It was a Friday, and Sphokie said that Nompumelelo had something to tell us in the evening, so after shooting we went back to her place carrying a bit of fear and liquor as an offering with us.
There was a ceremony happening with several people dancing and singing.
At the door, we were given the red, black and white Xhosa cloth to tie around our waists (the women only of course).
Africans are a highly decorated kind. In the way they adorn themselves, their rhythmic movements, and cosmic connections. Generating innate polarity between the light and its shadow, sometimes mistaken for wickedness but may be the visual representation of the sweetest taboo.
Blessings come easiest when the beneficiary is open to their dose of truth and obscurities.
Take down your medicine. To decline is not an option when a pair of sorcerous hands are placed at your mouth in suggestion to feed. You eat.
When the beckoning elder summons you to follow her smoke trail, using the bend of your body through the waves of the drums and to set yourself on your knees beside her; there is no choice to make, because there was no invitation.
If your lungs are being cradled to sleep by what you think is the smoke that guided you, let it be known that it was the hospitality in you, that facilitated the entrance into you.
The entrance into YOU.
En-trance into YOU.
In trance into YOU.
And then an uprooting.