Ancestral Calls of the Old Shoshong Hills

ANCESTRAL CALLS OF OLD SHOSHONG HiLLS

I was born a traveler between ages and cages

Of this beloved mother earth. I transverse from North to South

Like a dreamer, journeying between the East to the West

Before my days end.

I had a friend

That I had to visit in December, about three years ago, his

Name is Prince,

And the little person in me desired to see the sacred hills;

The old Shoshong hills of ancient kind,

The day was calm but it was Christmas time

For most of our human kind,

The first of my last days I’d spend walking around the hills,

Climbing between patterns of old rocks underneath my feet

For the day’s revelation of the historical mystics,

I’d often sweat as though a runner on a deceptive marathon

But reality unfolded its person before I could reveal my human other,

The path between the rocks led us to a silent stream…

The voice in me uttered in silent wishes,

Quench my thirst

O silent Shoshong stream

Over olden hills of our forefathers gone,

And I shall hold my breath longer

Than the voice to my own shadow…

I could barely hear my silent heart beat

And the person I am told me to be a little stronger

As a servant of art and cultural heritage,

I had to plead with the gods to welcome me in their soils…

For ancestors have the power to refuse me, rebuke me,

And I was a little nervous when I heard a distant sound

Of what seemed to be a cow-horn trumpet behind

The cobwebs. I knew that being at these sacred ruins

To cleanse my being was a tradition. My heart was at peace

As the sun sunk beyond the hills,

We had gathered wild herbs and boiled the green leaves

To heal

Our body kind. We had cooked beans

To feed our hungry beings.

And the music of the wilderness took me

Further to the forbidden land. The land of unknown realities,

As though societies had angered, abandoned and betrayed their ancestral beings

For just a mere soul seeking pursuit, but what soul need I seek?

For my knees trembled when I heard voices from the hills…

The night had come; the new day was born tomorrow.

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Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema

The Voice of a Shadow, 2017