I'm a road away from the richest square mile in Africa, in Alexandra. I park my car on the pavement and as I step out, I am met with a pool of water being thrown at my feet. I instantly duck and I notice that I've parked right in front of someone's door. A young woman carrying a baby on her back emerges in the entranceway of her home. Our eyes lock and we both walk away with dry lips as we both fail to utter a single word to each other. In that moment, consensus is reached between us; tacitly expressed by our bodies. We are fully aware of the poor spatial planning and the overpopulation in this township. Alexandra is known for tight roads, double storey shacks and rat infestation. But one thing I appreciate and find beautiful about this space is the raw hustle, the hunger, the yearning for a soft life. I enter the yard and begin to make my way to another young lady's house. I am seeking validation, I just need another human being to tell me that I am not crazy. Upon entering her home I am met with a warm smile, "dumelang" I greet back. I take off my shoes and sit on icansi , bible in hand and pray...
I begin to relive the trauma in my head and my heart responds to the images by increasing momentum. She senses my shift in energy and instructs me to calm down. She asks me to close my eyes and open my bible and I land on Psalms 121. She begins to explain that Psalms is an indication of spiritual warfare. It was written by King David during a time of great battle between tribes across Israel. He sang hymns and worshipped the Lord in all seasons, through the cold darkness and in the warm light. "You're in spiritual warfare" she says. "Your dreams, your feelings, your thoughts are all true," she continues. We continue to engage in conversation and after all is said and done I breathe a sigh of relief and thank her for enlightening me. I am affirmed.
I get home, pack a bag and briefly explain to my family that I am going to stay at my cousin's for a week... I just need a break. I need a neutral space where I can silence the noise, be still and pray. In life, there are specific paths that require your steps to mimic God; where it is just you and God walking hand in hand. I knew no one could save me; not a sangoma, not the pope, not even the late great spiritual teacher Credo Mutwa. I had God, and only God and that was more than enough for me. That first night at my cousin's we played Gospel, sang hymns of praise and we prayed. I muttered vague words under my breath; my cracked voice created low energy vibrations. I was riddled with fear. My cousin was aware of this but she was patient, her words carried me, her faith uplifted me. She taught me how to call unto the heavens and how to listen to God when [S]He spoke. Who you surround yourself with in times of weakness is pivotal cause sometimes God doesn't respond to your faith but the faith of those around you.
On the February the 1st at 04:14 am I see an image of a young woman. The woman is standing looking straight at me. She then opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue and I see faeces dangling on the edge. She closes her mouth and begins to walk away... I wake up. The young woman in the dream looked just like me, her eyes, her skin, her afro...was she me? she was me. This revelation occurred after our first prayer session. I listened to gospel the entire morning and prayed at exactly 12 midday. The number 12 is tremendously significant in the bible. It symbolizes perfection and divine authority. I began to feel woozy and nauseous. I ran to the bathroom, placed my hands on the toilet seat and puked. I kept depositing clear water with bubbles. The contents baffled me "water and bubbles?". Then I remembered my dream...and it all made sense. After throwing up, I turned on the sound system, played gospel and sang louder and prayed harder. This was the first step towards my healing in spirit and in flesh. I was grateful for that moment, still am.
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