‘So Long’ by Majek Fashek

Majek Fashek
Majek Fashek

I remember listening to this song on one of the Putumayo‘s CDs.  Here is ‘So Long’ by Majek Fashek.  This is a song to all Africans, and children of Africa, to arise and awake from their sleep.  This is a song about unity, and remembrance of our great heritage.  I had to share it with you all.  Enjoy! and remember what Majek Fashek says: “Arise from your sleep Africa … There’s work to be done Africa …  if we unite, we will be free … we’ve been sitting down for so ooo long …

Arise from your sleep Africa
Arise from your sleep America

There’s work to be done Africa
There’s work to be done America

if we unite, we will be free so long, for too long
so long, for too long

we’ve been sitting down for so oooo long
we’ve been fooling round for too oooo long
we’ve been sitting down for so oooo long

so long, so long
for too long, for too long

Oh Lord, can you hear me now
Oh Lord

Remember, remember, long long time ago
when we used to live like prince and princess

Remember, remember, the pyramids of Egypt
when we used to live like prince and princess

Remember, remember,
Who had a dream for you Africa

Remember, remember, Martin luther King
Who had a dream for you America

They say you are black, they say you are brown
They say dem white, they say you are brown

But only the Angels of God is white
But only the Angels of God is white

so long, so long
for too long, for too long
we’ve been sitting down for so oooo long
we’ve been fooling round for too oooo long

Arise from your sleep Africa
Arise from your sleep America

There’s work to be done Africa
There’s work to be done America

if we unite, we will be free so long, for too long
so long, for too long

Remember, remember, 
Who had a dream for you Africa

Remember, remember, Martin luther King
Who had a dream for you America

Remember, remember, King Selassie
Who was betrayed by his people

Remember, remember, Lord Jesus Christ
Who died for you and I for salvation

They say you are black,[do you believe?]
they say you are brown [do you believe?]

But only the Angels of God is white
But only the Angels of Jah is white

we’ve been sitting down for so oooo long
we’ve been fooling round for too oooo long

so long, so long
for too long, for too long

so long, so long
for too long, for too long

Petits Metiers: Vendeuse d’Oranges / Small Trades: the Orange Seller

Un étalage de fruits
Un étalage de fruits

Avec l’approche de l’été, j’ai trouvé bon de vous introduire à un rafraîchissant favori des africains, et en particulier des camerounais.  Durant les mois chauds de l’année, les camerounais adorent les fruits: les oranges, les pastèques, et les ananas (en fonction de la saison).  Les marchands ambulants au bord des routes vous pèlent et vendent des oranges à longueur de journée.  Je me suis toujours dit que la façon dont les oranges étaient pelées était très artistique: le marchand vous pèle l’orange à une de ces vitesses de telle sorte que les épluchures tombent sur le sol de façon géometrique; aucune machine ne pourrait competir avec cela.  Dans la ville de Douala, en plus des oranges, les ananas et les pastèques sont particulièrement en vogue, et les vendeurs épluchent et coupent ces fruits et les arrangent géometriquement dans un contenaire géant en plastique transparent a la forme d’un seau cylindrique, et rempli de glaçons.  Une tranche d’ananas ou de pastèque, aura tres vite fait de vous téléporter vers d’autres cieux.  Amusez-vous à regarder cette video d’une vendeuse de fruits au Cameroun, et prêtez attention à la vitesse et précision avec laquelle elle épluche ses oranges!

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Pineapple (ananas)
Pineapple (ananas)
Watermelon (pastèque)
Watermelon (pastèque)

As summer approaches, I thought it wise to talk about one of the favorite refreshers of people in Africa, and most particularly of Cameroon.  During the hot months, people in Cameroon particularly enjoy fruits: oranges, watermelons, and pineapples depending on the season.  So the street hawkers will peel and sell you oranges.  I always thought that the way the oranges were peeled was quite artistic: the seller peels it in a quick succession, and no machine could even compete.  In the city of Douala, pineapples and watermelons are particularly en vogue, and the street hawkers will peel and cut the fruits and lay them out in an artistic and geometric way inside a transparent plastic in the shape of a cylindrical bucket full of ice. Once the customer places the order, one slice of pineapple or watermelon, and you are suddenly transported to heaven!  Enjoy a video of a fruit seller in Cameroon, and pay attention to the precision with which she peels the oranges.

