Black people suffered a lot of injustice throughout history. Although a lot of the oppression was at the hands of people from far away lands; driven by greet, desperation to survive and the insatiable appetite for absolute power. Some of our black brothers were hunted by men in smart coats, with dogs; as though they were foxes in the now illegal foxhunt. Others were sold to slavery, an existence without rights, voice, integrity... and others became involuntary participants in some of the most draconian medical studies this world has ever seen. However, some of the pain and torture was self-inflicted; our own xenophobic, egotistic and self-serving tendency put our own in harm’s way. From the notorious black slave traders to the evil men that tried to eliminate whole ethnicities in a frenzy of satanic hatred.
It is black history month; a month that is meant to celebrate our progress through the ages as a people; our origins in Africa and the continent Africa itself. Africa has a violated past, a violent present and, unless we do something about it, a violent and violated future. With the echoes of slave trade, colonisation and ethnical cleansing still ringing in their ear, and a host of isms to deal with; racism, nepotism, tribalism, to name but a few… and a bleak vision of indecisive leadership, corruption inherent with the system and a host of other unsavoury attributes to the word Africa.
What we need is 2 generations more of selfless leaders – the kind who would sacrifice themselves if they felt they were not good for Africa’s ultimate future… those who would not be bribes a few million dollars in exchange for trillions of dollars worth of African resources, resources that could take Africa out of the begging hole to become a world financier and donor. Leaders who will respect the rule of law and the will and spirit of the people and their constitution; who will not impose military discipline on civilians but use military precision to create a wholesome and holistic system that serves the people, feeds the people and protects the people. Leaders with real insight into the way the world works; able to negotiate on equal footing as the powers of the world; and not overwhelmed by the celebrity or colour of the leaders they are at table with.
In the past we have had leaders who selflessly gave up their future to create the possibility of the African dream; the dream to wake up from a restful night, make breakfast for the children, send them to school and go to work…where you aspire to be the manager and are given equal opportunity to do so (regardless of the fact that you have no relation to people of any consequence.) To come back from work and either go to a prayer meeting or go to the local bar for one or two… watch TV and then go to bed. It’s a simple existence, but one with such sweetness…. To be able to choose one’s leaders without fear of prosecution and to have those leaders answerable to the people who voted for them would be ideal. To be measured according to one’s performance and results rather than the colour of skin or the tribe from which they come; their religion or race…. They fought for this and sacrificed their lives, their careers and indeed their blood, sweat and tears. The next generation of leaders should give up all anticipation of amassing wealth for their coffers and sacrifice that for Africa.
Many people argue that the West raped, pillaged and enslaved us and that is how they bought their development. This is true; but should this keep us shackled for eternity? Can we not as a people show the world how to develop without destroying other thriving civilisations and without obliterating the environment that sustains us? Will we not be known as the continent that build without crushing; healed without killing; fed without enslaving?? I believe that this is a possibility; and Africa has the heart to pull it off.
We are a large continent with vast resources; industrious people and the world’s best weather. If we can unite as a people; find one language, pool our resources and synergy our ideas, we will progress fast enough to be a world leader in the next forty years. Let us invest our resources to finance the development of our people, our infrastructure and our world. Our children are key; if we can educate every one of them; give them life skills, then we would have made progress and put them in positions of equal interaction with the international community. Support every child, give them the chance to take Africa where our forefathers and even ourselves never dreamt of. WE ARE AFRICA!!!
AFR Clothing
From DC to Slovakia, From Honduras to Zimbabwe - AFR is Educating AFRica one shirt at a Time
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
AFR Clothing & Miss Senegal USA 2010 Partner to Help Orphans
AFR Clothing in conjunction with Miss Senegal USA 2010, Matel Sow, and Plan International West Africa are proud to announce their fundraising campaign for Senegal. AFR Clothing has partnered with Miss Senegal USA 2010 to raise funds for Senegalese orphans that Plan International West Africa takes care of. Miss Sow will be organizing various fundraising efforts in the Chicago area and AFR Clothing will be providing the apparel with Plan International - West Africa being the beneficiary. The funds will go towards educating these orphans. Plan International West Africa is an NGO working to improve the lives of children in Senegal and around the world.
