Saturday, 20 December 2014

The African Question



Must read!



BY GEORGE PAMBASON

My commentary relates to pan-Africanism and the founding values that form the basis of pan-Africanism but it is a commentary through a very liberal and pragmatist lens. 
I believe that as a continent we ought to have some set of values that drive our common ideology and yes, profound ethos of Africanism. An integrated Africa or an Africa with a set of values that level the ground and sets rules under which we all operate politically and economically. A shared vision crafted for an intertwined destiny.

These values may then prefect the political players to a minimum standard of operation.

This is of great importance as we can only remain relevant on the global stage when we have something tangible and unique to offer the world.
Our political landscape to a larger extend leaves you at the fence on issues of importance and mainly those leaning towards pan Africanism, it’s a riff ruff culture mostly devoid of specs of modern world thinking.

African leadership is entitlement as opposed to service; African politics is elitist and opportunistic. African leadership is authoritarian and coercive.  The rule of law is elusive and justice selective. All the above are daily leadership hiccups this continent struggles with and are manifested by the same people who sing lyrics of Pan-Africanism as we sing along in chorus with doubting voices.
These leaders have comparatively position themselves around the Pan-African agenda but quickly become absorbed by the porous Eurocentric tendencies of the past. These brothers of ours discourse the exact opposite of what they practice. So you wonder!  To be? Or  Not to be?  The sun sets on you still stranding at the fence.

But let me remind you in 1885 the scramble for Africa was initiated by Europeans because they wanted to micro-manage the continent, The land was divided into smaller manageable units, the principle behind this was” divide and rule’ They wanted to exert more influence, they wanted more trade, they wanted to weaken the African idea one of a free people united with a common purpose.

During this partitioning many African leaders were helpless, they couldn’t resist, they never had resources, no army to resist, no organization to voice their concerns, they watched the process initiated and imposed on them, tribes were divided, land was grabbed and many African people suffered as a consequence.

After the Second World War at the helm of divisions in Europe coupled with their depleted resources bases, patriotic Africa leaders seized the opportunity to free themselves from the shackles of colonialism. Africa started the road to a free and independent idea of Africa for Africans campaign which led to independence.

The question lingers however whether truly we were liberated, Or maybe we were liberated and then decolonized by our own, it has been over 50years for most African countries since they gained independence.
We are still peevish with fundamental issues of identity. The African identity is amorphous.  You and I know the history that forsakes our identity was a creation of the West because they wanted to micro-manage the continent, to disguise our commonalities, what have we done to reclaim that identity apart from deepening the tribulations with politics of tribal divisions, thuggery, marginalization, and elitist tendencies by those in leadership.

Our identity as a people should be determined by our own characters, our social roots, the culture and creed that unites us and identifies us from the rest.
Through a similar lens, look at the continent with introspection; plunders of African wealth happens in the broad day light presided over by our own, oppression, dehumanisation of the African people who may differ in political opinion, torture and extortion are daily occurrences on the continent. These happen and are presided over by our own.
The young generation needs to start analysing the political creations we have on the continent and pause the claim that the West is responsible for our own failures. Truly stating the West was responsible for our unfortunate history, the history of slavery and that of colonialism that pitied the continent to massive sufferings, dislocations and misguided our identity. But that was then! We are now responsible for our unfortunate situation.

What is wrong when America donates a billion US dollars to boast education on the continent but with a condition that there must be accountability and structures in place to ensure that sought accountability? Are we going to be the so don’t- give-a- damn pan-Africanist and reject whatever is dressed in western garb and embrace the stench dressed in afro labels?

Our leaders, our civil societies, our institutions, are to blame for the extricable failures that bug the continent to date. Yes! We have a very unfortunate history but this can’t be used as a lullaby to sing every problem to sleep.

