THE TAXI DRIVER NIGHT
MBENE MWAMBENE
WITH NELLO NOVELA
WITH NELLO NOVELA
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This stage performance encompasses poetry reading and music. Mbene meets Nello with a guitar and sets off on a journey. Like in a taxi from Kitwe in Zambia to Maputo in Mozambique, the conversations are politically organic. The narrative is both improvised and planned. Mbene and Nello immerse themselves in an exploration of resistance of black male bodies against colonialism through poetry reading, voice rhythm, songs and storytelling.
PROJECT DESCRIPTION
1/3
Performance
On the stage, Mbene with text, meets Nello with a guitar and sets off on a journey. Like in a taxi from Kitwe in Zambia to Maputo in Mozambique, the conversations are politically organic. The narrative is half improvised and the other part is planned. This leads to a dual-performance of poetry reading and music. They immerse themselves into an exploration of resistance of black male bodies against colonialism through poetry reading, voice rhythm, songs and storytelling. Mbene selects and puts together a series of poems from his various works of the past 10 years into a performance. He also reads new poems inspired from a physical and mental exploration of black bodies through western religion, capitalism, colonialism and slavery. The performance is a spiritual, ritualistic, and political commentary which explores Mbene`s personal journeys to the aforementioned topics. Through his performance, Mbene cultivates pain, freedom of being, happiness, dilemma, healing of black bodies and self-enlightenment (not the western way). He weaves his personal stories from Malawi, Zambia to Switzerland through a gaze of colonialism, capitalism, western religion and slavery.
In the performance, Mbene talks about his ancestors escape from Arab slavers, the physical exploitation of the earth and topography through colonialism, the economization of black bodies, the fetishization of black male bodies and brutal use of religion to conquer unblemished ancestral spirituality and cultural appropriation as a means of perpetual exploitation of blackness.
The Taxi Driver Nightis an ongoing performance work and has featured other music artists in previous shows in Bern, Zurich and Basel.
Warning: Not suitable for fragile white people because we cannot offer psychological help because of colonialism.
On the stage, Mbene with text, meets Nello with a guitar and sets off on a journey. Like in a taxi from Kitwe in Zambia to Maputo in Mozambique, the conversations are politically organic. The narrative is half improvised and the other part is planned. This leads to a dual-performance of poetry reading and music. They immerse themselves into an exploration of resistance of black male bodies against colonialism through poetry reading, voice rhythm, songs and storytelling. Mbene selects and puts together a series of poems from his various works of the past 10 years into a performance. He also reads new poems inspired from a physical and mental exploration of black bodies through western religion, capitalism, colonialism and slavery. The performance is a spiritual, ritualistic, and political commentary which explores Mbene`s personal journeys to the aforementioned topics. Through his performance, Mbene cultivates pain, freedom of being, happiness, dilemma, healing of black bodies and self-enlightenment (not the western way). He weaves his personal stories from Malawi, Zambia to Switzerland through a gaze of colonialism, capitalism, western religion and slavery.
In the performance, Mbene talks about his ancestors escape from Arab slavers, the physical exploitation of the earth and topography through colonialism, the economization of black bodies, the fetishization of black male bodies and brutal use of religion to conquer unblemished ancestral spirituality and cultural appropriation as a means of perpetual exploitation of blackness.
The Taxi Driver Nightis an ongoing performance work and has featured other music artists in previous shows in Bern, Zurich and Basel.
Warning: Not suitable for fragile white people because we cannot offer psychological help because of colonialism.
