this was beautiful.
some have their stadiums of dreams and for others, its a venue of dreams, like this. the majestic silent mountain ever present as backdrop, with clouds melting over, simply caressing the sky. the day was green. and this was the scene.
it you had let your eyes carry you, you would have caught yourself tracing the shape of the almost shy hill to its beginning or is it its end. the hungry, in waiting, their souls listening in. it was packed and a diverse crowd at that.
simphiwe was her usual, stunning, graceful self. with a voice that calls from aeons remembered but yet still unknown. she is growing into herself and her voice in such a dignified manner. to watch a performer grow is to witness a self actualisation live. simphiwe dana is coming to that place where she steps on stage and claims it. owns it. the reluctant star even took off her shoes wa gida, the drum beating inside her. and if you know, you know that it was overs then. it was overs. when simphiwe is now getting down, hello tomorrow. the new band works, is being worked. with the sound engineer actually working for his pay for once, rapped over his knuckles publicly for every slight. she wasnt and isnt playing this woman. unapologetic as ever she had some things say. in these times when voices are muffled in the uproar of constantly validated and undeserving noise. relevant, she cut clear, with a poise that says the quiet has its strength. the politics of the personal are everything and art is teacher, is leader, is guide.
and where they had tried and thought they could keep people rooted to the pulsating land, they failed. and they failed in a fantastic fashion. no one could be stopped. mama busi mhlongo stepped out and into our lives. had people crying and bowing, stretching. an intoxicating mixture of disbelief, joy and pride. the unfolding of blessings like a duet with simphiwe was her hello. and we thought we were seeing things. busi mhlongo is a machine. the queen diva simphiwe called her, surely having a moment of her own, when the past stands in the presence of the future. we were an orchestra, bodys in tune to the movement of her sceptre. a queen on her throne. we, the not worthy throwing ourselves as humble offerings at the feet of our legacy in motion. we, the children. her eyes narrowing into us, followed by the original bootie hop. commanding with voice. shes a rock star. a survivor.
and laugh out very loud for simphiwe being sent back out to calm down the frenzied mob. our silence only beckoned at her words. our warranted inability to accept that the show was over. busi only did like two of her tracks. perhaps her health or the lack of foresight on someones part. that as the show would be understood to be starting, it was coming to its close. like you standing there, ready, when last rounds have infact come and gone, when they didnt ring the warning bell. somebody please shoot me. gosh. which part of we want more is problematic. we want more.
THIS was beautiful.
they got so much love. i think they were shocked themselves actually. with dazed expressions and words flowing freely like we will be back. goody! so you mean theyll be seconds and thirds and and and and...
earth mothers, yes. indeed.
we have gifts of our own to share with the world. we have our own. there is beauty. there is power. there is strength.
here.