Senegal is one of West Africa's most popular destinations. The capital Dakar is a vibrant, lively city with colorful markets, plenty of hustlers and good nightclubs. Senegal is culturally rich, famous for its excellent musicians – Akon is a prime example. There are fine beaches, pretty colonial towns, lagoons and rivers to explore and much more.
In addition to being Miss Senegal USA 2010, Matel Sow is also a Peace Ambassador who is more than honored to represent her country. Sow is currently a student at the University of Chicago, double majoring in International Studies and Public Policy, and minoring in Human Rights. She is very interested in developmental issues - especially in Africa - as well issues related to women and children. Having spent last summer in Senegal teaching English to local youths, and volunteering at a woman's center in Dakar, Sow believes that women are the backbone of Africa. Sow is quoted saying, “They are mothers, teachers, doctors, spouses, cooks, nurses, caregivers and the list goes on…so, we must empower these women so that they can in turn contribute to the development of Africa.” It is such a vision that led her to be selected as the West African Ambassador for AFR Clothing. Such initiatives are what AFR Clothing is all about – our mission is to spread the love in AFRica and our vision is to donate to 53 charities in 53 AFRican countries by 2020. This campaign makes it 3 charities in 3 AFRican countries – with Ndoro Children’s Charities in Zimbabwe and NOAH in South Africa preceding.
Kingstone Matsekeza, Co-Founder of AFR Clothing said “I am very excited about our new campaign with the gorgeous Miss Senegal USA 2010, Matel Sow. Her involvement with AFR Clothing proves that her beauty originates far deeper than the skin; it is beauty within. There is a lot of work we need to do and together we will educate AFRica; one shirt at a time.” Nelson Mandela once said: "Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world." Let's utilize this weapon and help change Africa. Let’s Spread the Love in AFRica.
Senegal is one of West Africa's most popular destinations. The capital Dakar is a vibrant, lively city with colorful markets, plenty of hustlers and good nightclubs. Senegal is culturally rich, famous for its excellent musicians – Akon is a prime example. There are fine beaches, pretty colonial towns, lagoons and rivers to explore and much more.
In addition to being Miss Senegal USA 2010, Matel Sow is also a Peace Ambassador who is more than honored to represent her country. Sow is currently a student at the University of Chicago, double majoring in International Studies and Public Policy, and minoring in Human Rights. She is very interested in developmental issues - especially in Africa - as well issues related to women and children. Having spent last summer in Senegal teaching English to local youths, and volunteering at a woman's center in Dakar, Sow believes that women are the backbone of Africa. Sow is quoted saying, “They are mothers, teachers, doctors, spouses, cooks, nurses, caregivers and the list goes on…so, we must empower these women so that they can in turn contribute to the development of Africa.” It is such a vision that led her to be selected as the West African Ambassador for AFR Clothing. Such initiatives are what AFR Clothing is all about – our mission is to spread the love in AFRica and our vision is to donate to 53 charities in 53 AFRican countries by 2020. This campaign makes it 3 charities in 3 AFRican countries – with Ndoro Children’s Charities in Zimbabwe and NOAH in South Africa preceding.
Kingstone Matsekeza, Co-Founder of AFR Clothing said “I am very excited about our new campaign with the gorgeous Miss Senegal USA 2010, Matel Sow. Her involvement with AFR Clothing proves that her beauty originates far deeper than the skin; it is beauty within. There is a lot of work we need to do and together we will educate AFRica; one shirt at a time.” Nelson Mandela once said: "Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world." Let's utilize this weapon and help change Africa. Let’s Spread the Love in AFRica.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Hot African Potato; how some families in Africa educate their own
Taona and Tafara help each other as the shiny car made its way to the front of the house.
A sizeable gathering had enveloped their house; women in the house, wailing and irrigating the green carpet with their tears. Clad in Chitenges, with matching headgear, the senior aunts of the family sang a lament that rent every heart that heard it. “Muka, Mavis, tinamate... Muka Mavis, tinamate....” Wake up, Mavis, let us pray... Wake up, Mavis, let us pray.... Although Mavis was in the bedroom, and the ladies sang loudly enough to wake her up, she was beyond prayer now; life had oozed out of her body over a pain-staking 5 months. She was gone. Her husband had gone before her... probably to sort out the gardening and check the plumbing of their house in the promised city of gold. Today was not Mavis’ death day... no, that had happened three days ago. Today was her burial. However, in Africa, one is not truly dead until they are buried.
