The route to time-warmed freedom is still long
And is a thousand Mandela’s resilience strong
The aura of the splendid Cape Mountains
Just lay few metres away from Qunu’s fountains
For here, the great’s remains have been buried
And here, his scepter of freedom’s is carried
In these terrains of bigoted Apartheid, he walked
And here, the towering figure of history has talked
To a people, but all the people of his homelands
For to one brother as to one sister all make bands
And here forever the light of the night has risen
In his long walk to freedom, injustice has fallen
Mourn all nations, if not this peace we butcher
For yourselves, not the dead, and your

The movie serves up a series of perfectly punctuated snapshots of the late stateman’s life. But it lacks the kind of psychological depth befitting a man who was larger than life

The past 25 years have witnessed fundamental sociopolitical and cultural changes in Sudan. Women have been the terrain of many of the uneasy shifts in the country, even down to their skin, which they are now being encouraged to bleach

There is almost universal confusion, even ignorance, over the true nature of the NATO intervention in Libya two years ago, carried out in the name of protecting the people against their own government of Colonel Muammar Gaddafi.

‘Africa has taught us that songs, music, dance and visual arts are all intertwined. We have learned from Africa that laughs, tears, sweat, aroma, odor, panting, languor and all other senses are part of daily life.’

Jubilee, freedom, celebration
Fifty years to restore, renew, rebuild
Union Jack down
Kenya flag up
Fifty years lost to excuses
To lip service not public service
To me not we
To kneejerk reactions not pro-action
To bodyguards not public guards
To greed not needs
Hallow the fiftieth year
Day of Atonement is nigh

Nina Munk’s ‘The Idealist’ comes with a heavy dose of discomfort. In fact, it’s almost all uncomfortable, all the time. And that’s a good thing if you like ambiguous endings.

placeholder
To Celestine Edwards

and to Tower Hamlets Council, for their Black History Walks.

PART I

I

He looked like dignity,
The day I saw him speak in Victoria Park.
I was sinking in drink,
Approaching the brink;
The day I stepped out of the dark.

Spoke against human trafficking,
And enslavement by booze.
Made me think again,
Regenerating my brain;
Like a prophet bringing good news.

II

Woke up that day in a Methodist Mission,
Just another impatient sailor.
Heard he'd been a seaman too,
Sailing out from Dominica.

I'd been drinking excessively again,
While waiting for another ship out.
Fighting with the feared killer -
A yellow fever bout.

Walking down Whitechapel Road,
Memories of Ira Aldridge.
He performed at the Pavilion,
Black butterfly on thespian ridge.

From whatever part of the Black world,
We all had crosses to bear.
Ira bore his on the world stage,
In Othello, Macbeth and King Lear.

III

So I wandered around,
What else is there to do?
When not destination-bound.

Past Wiltons the old music hall,
Where the actors blacked up;
I never sat in a Wilton stall.

I meandered amongst the drifters,
Africans, Jews, Russians;
Chinese, Irish and Lascars.

Tramped the many alleys,
By West India Docks;
Trodding with the ghosts of slavery.

Through the streets of migrants and refugees,
Choked with frustration;
Constructed by poverty.

I had too much time to spare,
Lashed by loneliness;
Trapped in alcohols' snare.

IV

Waking that day,
Seemed like any other.
A day to wait,
To dissipate,
Twenty fours of slow replay.
Between the horse and the ass,
No one hears the mule bray.

We woke, ate and left.
Exodus of the ex-men.
En route to vomit,
Some to pickpocket,
Hands swift and deft.
Those sagas of survival;
Who will talk of the men bereft?

Passed by St. Botolphs, Aldgate.
Popular amongst us blacks.
I should have gone in,
Joined in the singing -
But I was in a state.
Head down I plodded on,
Hoping that God would wait.

Must have gone east of there -
Outside the Ragged School.
First schooling for many of us.
Children given care,
Who'd known wear and tear.
God bless you Dr Barnado;
Wish I had a penny to spare.

Then I found myself before him,
Overcome with awe.
Never sobered up so quick!
Life lost it's whim,
Potential slim.
I stepped out of the park,
A new stride in my limb.

PART II

I

I researched the man,
Eager to know of him.
Of how he retained dignity,
Went onward with his plan.

So I asked the temperance people,
The abolitionists too.
Asked a priest from Cheltenham,
A sailor from Newcastle.

Spoke with anti-lynching activists,
Bought papers he edited.
Heard him speak when I could;
I knew his itinerary lists.

So what follows is what I learnt,
Snapshots of a savant.
It's good to have a saviour,
When you're about to get burnt.

II

One of nine children
Born in Dominica
School days in Antigua

After Methodist School
Stowed away at twelve
Time to search and delve

As well as Europe
To North America
Onto it's Southern neighbour

And he read and read
Role model par excellence
For a life not making sense

Spoke in Edinburgh
In Sunderland as well
Chimes of Celestine's bell

Then south to London
To reside in Bethnal Green
Speaking in Glasgow and Aberdeen

He continued to lecture
Survived as a labourer
And a penny pamphleteer

III

Co-wrote a life story -
From Slavery to Bishopric;
Life of Walter Hawkins.
Evidence of his brilliance,
His talents polymathic.

