Back to Black

ESSAY BY KABELO MOROKO & VUSIMUZI KHUMALO

Back to Black! Let me take you back to when Black was Black. When Ubuntu resided in our souls, I swear to God we were blessed. Before the Voshos. Nako tsele tsabo Kofifi dance, what the fans of Kwela-Kwela would give to see Amapiano dead. Yes, reality’s been sad, but at least nako tsela our sorrows were drowned in the sound of soothing jazz. We envied the stares, tapped dance till nightfall because we came prepared. But now we’d rather drown in alcohol instead, then break the bottle to prove that we aren’t scared, get chased in the AMs and find my black ass in a puddle of red. Blood stains, now my white kicks caught the dirt. Ran out of breath, ngashaya itaxa and got my trousers torn by the fence, hid behind the tree as I’m catching a breath. Same time I pray that God comes to my defense, forgetting that He’s the one I disrespected when I was eager to sound woke; got high from the weed then started to question His will. And nama siko sengawa lahla, angisasi faki naso isphandla, poverty goes to the gym, nenhlupheko izi nike amandla Lempilo inamanga, cha mfana mina ngiyala. Ukuthi nginikela ngam? Ngabe umama wayedlala ngenkathi angiyala, but this is the