The wailing women were sat in the living room and along the hallway of the house in Mabelreign. They took turns to start hymns and confess their loss. Every new arrival to the funeral had to walk through the living room to pass their condolences. “Nematambudziko....” With great grief.... That was how it was said, the condolence. While the new arrivals were greeting everyone else, the women in the room would be lamenting quietly, but as soon as they reached tete Tanya all the floodgates were open. You see, Tanya was Mavis’ twin sister, the remnant of a generation of the Venhamo’s that had suffered great loss recently. In a year they had buried four and the fifth was on her way to earth’s loving womb. This was the cue for the women to resume their mourning.
Once past the circuit of crying women, the males were allowed to retreat to the bonfire outside, where the other men were. The atmosphere here was alien to that inside the house. The men were drinking opaque beer and talking about everything; women, life, politics, work, children... everything but Mavis, her death and the children. Sekuru Tobi was the loudest; even daring to share jokes on such a melancholic day. The men all drank from the same pot, frequently ordering the youngest among them to go into the house to top up the pot when the beer was finished. Poor Mukoma Tapera would have to navigate the treacherous circuit of crying women with his head hung low meekly. He probably drank the least, yet did all the top-ups. He is today’s bus-boy; but grateful for it. Tete Tanya adopted him after his parents tragically died in a car crash. She paid his school fees, levy, clothed and fed him. He is due to complete his O’levels at night school this year. The 24 year old young man wishes to be a mechanic.
There was another fire at the other side of the house. This one was not the bonfire of festivities like the men’s one. It was another wailing headquarters. There was a large tripod pot on the fire, with off-white maize meal bubbling away as the women prepared sadza. Occasionally, Mukoma Tapera would be asked to be the men’s emissary to the sadza. Tapera asked the women who were crying and cooking when they would finish. Tete Chemai said that they were nearly done; just waiting for the salt for soda to put in the pumpkin leaf pot and then they would thicken the sadza and serve. Tapera then asked about the children, to which Chemai said they would be served after everyone else as there were not enough plates, and the car was scheduled to arrive in two hours. The children were all playing in the other bedroom; forbidden to enter the main bedroom where Mavis’s body lay.
Just then, the gate was opened again and a green Ford Laser rolled into the yard. This was not the car everyone was waiting for. It was Takura’s car. Takura was Mavis’ cousin. He was a mechanic at a local garage. He lived in Chitungwiza in a two-bedroomed house with his wife, four kids and at least seven other relatives. Takura tried hard to look after his family, but tragedy struck time and again in the extended family and his boughs could not support all their weight. At night, Takura and his wife would sleep on the bed; with his youngest two daughters would sleep on the floor of their bedroom. All four male cousins shared the tiny boys bedroom with Tendai, Takura’s firstborn. The girls had two rooms, the modest living room and the kitchen, which, after cleaning, they would put the chairs on top of the table to create more room. Supporting such a large family was a burden that Takura responsibly tackled. He offered no luxury; not even to himself, but guaranteed two meal a day. Bread for tea and dinner.
Takura took off his hat and entered the house, with hat under arm and hands together. This stance enabled him to avoid greeting everyone in the room. A nod would suffice. Except for tete Tanya, who required a handshake, hug and tears. Takura then proceeded to the main bedroom where his beloved cousin lay. He knew immediately that the family had lost a mother and there would be great shifts. Mavis used to give him some money to help the household. She also housed 9 others in the house she rented; this house. This meant 11 more family to try and house, feed and school. This was beyond the family’s budget, so some would have to be let go; perhaps to the local orphanages or to the rural areas where the granduncles and grandaunts may look after them.
There is an old Shona saying that, loosely translated, goes, “An orphan will feast and have plenty on the day their mother dies.” The saying is more subtle than the obvious irony that can be milked from looking at it at first glance; for we all know that many orphans live deprived lives. During the funeral, many family members promised to assist Taona and Tafara, Mavis’ children. None of the adults committed to caring for the children, and none could afford to take them on. Mavis had not written a will, trusting her relatives’ sense of duty to care for her children when she would pass away. The uncles and aunts who lived with Taona and Tafara would have to move out of the house as they were all in school still, painfully funded by Mavis’ every penny. Some would find jobs, others go to the rural areas, and some of the aunties would have to find husbands as a matter of urgency. Such is life when the lifeline loses its life.