 I will give you an example, when president Museveni of Uganda captured power in 1986 many (West) described him as a new breed of African leaders thirstily needed by this continent. He was literally a darling of the west; the same applies to Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe who was awarded The Most Honourable Order of the Bath by the queen of England, only to be scrapped when the Centre didn’t hold no more. 

These are honours given to extra-ordinary individuals for extra-ordinary achievements, the argument however may creep around the sincerity of these honours whether they are truly awarded on merit or used as a tool to hoodwink African leaders to trek a carefully pre-designed path that ensures policy dominion of the West.

The doubt however is about the recipients themselves, are they statesmen of the calibre of Nelson Mandela, Julius Nyerere, or Kwame Nkrumah?

Nelson Mandela under any circumstances wouldn’t unleash the wrath of state machinery in the shadow of a police force to butcher his own people due to a differing political opinion. He vehemently wears and owns the right to brag Pan-Africanist because he lived it.

On the contrary Mr. Museveni on his inaugural speech he stated and I quote "The problem of Africa in general and Uganda in particular, is not the people but leaders who want to overstay in power." He said in 1986. He was being deceitful, he wanted favors to hold his grip on power, he wanted to learn the game, Africa believed him, the west believed him. 
The then president of the USA went global trotting touting his political brand as a new light of the Dark Continent. After almost three decades Museveni still desirously manoeuvres all probable ways to keep him-self relevant no matter the price tag.

The state has degenerated into pandemonium, corruption has flounced through all institutions, he has divided the country along tribal lines and he is practically Man managing the country, because his government is a loose canal on a rowdy sea. He patches here and there using state resources and coercion tactics to safeguard his hold onto the wheel of power.

He is leading an authoritarian state. The same approach used by the European colonial rulers. But him like many African leaders trot the continent preaching Pan-Africanism and labeling those with descent opinion agents of the West. 

We must not allow the Pan-African jargons that are bankrupt of ideology, that are built on deception and self-greed.

Today Mr. Museveni is the head of the East African Community; COMESA, ICGLR  (International Conference on the Great Lakes Region. All these are regional blocks that would catapult the continent to the elusive future, they need steady african leaders. 
He is seen by some as a strong pan-African leader while he is presiding over a military state that is oppressive and unaccountable to Ugandans, a state that allows nobody no space to participate freely into the affairs of the country. A failed state that has fuelled conflicts and has participated in the plunder of resources on the continent.

Should we then after Uganda becomes another Zimbabwe blame the west?

Should we sing along in choruses, these non-aligned jargons of Pan-Africanism?

This is the awakening, Play you part! I say; YES U CAN!

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

Poetry bench

GEORGE PAMBASON: THE AFRICAN POET


Equality

I paused and heckled to beckon decency
To surrogate lifestyle with culture

I paused and touched the breadth of the mirror
To cite liberties born of a free nation

I paused in the heart of the moon
To feel the pulse of the world

I paused and touched the silent past
To appreciate the wonder of creation

I paused and smiled to the joyful rainbow
To feed my mind with tolerance

I paused and painted a picture on the face of heaven
To discharge imagination of greatness

@ George Pambason

The Ebola plague


This is a praise poem for those who have died of Ebola especially the medical personnel who have died in line of duty  (R.I.P) 

Your hopes cast to dust; your trust misted so hastily, a life hasted to dust like dust
Misted like dying dew on a grayish evening, like a dying sun succumbed to the

 fall of dusk, So Lonely you succumbed!

The pangs that tricked your life, cell by cell, organ by organ with wildly voracity

 never erased your name

The wheezes and shrieks still mount in our memories, far and wide we reckon

 helplessly

And so in silent you sleep robed by a plague, the burden beseeched by the world you so loved

So lonely you succumbed, one by one, village to Village, Country to Country

Tombs of deaths strutted grimly, seas of fear torment on the dead as they 

torment on the widowed

Souls once loved, souls now dreaded, like love imperfectionist, a tear so soft

 drooping on the loft down the lip robbed of a kiss!