Edited two newspapers -
Lux and Fraternity.
Fought lynching,
Alcohol abuse,
And state brutality.

Preached in Plymouth and Bristol,
The 'Negro Lecturer'.
One summer in Liverpool,
Spoke about the lives,
Of Black and White America.

In his early thirties,
He studied for a degree.
Went to Kings College,
Of London University;
Majoring in Theology.

In his mid-thirties,
He dreamed of being a doctor:
But his body said no.
Conquered by exhaustion,
Returned home to his brother.

Constant lecturing,
Teaching of the Bible.
The body can only take so much.
His dream collapsed;
The hope of London Hospital.

He passed away in Dominica,
Cared for by his brother.
As far as I know,
He left no child;
Neither wife, partner or lover.

I remember him as strong in body -
That legendary laugh.
I eulogise Celestine.
Seems everyone wanted him,
As a member of their staff.

Self-educated man,
Who loved to read and read.
Man on a mission,
Spreading knowledge,
The scattering of seed.

I put away the bottle,
And took up books.
I observed the great eagle,
Helping others;
The starlings and the rooks.

Never meant to go there that day,
Into Victoria Park.
He held his head high,
Gently reasoning;
Devoid of rant and bark.

Celestine, Celestine,
I say your name with pride.
My great conductor,
Who took me on a journey;
Who gave me a ticket to ride.

© Natty Mark Samuels, 2013. African School.

Effective translators must be like the texts they handle — at once bilingual and bicultural. The meaning of a text is to be found within its cultural, historical and literary contexts.

The authors’ bold attempt to provide a theoretical framework for explaining the great divergence in living standards between the prosperous and poor countries in the world, unfortunately, fails to take account of the historical context of uneven relations between particular societies

The book, among the few in French, details New Delhi's ambitions in the continent and seeks to make African leaders and public opinion aware of the new “Indian reality” that is currently taking shape in the continent

Bang bang bang!
Rang out the shots
Stand up if you’re Muslim

Bang bang bang!
Confusion galore
Humans were no more

Bang bang bang!
Rang out the shots
On blacks n whites n coloureds
On Muslims n Christians n others
On rich n middle class n poor
On Kenyans n foreigners
On males n females
On adults n children n the unborn

Bang bang boom!
The death bell rung
Dividing the divided
Uniting the divided

‘Dark Girls’ is a much needed candid film to expose the psychological scars of slavery and colonisation on the psyche of African people, scars that exist on account of the global white supremacist paradigm that promotes European forms of beauty

This timely book should be required reading on any statistics and media studies programme in African universities, if not everywhere. As an accompaniment to standard statistics texts, it would act as a constant reminder to students as to the limitations of statistical methods without due regard to the socio-economic context in which the data is being collected, analysed and presented

In his new collection of poems in pidgin English, Agozino invests efforts in eschewing the haughtiness, detachment and pretensions of the ivory tower language in order to better address issues the way they are in Nigeria

Experiencing racism and cultural repression while incarcerated has given poet and writer Nikicia G the inspiration to stand up, fight back, and encourage other women to do the same

The authors examine the past four years of the coalition government through diverse critical lenses. There is no sugar coating

Is Africa really rising?

For whom does it rise?

It rises for neoliberal and neo-colonial African governments selling off large tracts of land to outsiders for food or bio-fuel jatropha while their people go hungry and landless

Ask the widows of the Marikana miners ‘is Africa rising’ or those in the Unemployed Peoples Movement, Abahlali, or those living in the black townships of South Africa and across the rest of Africa

Is Africa really rising for the women and young girls who have been raped in the Congo?

It rises for a small African middle class whilst the 99 percent remain in the rural areas as farmers, unable to get subsidies like their European counterparts whose governments intervene on their behalf

Africa rises for those with forked tongue who ‘talk left and walk right’

Africa is rising for the charismatic Christian preachers engaging in what they call ‘prosperity preaching’ to congregations obliged to pay one tenth of their miserly wages as tithes so the preacher can wear designer suits from Italy

Africa is rising for the continued exploitation of its enormous wealth by MNCs, tax evaders and those who engage in illicit wealth appropriation in a continued (not new) scramble for Africa

Africa is rising for a tiny black elite who believe in NEPAD and market fundamentalism alongside their governments committed to such policies

Africa is rising for those African women who equate economic freedom with the means to purchase Brazilian and Korean weave, false eyelashes and nails in their aspirations to resemble an African Barbie doll

Africa is rising for those few countries who have recently discovered oil: Uganda, Ghana, Ivory Coast – but will their people say the same in 20 years and not meet the same wretched fate as the peoples of the Niger Delta of Nigeria?

Let us not be deceived.

Africans can only rise if the vast majority rise in Pan-African consciousness, towards a socially just economic system that destroys neoliberal capitalism and ALL forms of oppression

Africans can only rise when we cease self-loathing and return to Ubuntu and self-love

African people can only rise in realising this vision.

There are strong reasons for the persistence of the cultural practice of bride abduction in southern Africa and some parts of the world. But the practice violates the rights of the girl child and endangers her future wellbeing. It should be discarded

How will Africans remember President Obama? How can his current visit to the continent create value for African and the American people? Here is some open advice