Mavis did not have much in her life; she had invested a lot of her money into helping the family. Countless uncles, aunts, etcetera, had passed through her house and moved on. None of them came back to help, although they knew perfectly how she had selflessly sacrificed her life for their betterment. At least 21 people had got through to their O’Levels at her expense. Every Takura owed his modest survival to her; for she took him from Bocha, where he was herding another uncle’s cattle, and paid for his primary and secondary education. It broke Takura’s heart that he would not be able to assist Taona and Tafara in the way their mother assisted him. By giving him education, she had given him a genuine shot at a life that he would have a decent job in; options, possibilities. It was not a ticket to great wealth, but a ticket out of great poverty.
The tragedy was that Taona and Tafara were both brilliant scholars; top of the class since records began. Would anyone care, and would anyone give them the chance to continue with education; perhaps a scholarship... anything.... They are probably the most promising of the family, but the loss of their parents has threatened their own potential in life and stunned their growth and hope to establish themselves.
(Although the characters in this story are imaginary, the situation they face is a microcosm of the lives that many Africans experience. It is our desire to guarantee the education of every African child, and continual support until they can fend for themselves. A lot of charities operate in Africa, but they have been criticising for not doing enough. We feel that they are doing their best but need people who can help them raise money for their causes. We will send a child in Africa to school for a term with every shirt purchased. Look Good While Doing Good.)
Kingstone Matsekeza is an Actuarial Science Graduate from the University of Kent . He heads the UK group of Authentic Fashion Renaissance.
A sizeable gathering had enveloped their house; women in the house, wailing and irrigating the green carpet with their tears. Clad in Chitenges, with matching headgear, the senior aunts of the family sang a lament that rent every heart that heard it. “Muka, Mavis, tinamate... Muka Mavis, tinamate....” Wake up, Mavis, let us pray... Wake up, Mavis, let us pray.... Although Mavis was in the bedroom, and the ladies sang loudly enough to wake her up, she was beyond prayer now; life had oozed out of her body over a pain-staking 5 months. She was gone. Her husband had gone before her... probably to sort out the gardening and check the plumbing of their house in the promised city of gold. Today was not Mavis’ death day... no, that had happened three days ago. Today was her burial. However, in Africa, one is not truly dead until they are buried.
The wailing women were sat in the living room and along the hallway of the house in Mabelreign. They took turns to start hymns and confess their loss. Every new arrival to the funeral had to walk through the living room to pass their condolences. “Nematambudziko....” With great grief.... That was how it was said, the condolence. While the new arrivals were greeting everyone else, the women in the room would be lamenting quietly, but as soon as they reached tete Tanya all the floodgates were open. You see, Tanya was Mavis’ twin sister, the remnant of a generation of the Venhamo’s that had suffered great loss recently. In a year they had buried four and the fifth was on her way to earth’s loving womb. This was the cue for the women to resume their mourning.
Once past the circuit of crying women, the males were allowed to retreat to the bonfire outside, where the other men were. The atmosphere here was alien to that inside the house. The men were drinking opaque beer and talking about everything; women, life, politics, work, children... everything but Mavis, her death and the children. Sekuru Tobi was the loudest; even daring to share jokes on such a melancholic day. The men all drank from the same pot, frequently ordering the youngest among them to go into the house to top up the pot when the beer was finished. Poor Mukoma Tapera would have to navigate the treacherous circuit of crying women with his head hung low meekly. He probably drank the least, yet did all the top-ups. He is today’s bus-boy; but grateful for it. Tete Tanya adopted him after his parents tragically died in a car crash. She paid his school fees, levy, clothed and fed him. He is due to complete his O’levels at night school this year. The 24 year old young man wishes to be a mechanic.
