Writers Bloc

Writers Bloc

November 2020

Vol. 1 (1)

Who Am I? A journey of discovering your identity in a world of transformation

Writer’s Bloc

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Writer’s Bloc

Contents Page Note from the Editors

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Gender & Sexuality

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Race & Heritage

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Religion & Spirituality

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Acknowledgments

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We read to learn about the world.

We write to change the world.

- Lori Jamison Rog

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Note from the Editors

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hat encompasses all of us? What defines us all and yet is unique to each human being? These were questions we asked ourselves when contemplating the theme for the first anthology.

Identity.

One’s identity appeared to be the single uniting factor for all people. Identity encapsulates every fiber of one’s being from gender to religion to our likes and dislikes. Exploring everyone’s diverse identity is paramount in today’s current climate.

Unfortunately, people are targets of hate speech simply because of their identity. Through this anthology focusing on identity, we seek to highlight different identities and self-expressions. Hopefully, it can spark a better understanding of people’s cultural and historical diversity.

Identity is a fact of being. It’s a unique concept that is tailored individually to each of us. It is imperative that we discuss this issue in our first anthology. This broad term encompasses experiences and cultures that have crashed and bound together to create the very person we each present to the world every day. We choose to think of it as a colourful ball of wool. From the moment we are born, to each new event and interaction we experience, there are strings of myriad colours that are formed and entangled to create a beautiful collection of aspects that represent who we are. It is through this anthology that we have decided to unravel these strings and fully engage with each aspect.

We are fortunate enough to be living in an age that encourages thoughts of expression and identity to be freely questioned and re-interpreted. Humanity has a wealth of information to offer; stories and ideas that craft and influence our very nature of being.

By using these three topics: gender, heritage and spirituality, we welcome any and all written expressions that lend a voice to the experiences that have shaped personalities and perspectives. This anthology brings together words from various individuals, each with their own tale and reflection on their identity. Let us discover who we are, together.

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Kevala Rungopal Ink Society Chair

Julian Yeates Ink Society Vice Chair

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Gender & Sexuality

Gender & Sexuality What is Womxn

by Lindsay Kelland

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rowing up, I attended an all-girls high school. Being an all-girls school, your gender was simply taken for granted—if you were there, you were clearly a girl.

Underpinning this assumption was the idea that gender supervenes neatly on sex—that one’s biology determines one’s gendered identity—something I failed to question at the time. I was a girl. We were all girls. Full-stop.

Needless to say, gender was understood along a binary at my school— there were only two genders—men and women—based on two sexes—male and female—with two corresponding ideals—masculinity and femininity. It was all quite simply really. And yet, despite this, we were reminded daily of our duty to be feminine, to be ladies...

This conservative (and I now believe blatantly false) picture of gendered reality was accompanied by a toxic heteronormativity. Girls should only be attracted to boys and boys should only be attracted to girls. A friend of mine—she was attracted to girls— struggled to make sense of her sexuality. I remember my best friend taking it badly—obsessing over sleepovers where they’d shared a bed, wondering whether she had been the object of our friend’s desire. A ridiculous logic that immediately struck me as such.

I was attracted to both genders—be-

lieving there were only two—but I kept this to myself at the time. Easier not to rock the boat.

Fast forward 20 years. How things change. How we change. I now see it as my responsibility to rock the boat.

I have known people of various genders. There are not only two genders.

Heteronormativity is hegemonic and harmful. It is not normal.

Education has the power to liberate us. It certainly did for me. Leaving home and coming to university, I was encouraged to question societal norms, to recognise them precisely as societal, as socially constructed. Hegemonic norms of all kinds—ideas that were so embedded in my world that I had come to see them as natural and inevitable, as mapping onto the way the world really is—including those pertaining

to gender and sexuality. But I chose to study philosophy and Professor Tom Martin introduced me to the thinking of Simone de Beauvoir—a lifetime love.

I also met people who challenged me, who took me by my hand and led me out of The epistemic bubble I was in, who forever changed the way I see the world. Education does not just take place in the classroom.

Today I work as a feminist philosopher and activist. Much of my work focuses on gender-based violence and sexual violence. I am inspired by womxn writers and thinkers who have come before me and believe that we can work together in solidarity, or coalition, to disrupt the unjust norms that continue to limit the freedom of many if we take the time to recognise one another—both in our sameness and in our difference.

Doctor Lindsay Kelland received her doctoral degree in Philosophy from Rhodes University in 2012. Her PhD dissertation focused on providing an understanding the harm of male-onfemale rape in hetero-patriarchal societies. Kelland’s work is situated in feminist philosophy, phenomenology, community engagement and transformation. She explores ideas of agency and sexuality in the gendered world. Kelland is focused on challenges relating to South African womxn like abortions, gender-based violence and menstruation.