Surprise attack! Cries, screams, throw stones, spears, guns, run, escape, caught, bundled, chained...bones broken
Thick black smoke engulfs the village
Flames puff, rough, terrified people ran
Chala, the goddess of mountains and rivers would protect her people, condemn the Invaders with wrath
The sight of armed men breeds trauma,
“These men! And the wives left behind
Strange tongued characters of human beings, grabbing everyone before their eyes
They speak differently, they look differently, they, they borne eyes of hatred, a breath of death, the fathers of brutality, makers of their own disruptive history, their tales, curators of their own heroes, that statue is still standing there, the landscape has been changed many a times
Matuta ran because she could, because she had the strength, because of danger, little legs carried her into a thick, dark, dangerous forest
Men, women and Children, marched to the coast, the millions
Seasons come Seasons go, the long journeys continue, still shackled to one another
Bound together with ropes, chains, or even wooden yokes. The water of the sea swallows the sick and the weak , sharks feast on the dead
Some stage protests by drowning themselves into the water,
Others hide their children among the seaweed
The captured, branded with hot irons, assigned numbers, and forced aboard ships
Matuta ran because she could, because she had the strength, because of danger, little legs carried her into thick, dangerous and dark forest
Surprise attack! Cries, screams, throw, stones, spears, guns, run, escape, caught, bundled...bones broken
Tribes invade tribes to sell one another
Gold exchanged , cash flows, tears roll, little boys and girls ran! Ran! Ran! Owned, sold, resold, profited from, exploited
The captives are shipped across the oceans
Breaking the soil in the great land
Planting a seed which turns into a tree, with roots, branches, leaves and flowers, a cotton tree. A free tree. Mom, can I be a tree? X 4
Matuta ran into the future
She ran for freedom, she ran into the trees and climbed, held tightly to the tree branches and closed her eyes
From her, generations and generations were born;Nduli, Chitambala, yombo, Lyombo, Sabit,, Mwalyanga, The Mwambene, the Chungus, the Muteghas, the Kweses, The Kalaghos, the Kilembes
The generations moved back and forth across Tanzania, Malawi, Botswana, Zimbabwe, South Africa and Zambia
In the UK and now,...here
Thick black smoke engulfs the village
Flames puff, rough, terrified people ran
Chala, the goddess of mountains and rivers would protect her people, condemn the Invaders with wrath
The sight of armed men breeds trauma,
“These men! And the wives left behind
Strange tongued characters of human beings, grabbing everyone before their eyes
They speak differently, they look differently, they, they borne eyes of hatred, a breath of death, the fathers of brutality, makers of their own disruptive history, their tales, curators of their own heroes, that statue is still standing there, the landscape has been changed many a times
Matuta ran because she could, because she had the strength, because of danger, little legs carried her into a thick, dark, dangerous forest
Men, women and Children, marched to the coast, the millions
Seasons come Seasons go, the long journeys continue, still shackled to one another
Bound together with ropes, chains, or even wooden yokes. The water of the sea swallows the sick and the weak , sharks feast on the dead
Some stage protests by drowning themselves into the water,
Others hide their children among the seaweed
The captured, branded with hot irons, assigned numbers, and forced aboard ships
Matuta ran because she could, because she had the strength, because of danger, little legs carried her into thick, dangerous and dark forest
Surprise attack! Cries, screams, throw, stones, spears, guns, run, escape, caught, bundled...bones broken
Tribes invade tribes to sell one another
Gold exchanged , cash flows, tears roll, little boys and girls ran! Ran! Ran! Owned, sold, resold, profited from, exploited
The captives are shipped across the oceans
Breaking the soil in the great land
Planting a seed which turns into a tree, with roots, branches, leaves and flowers, a cotton tree. A free tree. Mom, can I be a tree? X 4
Matuta ran into the future
She ran for freedom, she ran into the trees and climbed, held tightly to the tree branches and closed her eyes
From her, generations and generations were born;Nduli, Chitambala, yombo, Lyombo, Sabit,, Mwalyanga, The Mwambene, the Chungus, the Muteghas, the Kweses, The Kalaghos, the Kilembes
The generations moved back and forth across Tanzania, Malawi, Botswana, Zimbabwe, South Africa and Zambia
In the UK and now,...here
I try to explain to her, I try harder to explain.
The photos she took with half naked black children and put them on Facebook, instagram, TikTok, twitter…is is bullshit
She breaks into a river of tears
“Those people were like family”
Karen says
My Karen is different, she isn't American, she has many black friends, she has been to Africa, did voluntary work in Africa , learned Indian Yoga on youtube
Africa, yes!
She interrupts before I finish my thoughts,
“ I know what you mean. My four ex-boyfriends were black. Also the last guy I dated is sort of asian”
Karen says
We are in a relationship
She goes to demonstrations, as long the police are the bad guys
The following day, she posts on social media
“ Fuck the police, dismantle capitalism, No Borders No Nations. I dont fuck nazis”
Another day, she posts a photo with black children with a caption
“Saving lives on the beautiful land of Africa” Yes Africa.
That photo is followed by another one of my Karen flaunting her six pack tummy, the caption screams loudly “Food porn” “ Good life “ “ I love Greek food” “ I am love with the sea”
Karen says
Karen says she understands my struggles, breaks down philosophical terms
I hardly comprehend
Karen educates me
“There are bad people, there are good people everywhere “
She once paid double the price of a mango fruit in her strange country called Africa
Karen called the street vendors racist
She is my girlfriend and totally is color blind, she fights for equality
Flyers stand in her room “ Fuck Nazis, were are the 99%”
Sometimes, I try as much as possible to explain the Economic effects of slavery
She says “ that´s history and let's focus on the present”
She quotes a book by a male Karen
The sun goes down again
Lips to lips, we are standing still, hearing heart beats, confused, angry but yet in love
Another day
That way she beats me
Karen says it's not easy for her as a white woman
Karen reassures me that she can comprehend the depth my life
I wanna scream, just shut up,
But I can’t, there is a story untold
My words scotched but one day
I say my thoughts loud,
Karen bursts into tears
“ I am your girlfriend. So how can I be racist”
I don’t like the looks of people at me in the streets when she cries,
My job is to be nice, at least
Karen goes to Africa,
Egypt, Tunisia, Morocco, south Africa, in Namibia they also speak German
to help, to take photos, to swim, to open the relationship a little bit, to post on social media, to prepare
her university applications
to start a career, to live a life
The sun goes down again
Lips to lips, we are standing still, hearing heart beats, confused but in love, angry
Another day
She loves black babies,
She yearns for one, she craves for the future
And another day
Karen can even twerk
She learnt african accents from coming to America
Karen
The photos she took with half naked black children and put them on Facebook, instagram, TikTok, twitter…is is bullshit
She breaks into a river of tears
“Those people were like family”
Karen says
My Karen is different, she isn't American, she has many black friends, she has been to Africa, did voluntary work in Africa , learned Indian Yoga on youtube
Africa, yes!
