BOTSWANAN versus MOTSWANA

So there's been something on my mind lately, its just a small thing that doesn't take long to rectify but it keeps happening to me over and over, and so I'm putting it in 'print' so the universe can hear me.

There is no such thing as a Botswanan or Botswanian or Botswanese person. Yes shocking I know but its true. The thing with Setswana (the language spoken by Batswana) is that we are big on changing the prefix (maybe its more of a cranberry_morpheme than prefix but its at the beginning so lets not get academic for now) rather than attaching/changing the suffix (except maybe when we are dealing with the diminutive form to convey smallness or endearment). Its a very important distinction for us linguistically because the 'prefix' is often the primary way one can differentiate whether you are making reference to a person or an animal/thing. So here goes

Citizen of Botswana is Motswana (singular) Batswana (plural)
National language is Setswana - although there are various dialects as well as numerous other languages for example I being (n)Kalanga also speak iKalanga which is much closer to the Zimbabwean family of Shona languages than it is to Setswana.

The prefix 'mo' is found in motho (person/human being), mosadi (woman), monna (man), mosetsana (girl), mosimane (boy), morutabana (teacher) versus the 'se' Setswana (the language), setlhako (shoe), setlhare (tree) you see where I'm going with this prefixmania

So when airport officials look at my passport and say with utter conviction "Oh you are Botswanan", I'm not quite sure what to feel.Half out a fear of antagonising someone in a position of power in a legal no-man's-land I usually just smile, and mutter to myself after I get the entry visa. I generally try not to make a fuss, after all sometimes I say things like khaman! (which is a bastardised take on the English exclamation/phrase - come on) when things either go my way or they don't, you kind of have to read the emotion on my face to figure out which one it is. But should this Motswana yell at you randomly one day, just remember its been a long time coming its not you its my frustration with our tendency to bend towards universal templates. Just don't say I never tried to tell you how it was...

Murxen in G minor (a work in progress)

For some it is the music

Or the words, never both

For you who are everything

just enough bread in place of a carrot

to leave the chord hungered past caring

for any kind of sustenance

that does not begin and end

with the taunting call of drum and night

the keening  jaw of wounded beast

wanting at the mouth

I want to be the narrow tip tapping incessantly at sound’s surface

The rustling dip and stop of an empty stomach

filled with nothing but itself

The moment just before

the rest of your body realizes

how air rises around a falling plane

the ground reaching up fractured fingertips to touch

you, who are some lost and found song’s Icarus-sound

I watched your fisted knuckles drag and triple trap

the breath snared between wrist and rim

the quiet howling of heat caught between a missing beat

and ribs that still feel like a sudden cage

of broken rhythms

poetry is music

The Harare International Festival of the Arts ( HIFA ) is on again this May 1 - 6 in Zimbabwe. My band  sonic-slam-chorus  is on stage, Thursday 9th at the 7 Arts theatre, I'm looking forward to merging poetry with music for this year's set. Remember we don't get to see each other much because almost every member lives in a different country and we are literally spread country across 3 or 4 continents depending what time of the year it is. Thank you email and Skype.

Speaking of poetry and its music, there is a Sunday morning radio show in Botswana that's been on for a number of decades called 'dipina le maboko' quite literally 'music and poetry' and it features a number of the old poets/ folk artists who almost always merged music with their poetry. In a sense, for them, you couldn't really claim to separate the two, and instruments like the 'segaba' - a kind of home made violin, and 'setinkane' popularly known by its Zimbabwean name Mbira/thumb piano were a big part of the poetry performances. I say performance because traditionally the poet would have gone out of his way to wear some sort of special leather attire fashioned just this purpose and perhaps carry a horse-tail whisk and deliver his poetry in quite a vocally dramatic manner, accompanied by a woman whose duty was to 'cheer' him, or the poem, on through ululating each time he encouraged her through pauses or instruction to do so. In addition to this he (to begin with women would not have been allowed to recite poetry on public platforms, rather they were expected to tell folk stories to children around the evening fire - thank progress for the current inclusiveness of the craft now) at any rate, the poet would never write the poems down, simply composing them in his head until he had them just right or much like some modern day rappers compose the poem as he went along in front of his audience.There are still a number of poets who honour this tradition and it is quite a thing to behold.

Me, I like to sit with the words on a page first. And then find a stage. And if the story leaves room for the music to rise above the words, then we can talk. Hope to see you in Harare.