*I have a camera. I like taking pictures. Here are some of photographs from my recent life stuff.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
Kirby Kaptures: Burning Man/Life Afterwards #SuperLatePost
Tag: Black men
For him
What were you wearing
when this happened to you?
Where were you going?
You know it ain’t safe
to walk around here
at night.
Did you provoke him?
Give him reason to believe
that you wanted what you got.
Did you speak
when you should have
remained silent?
Give him too much lip?
Were you walking too fast?
Not fast enough?
If you had only slowed down
to allow him to catch up,
the conversation
could have been had.
But now,
the situation is out of control.
What were you wearing?
And did you put it on
knowing that people
who dress like that
get treated like this?
And yet,
you still put it on.
So you accepted the risk
of what was to come.
You can’t hold him
responsible for what he’s done.
We do not put heroes in jail.
If they didn’t want to get shot,
they shouldn’t have been born
Black and male.
You can’t wear a dark hoodie
on a dark night
and have dark skin.
Let’s lay fault
at the victim’s feet
as we lay him to rest.
Being born.
Listed as the cause of death.
© 12 June 2017
On the outside, looking in
The year was 2011. I had purchased a roundtrip ticket from Washington, DC to Cape Town, South Africa. I would be vacationing in southern Africa for almost a month. I wanted to do all there was to do, and see all there was to see. While crossing a border (either from Mozambique to Swaziland, or Swaziland to South Africa), I started talking with one of the other passengers on the bus as we waited for everyone to clear customs and immigration. He asked me where I was from and if this was my first time in Africa. I told him that it was my first time, and that I lived in DC. He, a Mozambican working in South Africa, went on to ask me how Africa was treating me. I let him know that I was enjoying my time and that everyone had been very welcoming and kind. His response has stayed with me, and probably will forever. He expressed happiness that Africa had been so welcoming. He told me that I was always welcome here, and that any family or friends would welcomed just as warmly across the continent. Wow!
Fast forward to now. October 2016. I live in southern Africa. In Swaziland, on the border with South Africa. I have been asked family, friends, and locals if I’m scared, or worried, being so far away from home. I’m not. When I actually reflect on the state of affairs around the globe (especially in the US), I’m actually worried to return to the US. I’m a burly, bearded 30-something Black man, and I have feared and would fear for my safety in various parts of the US much more than here in Swaziland.
Last year, as riots filled the streets of Baltimore (a 40 minute drive north of DC), I watched news coverage from my living room. People were fed up with another Black man dying at the hands of law enforcement officers. That evening, I received a text message from my brother saying, “Stay safe. It’s only a matter of time before the revolution makes down there (to DC).” Since I left the US in June, there have been even more Black people to die at the hands of law enforcement. There aren’t the same massive protests that seemed commonplace even a year ago when Black people were killed by law enforcement. I doubt that the protests can keep up with the shootings. As I write this, I think about that text message from my brother. I think about sending him a similar message. It’s a strange dichotomy. Some family and friends fear for my safety here in Swaziland, while I have similar fears for their respective safety across the US.
In contrast to the many law enforcement shootings at home, I feel really safe, warm, and welcomed here in Swaziland. This is the country that has been called one of the friendliest in Africa. I’ve only seen one police officer with a firearm, and that was weird to see. The biggest fear of crime against me that I have here is being robbed or having something stolen, which is miniscule compared to my worries about speaking siSwati more fluently and being understood.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
Monday in a Picture – Sibhimbi
Recently, I was fortunate to attend an event in my community known as Sibhimbi (pronounced see-bim-bee). This is the installation ceremony of a new chief. It’s a really big deal. Most of the people in my chiefdom (community) were there, and people even came from far away for the all day event. The king sends a representative from the royal family. It’s huge.
The week leading up to the Sibhimbi, I noticed that infrastructure was being arranged for something big. Large trucks worked to ensure that the gravel roads were level. School children took time away from school to remove trash from the side of the road. I was urged by community elders to make sure I was present at this event. One of the teachers at the high school explained all of the fanfare surrounding this event. He told me that these events rarely happen. He shared that he had never been to one in his life. He’s almost 40 years old!
He explained that once a chief dies, the position of chief typically passes to the eldest son. While the new chief may govern the chiefdom (unofficially) for years, it isn’t until the Sibhimbi that the new chief becomes official. Because there are so many people and resources involved, it can take years to organize. It is at this event that the new chief gets his late father’s shield, among other items. The Sibhimbi involves much singing, dancing and eating. For this occasion, at least 18 cows were slaughtered. This is in addition to all of chickens.
In the picture above, several men from my community sing and dance in full traditional dress to celebrate the installation of the new chief.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
What is Kirby Doing?: Stories from life after Peace Corps eSwatini 