She interrupts before I finish my thoughts,
“ I know what you mean. My four ex-boyfriends were black. Also the last guy I dated is sort of asian”
Karen says
We are in a relationship
She goes to demonstrations, as long the police are the bad guys
The following day, she posts on social media
“ Fuck the police, dismantle capitalism, No Borders No Nations. I dont fuck nazis”
Another day, she posts a photo with black children with a caption
“Saving lives on the beautiful land of Africa” Yes Africa.
That photo is followed by another one of my Karen flaunting her six pack tummy, the caption screams loudly “Food porn” “ Good life “ “ I love Greek food” “ I am love with the sea”
Karen says
Karen says she understands my struggles, breaks down philosophical terms
I hardly comprehend
Karen educates me
“There are bad people, there are good people everywhere “
She once paid double the price of a mango fruit in her strange country called Africa
Karen called the street vendors racist
She is my girlfriend and totally is color blind, she fights for equality
Flyers stand in her room “ Fuck Nazis, were are the 99%”
Sometimes, I try as much as possible to explain the Economic effects of slavery
She says “ that´s history and let's focus on the present”
She quotes a book by a male Karen
The sun goes down again
Lips to lips, we are standing still, hearing heart beats, confused, angry but yet in love
Another day
That way she beats me
Karen says it's not easy for her as a white woman
Karen reassures me that she can comprehend the depth my life
I wanna scream, just shut up,
But I can’t, there is a story untold
My words scotched but one day
I say my thoughts loud,
Karen bursts into tears
“ I am your girlfriend. So how can I be racist”
I don’t like the looks of people at me in the streets when she cries,
My job is to be nice, at least
Karen goes to Africa,
Egypt, Tunisia, Morocco, south Africa, in Namibia they also speak German
to help, to take photos, to swim, to open the relationship a little bit, to post on social media, to prepare
her university applications
to start a career, to live a life
The sun goes down again
Lips to lips, we are standing still, hearing heart beats, confused but in love, angry
Another day
She loves black babies,
She yearns for one, she craves for the future
And another day
Karen can even twerk
She learnt african accents from coming to America
Karen
Tolani Yeyani, vinthu vose
Take take take take everything
Take me, take your bodies into the abyss
The jaws of your future, when everything has been machined
This time take your mothers, take your fathers
Along with your lovers, take
You took, you take, I look, you spook me
You take, you blame, same lane of insanity
Take the shit with you, take tears with you
Take the plastic minds, all along
Take the bodies , take the garbage with you
Take the concrete forests, take the cemented floors
Take everything,
I will be here another sunny day
Standing on those undying shoulders
The ones you broke, those ones you took
The ones which refused to rot,
The ones which will not face the hungry worms
If only they still exist in the soil
Maybe I will be here another cold day
Maybe earlier than before, maybe alone
But my body will be here, you see
You lock me down, I pull myself , stronger and happier
Like a plant I shoot through a brick wall, to grasp some sunshine, some air , some space
That way I fight my battles, victoriously
You break the stones, you open the pits, you shovel the sand away, nothing left, dust, wind, clouds, coughing, silence, oily water, bare land, skins of dead animals, toxic smoke, graveyards, legacy, whose legacy? A ghost town, my mother's recital, new valleys, flattened mountains, blocked views
Trees of a thousand years uprooted,
Everything which matters looted, you take
That what he discovers on earth is a curse, my brother
Gold in banks
Take the landmines with you
Tolani Yeyani, vinthu vose
You took, you take the songs
You took, you take my jazz
You took, you take my hip hop
You took, you take my rap
You took, you take the yoga, and fucked it up
You took, you take my hair,
You took , you take my dreadlocks
You took, you take my twerking and fucked it up
You took, you take my reggae,
You took, you take my dancehall , you took, you take my afro pop
You took, you take my voice, my language, my land, my ancestors dead bones
You took, you take my culture, my souls, my rhythm, and fucked it up
Dear keep the hard rock , Keep the techno, keep the yodeling
Keep the Schlager to yourself-
I will be on the other side , come by if you can
I have seen you before counting days, I have seen you counting stones with robots
I have seen you counting numbers
I saw you checking the calendar, looking for an appointment , buying the next cheapest flight
You aren’t happy, I am not surprised
You are searching, like yesterday of a many years
