Yet another day's slaving takes its toll on my weary eyes blurred in mirages, my tired hands chapped from the manual labour and countless attempts to put pen to paper and air some honest views about life, this life that I call mine.

I have spent a good many years now trying to define life and how I should live it. I have looked up it's definition in the dictionary (equipping myself with some real word-power in the process) but what I found, unfortunately, does not quite explain what I am going through and what my forefathers went through since way before my birth. Sometimes I look up at the stars at night and wonder if all the spirits of our forefathers and foremothers live on in the sparks that grace the skies so bewitchingly. I wonder what happens up in the skies beyond this life that we call ours. Are there colour bridges in the skies so the black ancestors have their own hood to chill in and their white counterparts their suburb to lounge in? Is God Black or White? Who really has my back in this life? I am a pawn in a chess game played by masters with code names? Do I continue living the way I always have, pretending to be oblivious to all that I feel inside for the sake of keeping the peace? When should I take note of my colour and when should I not? Shall I actively indulge in discussions about race and belonging, culture and creed, charity and greed? After I have expressed my views and opinions, do they count at all and do they set the thinking wheels in motion in others? Does honesty really always bring about the positive? And is negative really bad? And is there place in this life and world for negativity perhaps so we can all have a form of reference to base our experiences on or to teach us a lesson? What have I learnt? Does culture have a place in hip hop? Where do you draw the line on what an emcee can rhyme about and what he/she shouldn't even dare to? Is there really such a concept as freedom? If I can't show elements of me in the ryhmes I rip on the mic, then how else do I reveal myself to the world? Questions, questions, questions...

More often that not, that particular exercise leads me to a world long forgotten by many, of loneliness and misery, of losses and pain, of sunshine and rain. Yet, I feel a strange sense of belonging to the cultures and traditions of the world we have created. As I delve into the depths of The Isis Papers - a mind-opening book recommended to me by a friend - I cannot help but to think on the first push that set the wheels in motion before we had all this cultural commotion, later self-translated into racial, spiritual, physical, territorial, and all the other "-al"s. Added to that is the hurt I feel inside and the tears that fall down my face ever-so-slowly like a stream naturally finding its course down to sea. Hurt because noone listens when I want to talk abotu African heritage, painful because everyone calmly pretends to be oblivious to the agonies and miseries suffered on this soil. Land of Our God to the devil we've sold, but after the story's been told and we've since grown old, will we still have the gold? Will anyone ever tell our story for us? Shall we gloss over the details that define our selves in exchange for deep focus on the cross-cultural mating habits of our brothers and sisters.

At the end of it all, after all the tears have been shed for Africa, my continent O Beautiful Continent, I am left with deeper understanding of who I really am, where I am really coming from and where I am going. I certainly wish that we can all co-At the end of it all, after all the tears have been shed for Africa, my continent O Beautiful Continent, I am left with deeper understanding of who I really am, where I am really coming from and where I am going. I certainly wish that we can all co-exist and co-habitate in peace and harmony, but I also realise that beings can only co-habitate if they know the role of each in that particular environment and that education on the evolution of each of those parties (social, spiritual, physical, mental, etc.) is essential in determining how best to forge into the future as a unit. I have realised that the past is the past and can never be changed - as they say, you can run but you can't hide.

Then why is it that noone ever wants to talk about the African history issue? I believe that the only way we can all be comfortable with the concept of co-habitation is if we let each other know honestly how we feel about things, whether in the past, present or future. Our views and feelings after all determinbe who we are and if we are to claim that we are aware of each other's presence in this space then surely transparency is the way to go? I doubt that many people will venture into this discussion for fear of losing friends, jobs, social status, etc. but it doesn't bother me because I know as we all know (I hope) at the end of the day when sleep gains momentum on our souls and the tears fall, we still feel what I feel even behind the cloudy mist of falsiness and pretence. Maybe talking about it will help clear up the blurriness of my own vision of the world and my place in it, so for the record, this is what I feel and the "how" part of it is real DEEP!