There was another fire at the other side of the house. This one was not the bonfire of festivities like the men’s one. It was another wailing headquarters. There was a large tripod pot on the fire, with off-white maize meal bubbling away as the women prepared sadza. Occasionally, Mukoma Tapera would be asked to be the men’s emissary to the sadza. Tapera asked the women who were crying and cooking when they would finish. Tete Chemai said that they were nearly done; just waiting for the salt for soda to put in the pumpkin leaf pot and then they would thicken the sadza and serve. Tapera then asked about the children, to which Chemai said they would be served after everyone else as there were not enough plates, and the car was scheduled to arrive in two hours. The children were all playing in the other bedroom; forbidden to enter the main bedroom where Mavis’s body lay.
Just then, the gate was opened again and a green Ford Laser rolled into the yard. This was not the car everyone was waiting for. It was Takura’s car. Takura was Mavis’ cousin. He was a mechanic at a local garage. He lived in Chitungwiza in a two-bedroomed house with his wife, four kids and at least seven other relatives. Takura tried hard to look after his family, but tragedy struck time and again in the extended family and his boughs could not support all their weight. At night, Takura and his wife would sleep on the bed; with his youngest two daughters would sleep on the floor of their bedroom. All four male cousins shared the tiny boys bedroom with Tendai, Takura’s firstborn. The girls had two rooms, the modest living room and the kitchen, which, after cleaning, they would put the chairs on top of the table to create more room. Supporting such a large family was a burden that Takura responsibly tackled. He offered no luxury; not even to himself, but guaranteed two meal a day. Bread for tea and dinner.
Takura took off his hat and entered the house, with hat under arm and hands together. This stance enabled him to avoid greeting everyone in the room. A nod would suffice. Except for tete Tanya, who required a handshake, hug and tears. Takura then proceeded to the main bedroom where his beloved cousin lay. He knew immediately that the family had lost a mother and there would be great shifts. Mavis used to give him some money to help the household. She also housed 9 others in the house she rented; this house. This meant 11 more family to try and house, feed and school. This was beyond the family’s budget, so some would have to be let go; perhaps to the local orphanages or to the rural areas where the granduncles and grandaunts may look after them.
There is an old Shona saying that, loosely translated, goes, “An orphan will feast and have plenty on the day their mother dies.” The saying is more subtle than the obvious irony that can be milked from looking at it at first glance; for we all know that many orphans live deprived lives. During the funeral, many family members promised to assist Taona and Tafara, Mavis’ children. None of the adults committed to caring for the children, and none could afford to take them on. Mavis had not written a will, trusting her relatives’ sense of duty to care for her children when she would pass away. The uncles and aunts who lived with Taona and Tafara would have to move out of the house as they were all in school still, painfully funded by Mavis’ every penny. Some would find jobs, others go to the rural areas, and some of the aunties would have to find husbands as a matter of urgency. Such is life when the lifeline loses its life.
Mavis did not have much in her life; she had invested a lot of her money into helping the family. Countless uncles, aunts, etcetera, had passed through her house and moved on. None of them came back to help, although they knew perfectly how she had selflessly sacrificed her life for their betterment. At least 21 people had got through to their O’Levels at her expense. Every Takura owed his modest survival to her; for she took him from Bocha, where he was herding another uncle’s cattle, and paid for his primary and secondary education. It broke Takura’s heart that he would not be able to assist Taona and Tafara in the way their mother assisted him. By giving him education, she had given him a genuine shot at a life that he would have a decent job in; options, possibilities. It was not a ticket to great wealth, but a ticket out of great poverty.
The tragedy was that Taona and Tafara were both brilliant scholars; top of the class since records began. Would anyone care, and would anyone give them the chance to continue with education; perhaps a scholarship... anything.... They are probably the most promising of the family, but the loss of their parents has threatened their own potential in life and stunned their growth and hope to establish themselves.
(Although the characters in this story are imaginary, the situation they face is a microcosm of the lives that many Africans experience. It is our desire to guarantee the education of every African child, and continual support until they can fend for themselves. A lot of charities operate in Africa, but they have been criticising for not doing enough. We feel that they are doing their best but need people who can help them raise money for their causes. We will send a child in Africa to school for a term with every shirt purchased. Look Good While Doing Good.)
Kingstone Matsekeza is an Actuarial Science Graduate from the University of Kent . He heads the UK group of Authentic Fashion Renaissance.
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