I will not come with you, I will be here, same spot
Take the dirt, take the fetus, take the Garbage
Take the unwanted pits and mines, and rocks, and the black water
Take the see weeds, take the space, take the old car tyres, burn them, take the pair of old boots, kick the door open
Follow me to the city square, along with banner
Take this fighter too, for me
Take take take take everything
Take me, take your bodies into the abyss
The jaws of your future, when everything has been machined
This time take your mothers, take your fathers
Along with your lovers, take
You took, you take, I look, you spook me
You take, you blame, same lane of insanity
Take the shit with you, take tears with you
Take the plastic minds, all along
Take the bodies , take the garbage with you
Take the concrete forests, take the cemented floors
Take everything,
I will be here another sunny day
Standing on those undying shoulders
The ones you broke, those ones you took
The ones which refused to rot,
The ones which will not face the hungry worms
If only they still exist in the soil
Maybe I will be here another cold day
Maybe earlier than before, maybe alone
But my body will be here, you see
You lock me down, I pull myself , stronger and happier
Like a plant I shoot through a brick wall, to grasp some sunshine, some air , some space
That way I fight my battles, victoriously
You break the stones, you open the pits, you shovel the sand away, nothing left, dust, wind, clouds, coughing, silence, oily water, bare land, skins of dead animals, toxic smoke, graveyards, legacy, whose legacy? A ghost town, my mother's recital, new valleys, flattened mountains, blocked views
Trees of a thousand years uprooted,
Everything which matters looted, you take
That what he discovers on earth is a curse, my brother
Gold in banks
Take the landmines with you
Tolani Yeyani, vinthu vose
You took, you take the songs
You took, you take my jazz
You took, you take my hip hop
You took, you take my rap
You took, you take the yoga, and fucked it up
You took, you take my hair,
You took , you take my dreadlocks
You took, you take my twerking and fucked it up
You took, you take my reggae,
You took, you take my dancehall , you took, you take my afro pop
You took, you take my voice, my language, my land, my ancestors dead bones
You took, you take my culture, my souls, my rhythm, and fucked it up
Dear keep the hard rock , Keep the techno, keep the yodeling
Keep the Schlager to yourself-
I will be on the other side , come by if you can
I have seen you before counting days, I have seen you counting stones with robots
I have seen you counting numbers
I saw you checking the calendar, looking for an appointment , buying the next cheapest flight
You aren’t happy, I am not surprised
You are searching, like yesterday of a many years
I will not come with you, I will be here, same spot
Take the dirt, take the fetus, take the Garbage
Take the unwanted pits and mines, and rocks, and the black water
Take the see weeds, take the space, take the old car tyres, burn them, take the pair of old boots, kick the door open
Follow me to the city square, along with banner
Take this fighter too, for me
A drawing of a gray haired white man shows up
I keep on googling
A painting of a young golden haired man shows up, up on the cross
I keep on googling
A picture of a white woman shows up
I keep on googling Mary
Then I search, Devil
Neither Queen Elizabeth, nor Christopher Columbus appears
Dear God, this moment I call you Frank, for the sake of a humanized conversation
You are Frank
With a reputation of a bad listener, rudeness , arrogance
This love was never real, caged in fear, fire, flooding waters, hell, punishments
This love was never real, pain, suffering, obedience, harassment
The priests, those men, robes, robbers, celibacy, profanity, secrecy, harassments, silence,props, pops, clowns, child scream, congregation, silent society
Power, people, a pop, cops, Priests, hierarchy , The Bible, dogma, punishments
Dear Frank , you are love, above in the sky, all lies
Unloving love? Kindness, so bitter?Killer of liberty
Godly protection, frankly protection, oppression ,suppression
Where were you? He was 3? She was 7. They are 9
I am done, follow me this way, come with me
A sin, sex, fornication, Jesus, a bastard, marriage
Did I miss the wedding of you and Mary?
Was she just another victim of your abuse?
You break the rules you mounted on a stone
Thou shall not kill
Many lives lost, brutal religious fanatics
Love your neighbor as you love yourself, your men wrote down the words
The Devil, dear Frank, everlasting enmity, chaos, judgment, superiority
Super natural power, creator of everything, dear Frank
You made Hitler, Putin, Mussolini, Bush, Winston Churchhill mosquitoes , different skins
Destroyed Sodom and Gomorra with fire, ashes, murderer, massacre, abductor of truth, darkness, hypocry, shshsh!
