One Night at Victoria Beach

I typed it up for another forum, but I thought it would be a good idea to archive here as well, I guess. This was one of my childhood favourites:

[B]One Night at Victoria Beach[/B]

The wind comes rushing from the sea,
the waves curling like mambas strike
the sands and recoiling hiss in rage
washing the Aladuras' feet pressing hard
on the sand and with eyes fixed hard
on what only hearts can see, they shouting
pray, the Aladuras pray; and coming
from booths behind, compelling highlife
forces ears; and car lights startle pairs
arm in arm passing washer-words back
and forth like haggling sellers and buyers -

Still they pray, the Aladuras pray
with hands pressed against their hearts
and their white robes pressed against
their bodies by the wind; and drinking
palm-wine and beer, the people boast
at bars at the beach. Still they pray.
They pray, the Aladuras pray
to what only hearts can see while dead
fishermen long dead with bones rolling
nibbled clean by nibbling fishes, follow
four dead cowries shining like stars
into deep sea where fishes sit in judgement;
and living fishermen in dark huts
sit around dim lights with Babalawo
throwing their souls in four cowries
on sand, trying to see tomorrow.

Still they pray, the Aladuras pray
to what only hearts can see behind
the curling waves and the sea, the stars
and the subduing unanimity of the sky
and their white bones beneath the sand

And standing dead on dead sands,
I felt my knees touch living sands-
but the rushing wind killed the budding words.

- Gabriel Okara

Indulgence

The one where I take time out to feel sorry for myself

I know I've fucked up. In fact, if one were to be perfectly honest, I am a fuck-up. She didn't have to say it - none of them did; the silences and pauses said it all, clearly - plainly. There's probably little that can be politely said to the loser that refuses to get back up from the ground. Therein lies the problem: that I have chosen to remain on the ground for so long, content with scraps, and constantly scared and ashamed even of my own shadow. She was right to dismiss me and everything I said. I could find no argument. And even though I could have given excuses, I could offer no argument. Reasons and caveats piled up in mind, but I could offer up no arguments. She was right and I acceded. She wants to part and I saw in it her thinking that it might be the best way for her to keep her sanity. So it goes. No excuses.

Having said all that, the rot stops now. I will arise out of my rut, go farther than I have gone before, and say "I wish you had believed in me despite all that had happened. I wish you could have conjured up just a little faith when I asked for... a little rope." Those declarations will not come from a place of malice, just from a realisation.

It is time to wake up. It's time I rediscovered my confidence. No excuses, just existence.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Backwards.

The teachings are sheer fantasy, unsubstantiated by any credible evidence: ancient Egyptians mastered flight with gliders, which they used for both recreation and travel. They invented electric batteries and mastered electroplating, discovered the principles of quantum mechanics and anticipated Darwin's theories of evolution. Furthermore, all Egyptians were black, and their abundance of the dark skin pigment, melanin, not only made them more humane and superior to lighter-skinned people in body and mind but also provided such paranormal powers as ESP and psychokinesis.

Incredible as it may seem, these fallacies are being included in public school multicultural courses in a growing number of U.S. cities and espoused in black-studies departments on some college campuses.

More: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,980453-1,00.html

Afrocentric studies in American schools are full of pseudoscience and total bollocks? Dolts!