A Letter to My Brother(s).
Hello,
I know this will not find you well. I hope it finds you. I hope it finds you and extracts you from your taught smallness. I hope it finds you and lifts you from the intellectual dumps they hid you when your life, and aliveness, and way of living, became academic. I hope it finds you and reminds you of a language that you have forgotten to speak, a language that lies waiting in the forgotten recesses of your troubled mind. I hope it finds you alive and willing to be well in these unprecedented times where being both alive and well is a waking dream. I hope this letter finds YOU.
First, to the brothers turning fourteen, unlearn everything you are, everything you have seen, everything you have learnt. Destroy it all and face the abyss. You are not allowed to fall into the abyss screaming and raving about your unfortunate misfortune. No! Stare at the abyss and let it stare back. You might lose this contest (at) this time, but I promise, you learn to call the abyss by its name and it respects you for that. This will be one of the first contests you lose. Do not let it (the loss, the maddening feel of loss, both) shame you, for unlearning, learning, and re-learning is shameful, hurtful, and downright disorienting. You have, like the Muslimah does, to find a quiet corner of the sanctuary, find your Qibla, and praise whoever it is you pray to, for this experience. However, you are not to veil your face. You are not to hide any parts of you. You are not to hide your struggle. You are not to cower behind bigger men for whom life is a box of matches, kerosene, and an inclination to burn doors into spaces they will not be let into. Your struggle must, and will inspire others. Be! Be. Remember to be careful of men masquerading as father figures. They are bound to create models of themselves — cheap copies, Ken dolls, dogs that chase after cars. Be! Be. And should you find yourself in a position to mentor, shift the Zeitgeist. Teach that it is okay to be confused and lost. Teach that it is okay to treat our women with respect. Teach that it is okay to question everything. Teach that it is okay to have a few incomplete answers for complicated questions. Teach that is okay to love yourself before you love the world. Teach that it is okay to preach wine, now and then, and drink water. Teach that the vice versa is also true. Teach the men and the boys that look unto you for guidance, what it is to teach. Each one must reach one and teach one. Be! Be.
To my brothers that just turned or are turning fifty-four. We expected more of you. We, expected more of the men you became. We became men because we watched you become men and we aped all you did. Our innocence confused your ignorance for bravado and macho. Our innocence confused your apathy for nonchalance. Our innocence, in its own sad way, convinced us your misguided, un-named, un-explored anger for gravitas. We mistook adulthood for maturity. We have paid enough for it. Interestingly, the camel that is we, has chosen to feed on the straw, while our backs continue to be garotted, shot at, spat at, whipped, burdened, and loaded with generational traumas that you did not learn to name, shame, and exorcise. Do better. Be better. Be! Be.
Four decades and four more years of this living thing must feel like a lifetime to you my brothers. You must be worn out from the struggle. You must be losing sight of the goal. You have imbibed on the concoction that capitalism has force fed you. Life has just began to get comfortable. The picket fence, the elitism, the few silver hairs, the extra pocket change, the imported road cage, the Saturday morning brunches, the Sunday morning worship that leads to the Monday morning blues, they must all feel as a dream should feel. You have wanted this your whole life, and you are here now. You are now human. You are, now human! You have lost your passions, childish indulgences, and the desire to see society change. Suddenly you realise you could be one of the Others, after being the other for this long. The slumber is creeping in, and so is the comfort. You want the best for you and yours — let the rest work as hard as you have! Let the rest shuffer and shmile as Fela Kuti would aptly state it. Awaken my brother. We need you. We need as many of you as we can possibly recruit. The machines are chewing us up. We have become fodder for men like you. They grind us, chew us up, and spit none of us out. They consume us whole. We need you brothers. Be! Be.
A quick word to and for my brothers in their 34th year of life — life is a struggle that begins at birth and you must act like it. Recognise your purpose, and shape it into a vision. Purpose can be defeated but a well shaped and defined vision lasts for generations. The goal has never been generational wealth for the few that managed to slip into the system and let it shape them. We have always envisioned a future where we all shape the ideas that define the idea and the eventual moulding of great communal idea, or ideas, into a community defined by a common philosophy that is Ubuntu. I am because we are. You are because I am. Umuntu, ngumuntu, ngabantu. We have collectively appointed you the guardians of this humanity-based future especially for the Blakk Afrikan. You are not to fail us. Be! Be.
Dear twenty-four year old, learn all you can. That’s all we ask of you. Do not be bound by labels, genres, opinion, or by the desire to wade into the murky waters of identity politics. Who you are is not academic. Who you are is not a theory to be debated. Who are you are, can only be defined by who you become. Choose who you are by learning all you can and remember to change who you are as often as you learn and unlearn. Be! Be.
Ujima. Ujamaa. Nia. Kuumba. Imani.