I will burn in hell forever, love, sins, punishments
How about your sins? Who will punish you?
When I dance you call me sinner
When I fight you call me a sinner
When I love people, you call me sinner
When I use the brain you gave me to think, to critic, you call me sinner
Lies, lies running on a conveyor belt, I fly away
Where are you? Where were you?
Darkness chasing me, mental status is hating me, I plant my knees onto the ground, I scream, I dream, I seem less supreme
Help me Frank!
I begged, I beg, silence, nothing,
I am alone on the streets, two cops, you see
Where are you? I was born in your image? Which one? The colonialist was born in your image? Which one?
I look like myself
They look like you, they look like your son
Hate fortifying, borders, straight lines, marks, signs, humans, them, us
Fortress, fortified with hate
I am done,listen, self enlightenment , me, you
Lies, lies running on a conveyor belt, the promise ,free will
How free am I when I am judged?
I live now, sometimes in the dark, sometimes in the light, sometimes in the between
I scream again, I listen to myself, to the person next to me
I am done, today, you and me are over
I keep on googling
A painting of a young golden haired man shows up, up on the cross
I keep on googling
A picture of a white woman shows up
I keep on googling Mary
Then I search, Devil
Neither Queen Elizabeth, nor Christopher Columbus appears
Dear God, this moment I call you Frank, for the sake of a humanized conversation
You are Frank
With a reputation of a bad listener, rudeness , arrogance
This love was never real, caged in fear, fire, flooding waters, hell, punishments
This love was never real, pain, suffering, obedience, harassment
The priests, those men, robes, robbers, celibacy, profanity, secrecy, harassments, silence,props, pops, clowns, child scream, congregation, silent society
Power, people, a pop, cops, Priests, hierarchy , The Bible, dogma, punishments
Dear Frank , you are love, above in the sky, all lies
Unloving love? Kindness, so bitter?Killer of liberty
Godly protection, frankly protection, oppression ,suppression
Where were you? He was 3? She was 7. They are 9
I am done, follow me this way, come with me
A sin, sex, fornication, Jesus, a bastard, marriage
Did I miss the wedding of you and Mary?
Was she just another victim of your abuse?
You break the rules you mounted on a stone
Thou shall not kill
Many lives lost, brutal religious fanatics
Love your neighbor as you love yourself, your men wrote down the words
The Devil, dear Frank, everlasting enmity, chaos, judgment, superiority
Super natural power, creator of everything, dear Frank
You made Hitler, Putin, Mussolini, Bush, Winston Churchhill mosquitoes , different skins
Destroyed Sodom and Gomorra with fire, ashes, murderer, massacre, abductor of truth, darkness, hypocry, shshsh!
I will burn in hell forever, love, sins, punishments
How about your sins? Who will punish you?
When I dance you call me sinner
When I fight you call me a sinner
When I love people, you call me sinner
When I use the brain you gave me to think, to critic, you call me sinner
Lies, lies running on a conveyor belt, I fly away
Where are you? Where were you?
Darkness chasing me, mental status is hating me, I plant my knees onto the ground, I scream, I dream, I seem less supreme
Help me Frank!
I begged, I beg, silence, nothing,
I am alone on the streets, two cops, you see
Where are you? I was born in your image? Which one? The colonialist was born in your image? Which one?
I look like myself
They look like you, they look like your son
Hate fortifying, borders, straight lines, marks, signs, humans, them, us
Fortress, fortified with hate
I am done,listen, self enlightenment , me, you
Lies, lies running on a conveyor belt, the promise ,free will
How free am I when I am judged?