I can't beleieve that someone who is not from my land, not of my ancestor's hand is trying to mislead us. We were never man-haters till another power taught us. Then we took to the ways of the devil with vodoo and juju... I pray for those perpetrators who claim(ed) our land with false pieces of paper. I pray that God will preserve us and make us stronger knowing that destiny won't be much longer now. We're tempted with theories and memories, when on the pages of history no sign of me I see. Our African unity, the loyalty we had overcome by the powers of those who seek to slay us. Liek lambs to the slaughter we are led to destruction, the demolition of culture and believing in the One Up High. When I'm reading the psalms, I feel destiny unfolding in my palms. Maintaining my calm I tolerate the plunder of our Afro-wisdom, our kingdom. We're trained like guard dogs while our treasures are stolen by force. It's not hard to let go of the chains of oppression, we just need to fight for real progression. What kind of life are we living, when all we do is take and we're never ever giving? Whe I see my sister I wanna protect her, I wanna take her and save her from all the mind-pollution and confusion that we're in. Still, the Man in the Sky like my guide preserves my pride when I'm walking the streets of this concrete jungle. What a tangle we're in! Will we make it to salvation when we can't even express our emotions and devotion to African unity, consciousness and abolition of oppressive mentalities? It is truly not who you are, or which part of the world you come from. It is not even about whether or not you have a home to go to at night. Some might say that is the norm, but shit ain't like that where I'm coming from. Only my heart knows the journeys that passed, the memories that last. What if I told you I was a Princess by birth? What would you say - it's obvious? What if I told you of rolling hills and dusty roads? Would you think I'm at a cross-roads? And if I told you that I love the feel of the bucket when I carry water on my heaI can't beleieve that someone who is not from my land, not of my ancestor's hand is trying to mislead us. We were never man-haters till another power taught us. Then we took to the ways of the devil with vodoo and juju... I pray for those perpetrators who claim(ed) our land with false pieces of paper. I pray that God will preserve us and make us stronger knowing that destiny won't be much longer now. We're tempted with theories and memories, when on the pages of history no sign of me I see. Our African unity, the loyalty we had overcome by the powers of those who seek to slay us. Liek lambs to the slaughter we are led to destruction, the demolition of culture and believing in the One Up High. When I'm reading the psalms, I feel destiny unfolding in my palms. Maintaining my calm I tolerate the plunder of our Afro-wisdom, our kingdom. We're trained like guard dogs while our treasures are stolen by force. It's not hard to let go of the chains of oppression, we just need to fight for real progression. What kind of life are we living, when all we do is take and we're never ever giving? Whe I see my sister I wanna protect her, I wanna take her and save her from all the mind-pollution and confusion that we're in. Still, the Man in the Sky like my guide preserves my pride when I'm walking the streets of this concrete jungle. What a tangle we're in! Will we make it to salvation when we can't even express our emotions and devotion to African unity, consciousness and abolition of oppressive mentalities? It is truly not who you are, or which part of the world you come from. It is not even about whether or not you have a home to go to at night. Some might say that is the norm, but shit ain't like that where I'm coming from. Only my heart knows the journeys that passed, the memories that last. What if I told you I was a Princess by birth? What would you say - it's obvious? What if I told you of rolling hills and dusty roads? Would you think I'm at a cross-roads? And if I told you that I love the feel of the bucket when I carry water on my head for meals? Would you think I'm popping pills? And what about all of life's ills? I long to roam the green lands of my Motherland, absorb the serenity of the real jungle before returning to this concrete jungle where right is wrong, and wrong is right. And you know I am tired as most of you are too of hearing this, but it makes me sad to know it is all orchestrated, pre-demostrated. Still we remain dedicated to educating the masses... so when someone throws ills your way and tosses everything you hold dear to the floor, get up off that ass and continue on your road to destiny. Each his own.

In the world of hip hop, nothing get an emcee down more than hearing people snip at every thread of belief and stamp on talent that comes so naturally that we even rhymre in our sleep. I have had people criticise me for having too many conscious verses in my rhymes - what the heck? I have even had people come to challenge me to a one-on-one lyrical battle and when it came to drawing steels, I drove harder than a hammer shaft with the weight of my vocals while they recited "Fat Boy Slim" - I mean, really now?! I have even had people tell me I need to hook up like Erykah Badu - well, sorry to say this but I am very happy with who and what I am, and if you read her interviews you will find that her image is her way of holding reigns on her Afro-identity (now say what?)...

Keepin' it real means being who you are (the same person you are when you close your eyes at night and sleep). It is not dressing up in clothes that you can't afford, hanging out with people you don't like just coz they're the "IN" clique, talking like you have never lived iKeepin' it real means being who you are (the same person you are when you close your eyes at night and sleep). It is not dressing up in clothes that you can't afford, hanging out with people you don't like just coz they're the "IN" clique, talking like you have never lived in the ghettos of Africa, walking like you're the shits (in fact, some would be ecstatic if a statue of them was erected in Long Street for everybody to see)... c'mon guys, let's do this right.

BE WHO YOU ARE AND DON'T BE AFRAID TO SHOW PRIDE IN WHAT YOU DO! WHEN THE CRUNCH CRUNCHES THE CRUNCH DISINTEGRATES INTO LITTLE PIECES OF NOTHING - MAKE SURE YOU PIECE IS WHOLE!

keep it real

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