Afrikanism : Just Add Water.

Sometimes we ought to think less, not more.
Sometimes we ought to do peace, not war.

A history of violence does not permit Us to continue bashing our heads in. At least, common sense should thus dictate. I’ve been told that We, Afrikans, are a pretty formidable bunch. Our history is garnished with the mass graves of brutal warfare and religious massacres. There’s been tribal cleansing and nameless other equally senseless acts. We have this.
The art, architecture, science, technology, governance and all other parts of human interest were the most advanced for a very long time. The mathematicians, philosophers, academics and tacticians were at the top of their game. This is a history with magic, mystery, mastery and lore. We have this too.
We’ve had our losses and our fair share of wins. Ours is a generous history. But we have forgotten this.

Indeed, we have thought best to get caught in the immediate past. The time has come for Us to step back and see the bigger picture.

Here, South Africans talk like Afrika is foreign. This is beyond odd. In Zimbabwe we have made a mockery of the economy. In Ghana We are forgetting ourselves. And We have ignored Sudan. All over this place We have paralysed each other with invisible lines that become borders. We have criminalised Ubuntu and legalized bullying. Our way of life is not just forgotten, it is forgiven as well. We have found nothing the matter to think ourselves savage and primitive. These history books that are the syllabus are peppered with lies and laced with inconsistencies. This current way of life is like a drug. It is dilapidating and addictive. Again, common sense calls to us;

Just because many people are doing it doesn’t mean you should.
Just because everything is told to you does not exempt you from thinking.

This is being said over and over again: We need Afrikan solutions. Indeed we do, but talking it won’t change a thing.

No other people seem to have forgotten themselves more than the Afrikan. We treat each other like visitors in our own home. In fact, even visitors are known to hold the door for the next. There’s a particular camaraderie at work. We don’t have this. At least not anymore. We have neglected one another and adopted xenophobia instead. We have traded our chains and shackles for debt and false patriotism. How ridiculous this household must look from the outside. And like the common playground bully, we victimise others as we battle with self-loathing.

In Afrika, one hand washes the other.

This has all been at the heart of being an Afrikan. The Afrikan language has always been one of Love. Not hatred. The language of signs we communicated with was simple. A single image, a letter, could point to a myriad of concepts and in a particular sequence became poetry or a thesis. We did not bar human ingenuity with laws, clauses and copyrights. This too is collecting dust somewhere in a past we call barbaric.
Haters, those who would negate anything and everything, argue that the old ways are no match for these times. And so we should employ impractical solutions to the problems we face. Is this because others are doing it too? Smells childish to me.

In hating ourselves, as that is what we’ve proven by killing each other, we have not only learnt to despise our history, but have also sought to erase it completely.

Know your story.

Namaste