I live now, sometimes in the dark, sometimes in the light, sometimes in the between
I scream again, I listen to myself, to the person next to me
I am done, today, you and me are over
• I am visible , I am the black man, I am the stranger,
• I am the dancer, I am Othello, I am the villain
• I am the fiction, I am the context, I am the label
• I am the danger, I am the fear, I am the dark
• I am the others , I am the collective, I am from many places
• I am the ocean, I am the mountain , I am the continent
• I am the land, I am the red soil , I am bones buried in the desert, I am the sand
• I am the drum, I am the song, I am the Music , I am the sound
• I am the boat survivor, I am the news story, I am the anchor
• I am the run-away, I am the one who needs a blanket,
• I am the one who is asking for toys and holy books,
• I am the victim, I am the angry black man
• I am silenced, I am emotional , I am on street
• I am the one with the original weed
• I am the one who left behind 27 siblings
• I am the one who left behind 5 wives
• I am the one who plays Djembe drums , I am the tourist dissolving in the sun
• I am the Rastaman, I am the christian, I am the Muslim,
• I am the Buddhist, I am the believer
• I am the athlete, I am the Champion, I am the winner
• I am the choice, I am the wrong choice, I am the right choice
• I am the conditioned thought , I am the idea, I am the History
I am here. I am yesterday , I am today, I am the present time,
• I am the person, I am the reality, I am someone else
What are you looking at? What are you listening to? Who am I actually
• I am the dancer, I am Othello, I am the villain
• I am the fiction, I am the context, I am the label
• I am the danger, I am the fear, I am the dark
• I am the others , I am the collective, I am from many places
• I am the ocean, I am the mountain , I am the continent
• I am the land, I am the red soil , I am bones buried in the desert, I am the sand
• I am the drum, I am the song, I am the Music , I am the sound
• I am the boat survivor, I am the news story, I am the anchor
• I am the run-away, I am the one who needs a blanket,
• I am the one who is asking for toys and holy books,
• I am the victim, I am the angry black man
• I am silenced, I am emotional , I am on street
• I am the one with the original weed
• I am the one who left behind 27 siblings
• I am the one who left behind 5 wives
• I am the one who plays Djembe drums , I am the tourist dissolving in the sun
• I am the Rastaman, I am the christian, I am the Muslim,
• I am the Buddhist, I am the believer
• I am the athlete, I am the Champion, I am the winner
• I am the choice, I am the wrong choice, I am the right choice
• I am the conditioned thought , I am the idea, I am the History
I am here. I am yesterday , I am today, I am the present time,
• I am the person, I am the reality, I am someone else
What are you looking at? What are you listening to? Who am I actually
Deafening sounds of blades, sharpened on a rock just outside the grass-thatched kitchen. There had been a mango tree standing, same age as mine.
I am waiting to grow
Father once told me he queued to be the next groom. Lined up with cows and food in reed baskets. Avoiding eye contact, a sign of respect.
Women queued with songs. Men patiently dried the skin of drums. Stories and tales weaved from one mouth to the other. Just to pass time, just to impress the singles, just to tell her stories. Some queued their mouths for a next sip of village beer.
Mother once told me she queued to give birth to me.
The line stood long and slow.
I never stopped to queue.
I queued my hand out for polio and tetanus vaccinations, for Malaria tablets.
I queued to be spanked for being young and mischievous. I queued to grow up. I queued to be shaved. I queued to be circumcised, and behave like a real man.
I queued to sing and dance for Jesus, to dance for Mohammed. Queued to be christened, to become a Muslim. I queued to be told what is right, and what is wrong.
I queued for holy bread before the priest in the robe. I was the next in the line to be baptized. I promise with fear of God's anger to keep it a secret between. He said I would never go to heaven, if I told anyone.
I queued to be chosen, and to choose. Girls stood on the opposite side of the line, boys waited for their turn. Girls waited too. We danced together. Drums cried endlessly, the clapping of rhythmics of hands bellowed. The Art teacher watched and smiled.
I had queued for school break. I queued to have my notes marked. I queued to take a test and then later an exam. I queued to go to college.
I still queue to get a job.
I queue to vote. I queue to register for a free meal. I queue at the library to read old newspapers. I queue for the only bus to the city. I queue for the next piece of land. I queue in a file of the hopeful, but lost souls. I queue for the next boat trip across the sea.
I waited, always waited. I am waiting now; others are waiting too. You are waiting, aren’t you ?
I queue to wait to sign the forms, to try my chance, to dance, to sing, to kiss, to love, to be loved, to cry, to show papers, to be a human being. I queue to listen to the songs birds, the ululations, in the forests before oil, gold. diamonds were discovered
I wait to serve those lucky ones, carrying cursed humanity within their veins. They hate to queue.
I bear the names of the Belgians. I pray to the white God in a village church.. Blue eyed male, dying on the cross. No emotions. The body slightly tilted towards the right shoulder, depending on the artist. Couple of nails painlessly drilled into the flesh. Magnificently painted! No caption! This power is powerful enough. He is waiting right on the cross, and his mysterious father, an old man, a pervert, an idea, a fear, a structure, a selfish one, a subjective truth
I have no way of knowing the truth. Theirs is an imposition. Mine is not empirical enough. As I wait, I cling to two facets of truth: the birth, the death.
I see myself through stories, just through tales, just through songs, just through the courts, just through the killers. Same story, repeated many times. Mine is one.
I wait to ask God so many questions. I will begin with “Dude, are you even real?”
I am waiting to grow
Father once told me he queued to be the next groom. Lined up with cows and food in reed baskets. Avoiding eye contact, a sign of respect.
Women queued with songs. Men patiently dried the skin of drums. Stories and tales weaved from one mouth to the other. Just to pass time, just to impress the singles, just to tell her stories. Some queued their mouths for a next sip of village beer.