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Porcelain Dreams bathing in the holy water she looks at me, gently eyeing undressing in the candlelight hot water dreams of intimacy softly clutching on to midnight divinity i ask for her thoughts she responds with a kiss a tender graze on my left breast felt long after her lips leave euphoria feels like her warm wet skin on mine with a touch that shatters time rhythmic waves flow back and forth in time with her rapturous music if this is the siren’s song that echoes from her honeyed lips then i relinquish myself to sweet little deaths at the mermaid’s dancing fingertips making art upon soaked skin i’ll drown in her waters each breath is a flood by her will and i’ll die over and over again in this heaven made of porcelain.

-Brianna Violet

Johannesburg Rhodes University

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Painted Nails I am not sure how I will explain to my parents Why my nails are now blue (or red, black, green or) Why they are now coated with the regurgitation Of an acrylic rainbow How I’ve managed to stay in the lines (I’m glad they didn’t see the first hundred attempts) As if I’ve graduated from colouring in pictures To doodling on my nails.

Maybe my mother will understand (My dad won’t) That I’m not like the others: Who paint their nails, Grow their hair out, Wear skinny jeans.

My mother always wanted a daughter -Matthew Pitcairn Polokwane Rhodes University

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Who Am I? Are you sure you can call yourself female, male, a Christian, a Buddhist?

Can you really call yourself English, Spanish or half Portuguese?

Are you goth, preppy, popular or nerdy?

Are you a 10-digit number or the print of your finger?

Do you even know… do any of us really?

All these words allocated to identity, put you in a box and limit your reality, they tell you to choose one from each category and this, forever, you’ll be called.

Until one day you don’t fit that mold, and you look all out of sorts.

Your edges are sharp and undefined.

There is no boundary to your life.

This day will come, and the world will say, “We didn’t say you could be that way”.

And that will be your saving grace.

You will shed your skin and reinvent the person that you want to be.

You’ll redefine the boundaries and give yourself more words.

You’ll stop creating categories or standards or conventions.

And when you’re finished, they’ll ask you, “did you find who you should be?”

“There’s no such thing as identity.”

-Justine Teixeira

Johannesburg University of Pretoria

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Garden of Her Mind The garden of her mind Once lit brightly with the radiance of independence Decorating the pillows of daffodils Dancing with the balmy breeze Sensual smells of freedom linger in the air Hidden in the corners Colourful camellias coat her mind With memories of soft touches and words whispered “Don’t dress that way” “Lower your gaze” “You need his permission” Nestled nettles cower away Awaiting the arrival of the clouds, Brought upon by the wild winds The storm. He always comes.

Gentle geraniums sway Alongside the musky magnolias Arousing archived childhood dreams That only weighed her down.

Enclosed within the fiery freesias Were the passions of her past Dreams of flying, leading, challenging Dashed by small minds, Like prickly vines that cut, control, ensnare, They all stripped her bare, Left her amongst the ashes.

Clouds of impending gloom swirl As night approaches Her fertile thoughts poisoned 12

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By belladonnas twisting into place The petunias bow in pain Of the forceful male gale upon them A dim flickering of lights Surround the garden Illuminating the infestation that resides.

His spit of acid Dries the blooming revolution Showers of herbicide Coupled with femicide Burn the branches of aid Support, sisterhood, strength.

The storm knows her An old friend, father, husband Returning bearing gifts of burden Fertilising seeds of doubt Sprouting buds of hate “Be quiet” “You belong at home” “You are not equal The storm fades Devastation lies all around The garden is still The harm has been done For good this time Azure skies are forever gone As the plants decay Destruction runs through the roots She turns to her daughter Whispering soft as ever “This is how it is.”

-Kevala Rungopal Durban Rhodes University

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Gender & Sexuality

In Convention She was drunk She was dancing shamelessly She was asking for it She was dancing shamelessly while drunk She was drunk and dancing She was drunk and asking She was shamelessly drunk and asking for it She was asking shamelessly She was dancing and asking for it She was drunk shamelessly and dancing She was dancing drunk and shamelessly dancing She was asking and drunk and dancing shamelessly She was shamelessly, drunkenly, dancingly asking for it She was asking drunk and dancing She was dancing and drunk and asking for it She was asking for it and shamelessly dancing drunk She was -S. Anjari

Port Elizabeth Nelson Mandela University

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Race & Heritage

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Race & Heritage

Change & Continuity

by Sam Naidu

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e are all born into an identity which is further socially and culturally shaped through our lifetime.

