiac potential. Now they've netted them in their web, they methodically mould them into identical beings, a halaal version of the stepford wives.
So how does this bode for a vassal? The question is existential though not deeply profound. Ostensibly slavery does not exist and yet we are enslaved within political systems, within social, religious structures; our freedom of expression, choices curtailed by dominant forces or majority views. If I veer away from the centre my ontological existence is demeaned and denigrated, my ability to reason, to evolve at a different pace is viewed as deviant. There just isn’t space for individuality, for creativity or uniqueness of being. Survival within these invisible confines diminishes self and gradually we submit and dilute the essence that lends that special fragrance to who we really are.
For women, this chipping away at identity is not too subtle, a kind of cradle to the grave carving into an object of man’s creation for his own consumption. We cannot deny the puissant influence the political and religious power mongers have on our lives.
But its spring, time to unearth the dead roots …..