“Femme Noire” de Léopold Sédar Senghor / “Black Woman” by Léopold Sédar Senghor

Léopold Sédar Senghor
Léopold Sédar Senghor

I would like to share with you this poem of the late president of Senegal, Léopold Sédar Senghor.  This poem is an ode to the Black woman, but above all, to Senegal his country.  Yes… after reading it several times, one realizes that Senghor was writing an ode to the Black woman, his mother, his sister, his daughter, but above all to Senegal which could be loved just like a woman, and whose “beauty stroke him to the heart like the flash of an eagle”, and whose “Savannah stretch[ed] to clear horizons, savannah shuddering beneath the East Wind’s eager caresses.” This poem was published in ‘Chants d’Ombre’ (1945), English translation by Melvin Dixon (in The Collected Poetry (CARAF books …)).  As you read Senghor’s poem, do you see other meanings? who do you think was the intended audience? Do you feel, like me, that he is praising Senegal, the land of his ancestors? or is he talking about the woman of his dreams? Enjoy!

Femme noire

Femme nue, femme noire
Vétue de ta couleur qui est vie, de ta forme qui est beauté
J’ai grandi à ton ombre; la douceur de tes mains bandait mes yeux
Et voilà qu’au cœur de l’Eté et de Midi,
Je te découvre, Terre promise, du haut d’un haut col calciné
Et ta beauté me foudroie en plein cœur, comme l’éclair d’un aigle

Femme nue, femme obscure
Fruit mûr à la chair ferme, sombres extases du vin noir, bouche qui fais lyrique ma bouche
Savane aux horizons purs, savane qui frémis aux caresses ferventes du Vent d’Est
Tamtam sculpté, tamtam tendu qui gronde sous les doigts du vainqueur
Ta voix grave de contralto est le chant spirituel de l’Aimée

Femme noire, femme obscure
Huile que ne ride nul souffle, huile calme aux flancs de l’athlète, aux   flancs des princes du Mali
Gazelle aux attaches célestes, les perles sont étoiles sur la nuit de ta   peau.

Délices des jeux de l’Esprit, les reflets de l’or ronge ta peau qui se moire

A l’ombre de ta chevelure, s’éclaire mon angoisse aux soleils prochains de   tes yeux.

Femme nue, femme noire
Je chante ta beauté qui passe, forme que je fixe dans l’Eternel
Avant que le destin jaloux ne te réduise en cendres pour nourrir les racines   de la vie.

Black Woman

Naked woman, black woman                              Clothed with your colour which is life, with your form which is beauty
In your shadow I have grown up; the gentleness of your hands was laid over my eyes.                                                                   And now, high up on the sun-baked pass, at the heart of summer, at the heart of noon,
I come upon you, my Promised Land,
And your beauty strikes me to the heart like the flash of an eagle.

Naked woman, dark woman                        Firm-fleshed ripe fruit, sombre raptures of black wine, mouth making lyrical my mouth
Savannah stretching to clear horizons,
savannah shuddering beneath the East Wind’s eager caresses                                                                 Carved tom-tom, taut tom-tom, muttering
under the Conqueror’s fingers                            Your solemn contralto voice is the
spiritual song of the Beloved.

Naked woman, dark woman                                  Oil that no breath ruffles, calm oil on the
athlete’s flanks, on the flanks of the Princes of Mali
Gazelle limbed in Paradise, pearls are stars on the night of your skin

Delights of the mind, the glinting of red gold against your watered skin

Under the shadow of your hair, my care
is lightened by the neighbouring suns of your eyes.

Naked woman, black woman,
I sing your beauty that passes, the form
that I fix in the Eternal,                                        Before jealous fate turn you to ashes to
feed the roots of life.

History of African Fabrics and Textiles

Wax Hollandais
Wax Hollandais

Very often, Africans are depicted on old pictures as naked people, walking around without any clothing.  This seems to be quite at odd with the fact that the Dutch textile company VLISCO has been installed in Africa, more precisely in Togo, since 1846.  So how could pictures from the 1800s and early 1900s only show naked Africans?  The BBC recently ran a story on VLISCO and African textile tradition actually being European.  The New York Times claimed that Africa’s fabric was entirely Dutch.  I find this quite appalling, and I call this a falsification of history.

For starters, before VLISCO, Africa had a very rich textile industry as noted by Kankan Moussa‘s entire delegation being clothed from cotton woven with golden threads in 1300s during his pilgrimage to the Mecca (this will be a story for another day), or the Kanembu clothing tradition which dates as far back as the 800s.  It is misleading to believe that the Wax hollandais is the only fabric worn by Africans, when we know that the Bogolan rises from a long tradition of weavers in Mali, or the Kente cloth of Ghana.

