Ubizo - the Calling
Growing up, I was a sheltered child. I didn't have many friends, didn't consume much content on the television and I didn't spend a lot of time around people.
All I did was read books all day, consuming words and turning them into my reality; in my mind. Besides words, my dreams consumed a large part of my mind, along with sounds of beating drums that I'd never heard before.
My favourite thing to imagine as a 9 year old was a group of people dancing in bushes, wearing red and white cloths, beads and hair that I found enticing. Strange? I think not. I enjoyed these imaginations because everything seemed so far from reality and the people were cooler than everyone I knew.
But... I guess the saying "dreams come true" is as real as the air we breathe. One Friday afternoon, I was sitting with my aunts and grandmother outside, when a group of people who looked exactly like the men and women in my dreams, walked past our home. In excitement, I shouted that I dream about those people. That I see them and I know their songs in my mind. For me, this was a small confession that wasn't going to affect anyone's life, but for my family, it was a revelation. A revelation that idlozi liyaphila; sedimo se a phela and it lives within a child who has no understanding of who the Gogos are, or who God is.
What's a calling, anyway?
This was my question when I was told that "ke na le pitso". To my understanding, a calling is a talent and everyone has that. What's so special about mine and why was everyone fussing about it?
I wish I knew then, what I know now. I wish I understood at the age of 9 what I understand as a 21 year old. That having a calling; ho ba le pitso - ubizo means that I was chosen among many other people in my life, to serve the living by divining, coming between searching souls and their guides, fixing broken hearts and broken homes and filling voids that have been gaping for decades and decades. I would have treated my gift better in my teens.
Now I know and understand that I wear my ancestors' skin. I wear their faces and their emotions. I live and they too, live inside me. The drums are songs that connect us to each other; bringing us to you, to heal, to fix and to renew that which needs to be renewed. I carry myself with pride because the men and women who sing in my dreams while I ghida, they went to war for these moments that we experience. Our grandparents walked the path so we could run, being fearless healers who face nations with pride and bravery, with our heads held high, while being a saving grace for many.
I am a writer. I am a creative in every sense. When I stand on a stage, when I am given a platform to perform a poetry piece or to act, I feel alive. But before everything else, I am a healer, chosen by amathogo to heal and discern for the nations. And I take pride in that more than anything. Because it is what makes me more alive than anything in this world.
Thokoza. Lesedi. Kganya. Ndauwe.
Growing up, I was a sheltered child. I didn't have many friends, didn't consume much content on the television and I didn't spend a lot of time around people.
All I did was read books all day, consuming words and turning them into my reality; in my mind. Besides words, my dreams consumed a large part of my mind, along with sounds of beating drums that I'd never heard before.
My favourite thing to imagine as a 9 year old was a group of people dancing in bushes, wearing red and white cloths, beads and hair that I found enticing. Strange? I think not. I enjoyed these imaginations because everything seemed so far from reality and the people were cooler than everyone I knew.
But... I guess the saying "dreams come true" is as real as the air we breathe. One Friday afternoon, I was sitting with my aunts and grandmother outside, when a group of people who looked exactly like the men and women in my dreams, walked past our home. In excitement, I shouted that I dream about those people. That I see them and I know their songs in my mind. For me, this was a small confession that wasn't going to affect anyone's life, but for my family, it was a revelation. A revelation that idlozi liyaphila; sedimo se a phela and it lives within a child who has no understanding of who the Gogos are, or who God is.
What's a calling, anyway?
This was my question when I was told that "ke na le pitso". To my understanding, a calling is a talent and everyone has that. What's so special about mine and why was everyone fussing about it?
I wish I knew then, what I know now. I wish I understood at the age of 9 what I understand as a 21 year old. That having a calling; ho ba le pitso - ubizo means that I was chosen among many other people in my life, to serve the living by divining, coming between searching souls and their guides, fixing broken hearts and broken homes and filling voids that have been gaping for decades and decades. I would have treated my gift better in my teens.
Now I know and understand that I wear my ancestors' skin. I wear their faces and their emotions. I live and they too, live inside me. The drums are songs that connect us to each other; bringing us to you, to heal, to fix and to renew that which needs to be renewed. I carry myself with pride because the men and women who sing in my dreams while I ghida, they went to war for these moments that we experience. Our grandparents walked the path so we could run, being fearless healers who face nations with pride and bravery, with our heads held high, while being a saving grace for many.
I am a writer. I am a creative in every sense. When I stand on a stage, when I am given a platform to perform a poetry piece or to act, I feel alive. But before everything else, I am a healer, chosen by amathogo to heal and discern for the nations. And I take pride in that more than anything. Because it is what makes me more alive than anything in this world.
Thokoza. Lesedi. Kganya. Ndauwe.
Thokoza 📿🙏
ReplyDeleteLesedi 🕯️📿
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