Mother once told me she queued to give birth to me.
The line stood long and slow.
I never stopped to queue.
I queued my hand out for polio and tetanus vaccinations, for Malaria tablets.
I queued to be spanked for being young and mischievous. I queued to grow up. I queued to be shaved. I queued to be circumcised, and behave like a real man.
I queued to sing and dance for Jesus, to dance for Mohammed. Queued to be christened, to become a Muslim. I queued to be told what is right, and what is wrong.
I queued for holy bread before the priest in the robe. I was the next in the line to be baptized. I promise with fear of God's anger to keep it a secret between. He said I would never go to heaven, if I told anyone.
I queued to be chosen, and to choose. Girls stood on the opposite side of the line, boys waited for their turn. Girls waited too. We danced together. Drums cried endlessly, the clapping of rhythmics of hands bellowed. The Art teacher watched and smiled.
I had queued for school break. I queued to have my notes marked. I queued to take a test and then later an exam. I queued to go to college.
I still queue to get a job.
I queue to vote. I queue to register for a free meal. I queue at the library to read old newspapers. I queue for the only bus to the city. I queue for the next piece of land. I queue in a file of the hopeful, but lost souls. I queue for the next boat trip across the sea.
I waited, always waited. I am waiting now; others are waiting too. You are waiting, aren’t you ?
I queue to wait to sign the forms, to try my chance, to dance, to sing, to kiss, to love, to be loved, to cry, to show papers, to be a human being. I queue to listen to the songs birds, the ululations, in the forests before oil, gold. diamonds were discovered
I wait to serve those lucky ones, carrying cursed humanity within their veins. They hate to queue.
I bear the names of the Belgians. I pray to the white God in a village church.. Blue eyed male, dying on the cross. No emotions. The body slightly tilted towards the right shoulder, depending on the artist. Couple of nails painlessly drilled into the flesh. Magnificently painted! No caption! This power is powerful enough. He is waiting right on the cross, and his mysterious father, an old man, a pervert, an idea, a fear, a structure, a selfish one, a subjective truth
I have no way of knowing the truth. Theirs is an imposition. Mine is not empirical enough. As I wait, I cling to two facets of truth: the birth, the death.
I see myself through stories, just through tales, just through songs, just through the courts, just through the killers. Same story, repeated many times. Mine is one.
I wait to ask God so many questions. I will begin with “Dude, are you even real?”
7. BLACK
Black blackness
Black history, black soil, black forests, see? See black, black topography
Black desert, black sky
Black Sisters and Brothers,
Black Uncles and aunties
Black, blacked
Black people, black sights, black lens, Black gaze, Black neighbors and theirs black
Black, blackness
Black experience, black silence
Black knowledge, about blackness, black philosophy, black thoughts
This sassiness, black
This easiness, black
Black excellence, sexiness black
Black me, black You, black water, black sea
Black skin, black breath, black beauty
Black dreadlocks, black tattoos
Black beads, black underwear, black kiss, black intimacy
Black culture, Black cultures, black diversity
Black rhythm, black song, black voice, black dance
It's a black day, black year, a black protest, black movement, black media
Black letters, black street, black kindness, black spirituality, black healer, black Jesus
Black churches, black synagogues, black mosques, black shrines, black Buddha,
Black heaven, black hell, black party
Black wash, black walls, black hole, blacked, black windows, black curtains, blacked.
Black you, black me, them black, black us
Black economy, black banks, black gold, black mines, black journeys, black risk
Black rose, black dress, black tea, black coffee
Black blood, black tears, black smile, black partner
Black folks, black queer, black heterosexuals, black non-binaries
Black monogamy, black polygamy,
black ambiguities, black realities, black communities
Black politicians, black officer, black judge, black jailor, black sailor
Black parties, black dreams, black resilience, black calmness
White. White. White
Black history, black soil, black forests, see? See black, black topography
Black desert, black sky
Black Sisters and Brothers,
Black Uncles and aunties
Black, blacked
Black people, black sights, black lens, Black gaze, Black neighbors and theirs black
Black, blackness
Black experience, black silence
Black knowledge, about blackness, black philosophy, black thoughts
This sassiness, black
This easiness, black
Black excellence, sexiness black
Black me, black You, black water, black sea
Black skin, black breath, black beauty
Black dreadlocks, black tattoos
Black beads, black underwear, black kiss, black intimacy
Black culture, Black cultures, black diversity
Black rhythm, black song, black voice, black dance
It's a black day, black year, a black protest, black movement, black media
Black letters, black street, black kindness, black spirituality, black healer, black Jesus
Black churches, black synagogues, black mosques, black shrines, black Buddha,
Black heaven, black hell, black party
Black wash, black walls, black hole, blacked, black windows, black curtains, blacked.