We inherit race and ethnicity and these become our co-ordinates with which to navigate life. They position us in the world. But we also cross borders.

We transcend such interpellations to embrace heterogeneity and diversity.

We continue these markers of identity as we simultaneously change them.

Race and ethnicity are sites of preservation and of dynamic social and cultural change.

Literature explores these sites, imaginatively critiquing and celebrating them to reveal how we, as human subjects, have agency in an increasingly transnational world.

When we continue cultural practices we pay homage to our ancestors and to our communities. In the literature, characters wear clothes from and cook the evocative food from their homelands.

Yet, as they cross geographical and conceptual borders, they encounter difference and the necessity for change.

Characters adapt and assimilate. They change the meaning of race and they

reinterpret ethnicity in new and exciting ways. Some may jettison the caste system or female circumcision. Others repudiate heternormativity or prescriptive gender roles.

Creatively, there is so much more to draw on – a multiplicity of heritages!

Ever heard Panjabi MC’s “Mundian To Bach Ke”, a fusion of Bhangra and hiphop? Say no more!

Tragically, some characters do not change. Crossing borders can lead to dislocation and fracture. Literature shows us characters who cannot reconcile diasporic home with homeland.

They are stuck in a nostalgic past, striving to continue old traditions in a

hostile environment.

This is when race and ethnicity can become oppressive forces, stagnant and fixed categories, which bind people to constricting and destructive ways of thinking and being in the world.

Think of honour killings, ukuthwala, and bride-burning. Some traditions are criminal. Literature addresses issues of social justice.

Reading prompts us to think ethically so that we can make decisions about whether to continue or change.

Writers are world-makers. They bring to us, in our far-flung corners of the world, these tales of continuity and change, and of brave and inspiring border-crossing. In this way, the past is remembered and world is made anew.

Professor Sam Naidu is the founder and co-ordinator of the Intersecting Diasporas Research Group, which studies various transnational texts of the African, Asian, and Latin American diasporas. Prof Naidu describes the complex and paradoxical experiences of diasporas in a world of increasing mobility and de-territorialism, which yet, in certain locations, also faces increased regulation or prohibition of migration.

Together with the Makana District Friends of the Library and the Community Engagement Division, Sam helps establish school libraries and facilitates literature workshops.

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Race & Heritage

200 Years My family is a monument built on bones.

Did you know you can walk in a straight line

from the Cathedral in Grahamstown central to the arch?

That when I stare down that path, I can feel the guilt of a thousand bulging eyes

like a rope around my neck.

Some say there are secret passageways from the fish pond to the church. If I could wake the sleeping giant on the hill and ask him to light the way, all he would say is Welcome Home.

His nose is not my nose.

His nose is 21 soldiers marching in a strait line all the way back through my lineage.

Did you know your nose is running?

Better catch it before your heritage starts showing.

I was greeted by my ancestors atop a mountain.

Smilinghappyfamily looking down on me.

Imagine: To feel the cold red sand under one’s feet for the first time.

I cannot see a world apart from this one.

I am blind to the bodies under the arch.

-Julia Arbuckle

Makhanda Rhodes University

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I’ve Lived Here All My Life I grew up on the other side of that mountain over there. Ek praat Afrikaans bêter as baie van my friende, en ndifuna ukufunda isiXhosa. I blew my vuvuzela in the stadium back in 2010, and haven’t called anywhere else my home.

But I’m not white enough to be what they refer to when they say “we”, am I? Not quite the “Chinaboy;” either.

“You look like an Englishman,” said my cousin from Bangkok.

“You have Asian phenotypes,” said my former friend.

Race is a line drawn by their fingers in the sand, and I don’t fit onto either side.

Is it better to be half of one and half the other, even though that makes me lesser of each?

Despite this, there are upsides.

I can pretend to be unable to speak English and get away with it, while being the holder of three passports from three different continents.

Sometimes it’s nice to evade classification. Sometimes it’s nice to be Asian, So I can distance myself from that old codger on Facebook who says “white lives matter too” 20

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Race & Heritage

When strangers look at me, they see stereotypes.

When my friends look at me, they see a guy who’s always got a dad joke up one sleeve.

A bookworm.

A guitarist.

Someone who they can talk too when they just want to feel heard.

Being biracial means that, ethnically, I’m a little ambiguous, but I’m okay with that.

We decide who we are, and there’s so much more to that than what we look like.

It was February.

I was waiting outside GLT with a few other first-years.

“Are you an exchange student?” a white girl asked me.

“No, really. Where’re you from?”