Downed is the eye reddened with grief, downed is the soul you robbed of your smile
And so in silent you sleep robed by a plague, the burden beseeched by the world you so loved

Wrapped and maimed, tagged and ripped in ritual of fear without honor you so deserved.
And so you went like a flame died of wind

Wails of grief, prints of your touch, breadth of your smile, love of your duty all 

echo your name

And you fell like a leaf burdened by age but so young you went

And so in silent you sleep robed by a plague, the burden beseeched by the

 world you so loved

By George Pambason

The mind in love


I am captivated in solitary incarceration of my
secular desire.

Reverberating my groins, razing through my conscience,
and settling in my spine like a mid night twister.

Tremorish yet trickles the Manish of me, ticklish yet
Pounds the impotency out my groins

Exuding full spools of hormonal drunkenness.

Look! See that damsel wiggling her cluster? No! she is no nun
of times. Yes! she is my virgin envy and secular desire.

Ooh!  Gosh!

My heart throbs in my weakly tummy, just tendering the helm of
Passion threshing my nerves

Look hey damsel! Cry not my name, am no hero!
I am just a name.

Lose me not in the craze of madness,
Mend mine-strewn veins in immortal passion and

Thrive not, to biblical condemnation as Eve of Eden.
Hey damsel! I infer all the lyrics on your searching lips

And am enchanted in pleasure,
Pleasure like comics that purify cupids,

Hunting for wisdom from your budding, do what you can’t
Say and lay my lips never to say what they do.

Underneath the covert of dawn, we sink and soar in unison.
Ouch! Yes, damsel you my desire.



@ George Pambason



Searching for my roots

I lay sullen in the stupor of losing my roots.

Soulless like hollow, empty like emptiness

Spelling spells of ghostly stigma warring my vanity.

My vanity sketched by shadows of my ancestral footsteps

Shadows of imaginations of how it could be now, or how it was then

When land and name was culture, when name was born of tradition

I lay sullen in the stupor so coy, my ancestral epitaph carved on delusional strips.

I am coddled in the jumble of cultural uncertainty

The fear of slavery, washing my shivery bones to the west

To be baptized by holy water, before the holy cross

To be enslaved by the holy name!

That Tobby is holy! That Kunta kinte is pagan?

I can hear the sounds of the universe, screaming! Screaming!

Calling my ancestral name from the gates of heaven

Calling for the culture of the land

The culture where the name was born of tradition

@ George Pambason


Hope!

I rise to the delight, gasping in natural streams of hope.

Streams of hope filled with breathing life to seize moments.


Moments that bring my culture to the altar, in its nucleus, great names inscribed.

Me too I spell my name to rise and swell, to live and never to die again

Seizing space after space, gratifying the oath of the great civilization.

That of self creed, latent in hidden chambers, yet bespoke to my values.

I relent ages when days span in poverty and dreams succumbed to tattered essence.

Rise to the delight, gasping in natural streams of hope.

Rise and stand tall! Nourish your mind! Spell your name to the Altar.

Grief fades beyond history, while hope looms with flickers

Seize your hope and nourish your mind with free will

Seize your hope and touch the nucleus of the wobbling universe

Seize your hope and be the fountain that weans a thirsting humanity

Seize your hope and heal the tired, who grief injustice and inequality

Be the hope to your wandering soul.

Spell your name like patterns of the rainbow, across all colours

Rising from the fountain of life to feed heavens

Rising over cold and warring countries, yet exuberating the splendour of kindness

You are the hope!


@ George Pambason



Prisoner on their Island.