Black you, black me, them black, black us
Black economy, black banks, black gold, black mines, black journeys, black risk
Black rose, black dress, black tea, black coffee
Black blood, black tears, black smile, black partner
Black folks, black queer, black heterosexuals, black non-binaries
Black monogamy, black polygamy,
black ambiguities, black realities, black communities
Black politicians, black officer, black judge, black jailor, black sailor
Black parties, black dreams, black resilience, black calmness
White. White. White
There is a train across Africa
Penetrates through anything in the way
Folks snoop heads to see the strange thing
Its curse my dear
I haven't been to Brussels yet,
To see the monuments, to spit on them, sip a coffee
Chopped hands, rubber trees, king of hell, he is looking at me
There is a black mountain, copper residues in Zambia,
There are trains there too, still running same directions
Roads,, stones, cough, close your eyes, mother cries, father cries
Why haven't I stopped crying?
Town people eat toxic dust
A road leads to a port, Mombasa
A Train line meanders through the valleys to the port
Mountains cut, explosives, monkeys run, new pathways to the port
Money transferred into a Swiss bank, a clean small village in the alps
There are more trains in Europe, they are different
There is a town in Namibia, looks like a German town in Bavaria,
They speak German, the look German, their hands still smell fresh blood Herreros and Nanas, they do have trains, stones, rocks , diamond, harassed landscape
They speak none of the languages that belong to the land, the soil, to the diamonds, to the sand dunes, to the fertile patches of land
The train puffs the steam into vulnerable sky
There are new streets, souless colonial buildings stand in front my house
There is Leopold Street, Léopold Park, Léopold this and that
There is queen Elizabeth hospital, full of diseases
There is Victoria Falls, Victoria who?
My father worked there for 27 years, eating the earth, the earth eating him
He wanted to go home, the sun spinning, counting months and years, 27 years breaking stones beneath our house, to impress the white boss, his mouth covered in a bushy mustache,
Like the train, he puffs heavily stenched cigars
All this town had been a virgin land before copper was, or became a thing
Houses shook, trains run, sundays are quieter
There is a man, there is a woman looking at golden rings in London
Throw a window, an aged woman fails to smile at people passing by
In Rotterdam, they arrived with goods and people,
I saw the statue of Peit Hein looking at me without a blink
The train of curse
With the cranes, with the bulldozers, with the machines, the cement, with the concrete, the soil, with the rivers, with the waters, with the poison, with them
There is a missionary pointing onto the ground
Holding a shovel, a map, a compass direction, a drawing of a train
The train puffs the steam again, robs the mother earth, curses its people, massacres its nature
Penetrates through anything in the way
Folks snoop heads to see the strange thing
Its curse my dear
I haven't been to Brussels yet,
To see the monuments, to spit on them, sip a coffee
Chopped hands, rubber trees, king of hell, he is looking at me
There is a black mountain, copper residues in Zambia,
There are trains there too, still running same directions
Roads,, stones, cough, close your eyes, mother cries, father cries
Why haven't I stopped crying?
Town people eat toxic dust
A road leads to a port, Mombasa
A Train line meanders through the valleys to the port
Mountains cut, explosives, monkeys run, new pathways to the port
Money transferred into a Swiss bank, a clean small village in the alps
There are more trains in Europe, they are different
There is a town in Namibia, looks like a German town in Bavaria,
They speak German, the look German, their hands still smell fresh blood Herreros and Nanas, they do have trains, stones, rocks , diamond, harassed landscape
They speak none of the languages that belong to the land, the soil, to the diamonds, to the sand dunes, to the fertile patches of land
The train puffs the steam into vulnerable sky
There are new streets, souless colonial buildings stand in front my house
There is Leopold Street, Léopold Park, Léopold this and that
There is queen Elizabeth hospital, full of diseases
There is Victoria Falls, Victoria who?
My father worked there for 27 years, eating the earth, the earth eating him
He wanted to go home, the sun spinning, counting months and years, 27 years breaking stones beneath our house, to impress the white boss, his mouth covered in a bushy mustache,
Like the train, he puffs heavily stenched cigars
All this town had been a virgin land before copper was, or became a thing
Houses shook, trains run, sundays are quieter
There is a man, there is a woman looking at golden rings in London
Throw a window, an aged woman fails to smile at people passing by
In Rotterdam, they arrived with goods and people,
I saw the statue of Peit Hein looking at me without a blink
The train of curse
With the cranes, with the bulldozers, with the machines, the cement, with the concrete, the soil, with the rivers, with the waters, with the poison, with them
There is a missionary pointing onto the ground
Holding a shovel, a map, a compass direction, a drawing of a train
The train puffs the steam again, robs the mother earth, curses its people, massacres its nature
3/3
Performance, 30 min. 2023
installation images