-Alec Jirachareonkul Cape Town Rhodes University

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Our Laboured Bonds Behold me in bold Where you cannot break the bonds That bind me to those before.

Beneath all that once was Time is benevolent in more than one way To the wicked and the damned.

In moments bequeathed to them A Miriam reduced to a Mary Her raw, bare back Dripping with moonlight by midnight Together with blood and bruises.

A Sushant reduced to a Sam His burnt body shivers under warm skies Broken and beat down by bigots He picks away for sweetness in the fields.

Battles for reality crack open crates Releasing the heavy stench of deceit and destruction, The trickery and trade Stripping away all that once was treasured White gold While the colonies are made.

Unbecoming of the human nature We know not what it means The smell lingers around these bonds A reminder of our shared history - Kevala Rungopal Durban Rhodes University

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The Dog’s Breakfast Get Out Now! Leave while you still can!

It’s not too late for you.

We’re stuck here. Don’t become stuck like us.

Move, leave, evacuate, get out, soon, now , yesterday.

This country has gone to the dogs!

Bark, bark. Growl, Woff. Hooowl!

Torn to shreds, ripped, charred.

Gone to the dogs I tell you, With all the Stealing, corruption, murder, crime, Fraud, rape, hatred, poverty, hunger...

You know last week they stole my garden chairs?

There aren’t any jobs for you here anyway, Get out now.

This country has gone to the dogs, you hear me?!

Free yourself, escape, don’t burn or drown, Or heaven forbid try to change this place!

It’s too late, the dogs have gotten a hold of it.

Leave while you still can, go, get out.

But how will I take the South Africa out of me?

-Julian Yeates

Johannesburg Rhodes University

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Islam in my Life

by Shahana Dhoda

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eligion for many can mean different things, following different beliefs and worshiping in different ways. For me – I follow Islam.

I believe in one God and his prophet peace be upon him.

As a young individual, I stand strong with my faith. It has shaped my identity in many ways. I was taught by my parents and grandparents to show gratitude and patience, through difficult times and happy times. Why? Because with trials and tribulations one is promised reward in some way. Who wouldn’t want a reward?

And in happy times to show gratitude for the blessings, of course.

Prayer. For me, many a times phases came when things got really difficult.

Events would happen unexpectedly and suddenly things just fell apart, if not, crashed completely to the ground.

It was in these times I lifted my hands with the last bit of energy to pray to my creator for help. A strong support system means everything, but people don’t know and understand what you feel exactly. But having that moment when it’s just you and your creator; it’s in those moments where tears are flowing and he knows exactly what you’re feeling and what’s going through your mind and soul. And what better way to

communicate even when no words are left. Prayer has shaped my identity because without prayer I believe I would be really lost.

Charity. Islam is such that even when financial means are strenuous, a simple act such as smiling is considered as charity. Imagine, a God who created the heavens and the world and all it contains, considers a smile as charity. It still blows my mind at the simplicity.

Helping orphans, visiting the sick, taking are of loved ones just by showing love and support. These are all simple acts that don’t even involve money. To just to take some time out to do a kind act.

Love really does make the world a

better place. Charity shapes my identity because I believe when I pass, the only thing that I’ll take with me are my deeds. Islam has many values but the last one I would like to point out is fasting. When people hear the word fasting it literally scares them. Not being allowed to drink water or eat food from sunrise to sunset each day.

A daunting sacrifice - I know! And on-going for thirty days, it sounds even worse. For me, fasting during the month of Ramadhaan is more than just about food and water. In those thirty days, my faith gets renewed, the self-awareness becomes real an suddenly my life seems a bit clearer Clearer to the point that I realise how blessed I am. To have the basics of food, water, family, faith and a God. When the pangs of hunger hit me, I realize this is the reality of people in the world with no food. And as for self-awareness - it’s always a time to reinvent myself in some small positive way. Fasting forms a part of my identity because I realize there’s a lot more to life.

Shahana Dhoda is from Pietermaritzberg and is a second year BPharm student. Dhoda enjoys reading and writing. She hopes to help patients to the best of her ability.