A piece of Bogolan cloth
A piece of Bogolan cloth

So what is the history of African fabric?  Is there an African history of textile?

As pointed earlier, the African fabric industry is very old, and dates as far back as 5,000BC when ancient Egyptians began cultivating flax and weaving it into linen.  An ancient pottery found at Badari shows an ancient depiction of a loom dating back to this period, while a 12th dynasty image from the tomb of Khnumhotep shows weavers using a horizontal loom (ca 2400 BC).  Moreover, pyramids, sculptures, and hieroglyphs clearly show all Egyptians clothed.
Even their neighbors to the south, the Nubians, had a flourishing textile industry, as can be seen on images on pyramids at Meroë, and images of the great queen Amanishakheto, as well as those of pharaoh Piye.
Later on, as several civilizations flourished throughout Africa, cotton became a more commonly used fabric.  The explorer Ibn Battuta does mention the presence of weavers in the Mali empire, and in Timbuktu, in the 1300s.  As Islam was introduced in West Africa, many began wearing today’s version of the boubou.
Kente cloth
Kente cloth

Today, one can find a full tradition of textile flourishing throughout Africa.  The Bogolan or ‘mud cloth’ is  hand-woven fabric hailing from Mali.  Kente cloth, is Ghana’s national fabric, with the most expensive ones made with golden threads for kings only (in the olden days).  It is said that the British explorers were amazed by the beauty of the Ashanti king’s attire.  Cameroon has a long history of cloth made from the bark of trees, with some fabric particularly made from the obom.  Fibers from the raffia are still commonly used to make bags, and clothing.  Moreover, in West Cameroon, Kings are dressed with finely woven clothing made by the best weavers of the kingdom embellished with beads.  The Pygmies use bark cloth made from tropical fig trees, while people from Chad and the Central African Republic weave cotton strips on horizontal looms; they use a variety of natural dyes.

Ndebele woman
Ndebele woman

The Kuba people of the Democratic Republic of Congo, use raffia and make some of the most beautiful hand-woven blankets, clothing, and sculptures.  The Ndebele of South Africa and Zimbabwe have a rich tradition of gorgeous colorful quilts and blankets entirely hand-made.  Many would envy the elegance, color, and presentation of well-dressed Ndebele women.

So why are the New York Times and the BBC trying to falsify history?
Even VLISCO patterns are not Europeans, as they are inspired by Africans, and made to address the needs of the African population.  Yes, Africans wear have worn VLISCO textiles and many Nana Benz have prospered from it, but that doesn’t mean that they do not have their own rich tradition of textile.   Africans have their textile industry which dates back millennia, and has probably inspired many in the world.  So today as you wear a wax hollandais, remember that there are Kente cloth, Bogolan, and many other beautiful garments made by local artists well-deserving of praise.
I am leaving you with a documentary video on Kente cloth weaving.  Enjoy!

The Monkey’s Fiddle

Monkey
Monkey

Hunger and want forced Monkey one day to forsake his land and to seek elsewhere among strangers for much-needed work.  Bulbs, earth beans, scorpions, insects, and such things were completely exhausted in his own land.  But fortunately he received, for the time being, shelter with a great uncle of his, Orangutan, who lived in another part of the country.

When he had worked for quite a while he wanted to return home, and as recompense his great uncle gave him a fiddle and a bow and arrow and told him that with the bow and arrow he could hit and kill anything he desired, and with the fiddle he could force anything to dance.

The first he met upon his return to his own land was Brer Wolf.  This old fellow told him all the news and also that he had since early morning been attempting to stalk a deer, but all in vain.  Then Monkey laid before him all the wonders of the bow and arrow that he carried on his back and assured him if he could but see the deer he would bring it down for him.  When Wolf showed him the deer, Monkey was ready and down fell the deer.  They made a good meal together, but instead of Wolf being thankful, jealousy overmastered him and he begged for the bow and arrow.

Brer Wolf
Brer Wolf

When Monkey refused to give it to him, he thereupon began to threaten him with his greater strength, and so when Jackal passed by, Wolf told him that Monkey had stolen his bow and arrow.  After Jackal had heard both of them, he declared himself unqualified to settle the case alone, and he proposed that they bring the matter to the court of Lion, Tiger, and the other animals.  In the meantime he declared he would take possession of what had been the cause of their quarrel, so that it would be safe, as he said.  But he immediately brought to earth all that was eatable, so there was a long time of slaughter before Monkey and Wolf agreed to have the affair in court.