Behind this thickening racial wall is mankind

Every life a testimony of a nation ailing in agony

A warring nation ragged in moral crudeness

A heritage erased by dictates of foreign regalia disguised in native shades

I rouse to the wails of the stolen nation

To restore the history written by our deprived predecessors

The history of our symbols, culture, and creed maligned by greed

I rouse to the wails of the stolen nation

Shackled in chains of prejudice anchored by racial domination

Incarcerated by myopic endeavours slung by them to buffer popular opinion

I rouse to the wails of the stolen nation

To echo heroic voices of relentless virtue

The virtue of black consciousness and self release

I rouse to the wails of the stolen nation

To rewrite the perverted truth and set the nation free

Free from agitation, free from poverty, free from seclusion

I rouse to the wails of the stolen nation

To salvage national pride railed on virgin spirit of fulfilment

To author lyrics of freedom when the sun sets light to the forgotten truths.

To usher our ordeals to the fall of the moon but never to forget.

I hear every voice fading in this wave

The wailing seas filled up with the tears of my deprived people


@George  Pambason 


The admirer!

Where arms never see, eyes touch!  feel and exalt the beauty of creation

A sketch etched on the wings of a dying heart

Bathed in clam and ambition to hold onto, one to admire

From toes to hair, to the veins, probing the budding fantasy

Of a beautiful mind locked and twisted in a wild thought

Of a beautiful body, borne of a melting soul

Of a beautiful eye mating a beautiful eye

Of a warm lips wrapped in a warm lips

A tongue twisted in a tongue to tell their sworn secrets!

Like imaginations of admirations

Borne of a creation of Eva of Adam of Eden of God

Their secret u lived, was lived and will forever ever.

The secrets of the admirer




Paining their pain

Like a smokers puff fading to the heavens

With a gaze so coy, coy by prejudice of intent

My hereditary trail , written! Etched on mine skin

My face, a story teller, my heart a hidden book.

A book written for generations to come, to culture humane conscience

Conscience of love, ubuntu, justice and nobility

I write, yes I do!

I write pains of them deprived of dialect, colour, and culture

Yes I do!

I write pains lowed deeply in them silence.

I write summons of shame to christen Christ

Listen! Listen! the verve of them tears streaming for truth

Listen! Listen! them truth fading in fear

A child moans as the mother moans!

The father moans as the son moans!

Victims of history, that history of slavery

Their long story, one story of paining injustice

I, an African proverb laid on dusty pages of abandoned history,

I, a humming riddle of my ancestors

I, a poet

Poetry is justice

Poetry is me

@ George Pambason

Remember me

Remember me like wood dead of fire

Ashes cast to seas to drift, raged and ragged in death

Spiteful but happy, tedious but rested

Bemoaned in death but loathed in life

The envy of souls, those that I moaned and they; I forgive!

Remember me like gust of seasons passed; over your land

Gusts born of the seas to dread your dawns and dusks

Like new seasons fluting in same old lyrics

The lyrics of the old land I wished to walk

Remember me like a verse stitched in yarns of wisdom

A verse authored with the mastery of a poet

A verse born of blood, tears and sweat

Loathed and loned by they, my heart leaned

Remember me like a wailing river drifting its life to the endless wild

A daily vigorous run to nowhere but the sun breathes

Silence bears my feet, thy shall never call to bother

I smile at the moon bearing me in its fold

I fold my wings and open my heart to love and forget 

@ George Pambason

Stolen Kiss!

A thought is born to love, like a wave cresting a hurried sea

In the hatchers mind it is born in nuptials

A song sung for him who her lips kissed in the woods

The woods that fell in love with the song of two lovers

 Picking up the crescendo, to pitch at the door of her heart

In the fold and rage of emptiness

The void by him who stole a kiss and drifted like wind

Him who still steals the rhythm of her heart

Him who flows her flesh like a silent river pouring its verve in the deadness of sea

Drumming her bones to pain, holding her like numbly breasts raped

Her lips sleep coarse, pale and thirst to kiss

Her hips hype in lingering gestures to seek a caring touch

Her thoughts roam to the same woods to find love

To fulfill a gaping soul, in the midst of the grey woods, hissing to the kissing of the winds

In the gape of hounds

In the silence of the dawn

She searches for love again!

@George Pambason