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This Girl It has been a pilgrimage It has been a gravel road where lonely dust has clung to me, and I lived only because Jesus carried me There have been days in the wilderness And crying before the King of Justice asking how He missed us Too many days have been unlined by silver and filled with rainless clouds Clouds gather just to mock the child underneath them who was parched with grief Living a drought of hope where only disruption grew Toska knew Tar formed in my lungs from chainsmoking sorrow Addiction to apathy like nicotine stained my finger tips I was the dream that I couldn’t wake up from I was I was because I no longer am I was because my lungs began to protest my sorrow smoking I was because I accepted that I was not my own failed saviour I was because wings of Grace had always covered me My heart began to take delight in a yellow flower Apathy dissolved slowly into a less potent slightly gritty feelings I am not a phoenix rising from some glorious ashes I am a woman who took too long a nap from living and is now living determined not to make the same mistake Not to test my grave out for size, I might just lie there too long

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I was I am because He is I am because of I Am My bubbles are reforming My champagne glass refilling The broken edges are smoothing with gold My joy is returning back to its home between my lungs and tummy My joy is wiser and a little less excitable That is OK, give her time The rains will fall, the clouds no longer mock me I really don’t know what I am doing Without knowing how I am here and the view from the top is beautiful But more summits lie ahead, God strengthen my legs.

For now I will rest a little Breathe in - a celebration of new lungs Dream - because the smell of rain is luxurious And then continue, My grave will not be Dug This girl is far from done His Glory spurs me on The rain is beginning to fall -Jesse Ferguson

Cape Town Rhodes University

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But I Was So Sure Certainty is the sweetest mirage And once it finally falters A truly cruel barrage Weeping follows Tired sorrows Of embers And ash The remnants of an illusion Trouble you to death Foundations of a reality That was once your home The comfort of that warmth Gone as quickly as you had found it The demise of your certainty Serves as the heralding Of strength As sure as light Of sureness in the night His might will surely build you up And shelter you dearly, from abject strife Your days will be met with the strangest delight But still in accordance with the laws and trials of life -Markan Andreas Nkhwazi Makhanda Rhodes University

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Religion & Spirituality

Islam & Me A religion so pure and true I have no doubt of the times my faith has carried me through A prayer to my creator who I believe hears me Letting my thoughts, worries and feelings Flow in its entityI strongly believe he hears me Showing gratitude in happy times and patience in sad times These trials and tribulations Are generally a test to mankind No matter what may happen No matter what the situation Always make time to pray to the one in charge of the heavens -Shahana Dhoda Pietermaritzberg Rhodes University

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Laying Down My Religion I sway to the Jazz of Jesus, and in protest to passionless and here in the pew of belief of a Mighty God I give up all religiousness.

For what can a broken horse tell me of freedom?

How can a sinner speak of Jesus?

And yet the Jesus Jazz keeps on like a (col)trane helping keep my Armstrong enough to hold me up to hear the slow swing song of my Saviour.

Let me savour the sunshine and the beauty of now.

It is jazz, and dance, joy, and abandon.

I lay down my reliving.

I lay down my religion.

My Lord is waiting in a beautiful yellow reality of potential and beauty.

I am His to love and He is mine.

This exquisite life is ours to live.

-Jesse Fergurson Cape Town Rhodes University

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After the Storm Awake my soul The trials of tomorrow Shall remain in the morrow And the tribulations of the past Have long passed For I know not where I go But each step draws me closer To the path That lays before the crimson rose That blossoms With each breath that you take I know not when I fell before your feet I know not when I succumbed to it That song that resides In the confines Of my mind I dance and fall to its tune The rhythm reminds me Of the rise and fall Of your chest Atop this crown is an arrow of fire And you know full well where it points -Markan Andreas Nkhwazi Makhanda Rhodes University

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Losing my Religion My mom raised me on Evolution Replacing Adam and Eve with Hominids Noah’s Arc with Natural Disasters And The Immaculate Conception With Feminism.

School bombarded me with Bibles, Old, White Gods and Invisible Holy Ghosts.

I prayed to an Imaginary Friend Who never prayed back.

I went to Mass and wondered What the Priest was thinking about; God or Girls?

I think I’m going to Hell (if there even is a Hell) And I’ll greet Matthew, Mark, Luke and John With blood poisoned wine; Wasted lives fighting over White lies.

-Julian Yeates

Johannesburg Rhodes University

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Acknowledgments

Writer’s Bloc would like to extend its sincerest thanks to all the wonderful people who helped make the first anthology a success. Thank you to Kevala and Julian for conceptualising the anthology and organising submissions. Kevala has been a great leader through the whole process and articulately reached out to academics for their input. Great thanks is given to Julian for designing and compiling the anthology. We are eternally grateful to Simon Pamphilon, the Design lecturer at Rhodes University who supervised the project and gave valuable insight each step of the way. And to Brian Garman, the Design Co-ordinator for helping in the publishing process.

The deepest gratitude is given to the contributors in the anthology, to the students and lecturers, thank you for your patience on this project and your exciting creative content. We hope to work with the above mentioned people in the future and we are thrilled with the first edition of Writer’s Bloc, here’s to many more!

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