Monkey’s evidence was weak, and to make it worse, Jackal’s testimony was against him.  Jackal thought that in this way it would be easier to obtain the bow and arrow from Wolf for himself.  And so fell the sentence against Monkey.  Theft was looked upon as a great wrong; he must hang.  The fiddle was still at his side, and he received as a last favor from the court the right to play a tune on it.

He was a master player of his time, and in addition to this came the wonderful power of his charmed fiddle.  Thus, when he struck the first note of “Cockcrow” upon it, the court began at once to show an unusual and spontaneous liveliness, and before he came to the first waltzing turn of the old tune the whole court was dancing like a whirlwind.  Over and over, quicker and quicker, sounded the tune of “Cockcrow” on the charmed fiddle, until some of the dancers, exhausted, fell down, although still keeping their feet in motion.  But Monkey, musician as he was, heard and saw nothing of what had happened around him.  With his head placed lovingly against the instrument, and his eyes half closed, he played on, keeping time ever with his foot.

African fiddle
African fiddle

Wolf was the first to cry out in pleading tones breathlessly, “Please stop, Cousin Monkey! For love’s sake, please stop!”

But Monkey did not even hear him. Over and over sounded the resistless waltz of “Cockcrow.”

After a while Lion showed signs of fatigue, and when he had gone the round once more with his young lion wife, he growled as he passed Monkey, “My whole kingdom is yours, ape, if you just stop playing.”

I do not want it,” answered Monkey, “but withdraw the sentence and give me my bow and arrow, and you, Wolf, acknowledge that you stole it from me.”

I acknowledge, I acknowledge!” cried Wolf, while Lion cried, at the same instant, that he withdrew the sentence.

Monkey gave them just a few more turns of the “Cockcrow,” gathered up his bow and arrow, and seated himself high up in the nearest camel thorn tree.

The court and other animals were so afraid that he might begin again that they hastily disbanded to new parts of the world.

South African Folk Tales, by James A. Honey, 1910, Baker & Taylor Company.

May 3rd: World Press Day – Norbert Zongo

Norbert Zongo
Norbert Zongo

May 3rd marks the World Press Freedom Day, or simply World Press Day.  This day is to raise awareness of the importance of the freedom of the press and remind governments across the world to respect the right to freedom of expression.  Today I would like to commemorate the life of an African journalist hailing from Burkina Faso, Norbert Zongo, who just like the great Cameroonian journalist Pius Njawe, stood for justice and fought injustice.

Norbert Zongo was the publisher and editor of Burkina Faso newspaper L’Independant.  On 13 December 1998, Norbert Zongo was assassinated after his newspaper investigated the murder of a driver (David Ouédraogo) who had worked for the brother of the president Blaise Compaoré, François Compaoré.  Zongo’s burned body was found along with the bodies of three other people: his brother Ernest Zongo, his chauffeur Ablasse Nikiema, and Blaise Ilboudo, in a vehicle near Sapouy, 100 km from the capital Ouagadougou.  An investigation showed that Zongo was killed for political reasons.  His murder rocked Burkina Faso, and manifestations arose within the country, and neighboring countries.  The most violent manifestations took place in the city of Koudougou, Zongo’s birthplace, and government supporters organized a militia armed with clubs engaged to hunt protesters in many cities of the country.

Burkina Faso
Burkina Faso

Bowing to popular discontent, President Blaise Compaoré, had to open a judicial investigation where his brother was charged for murder and harboring the body of the victim in connection with the death of David Ouédraogo who died of torture.  The charges were later dropped by a military tribunal.  In August 2000, five members of the presidential guard were charged for the murder of Ouédraogo, were convicted and sentenced to lengthy prison terms, but all were later freed.  In seven years of trial, one suspect, a member of the presidential guard was charged, but the accusing witness later recanted.  The Zongo trial ended in July of 2006 with a non-place which caused an international outcry.

Norbert Zongo is also the writer of the book, The Parachute Drop (Le Parachutage), which was translated to English and published in 2004.  Many of his articles can be found in the review Mobutuization of Burkina Faso.

Today, Norbert Zongo is celebrated as a martyr, one who stood for truth, in a country where not many dared to talk.  This is why he should be the man of the day, for a day like World Press Day: He dared to talk, he expressed the truth to enlighten others, and sought justice for another man.  In 2003, a documentary was made to talk about his murder: Borry Bana, the fatal destiny of Norbert Zongo.  In 2012, a memorial was erected at the Highway N6 (Ouagadougou – Léo) near Sapouy, exactly where Zongo was murdered.  Please watch this video of Norbert Zongo talking to African youths.  His message is that of maintaining intrinsic values of principle, of growth, of conscience.