was listening to the whispers of the Lusaka wind

was listening to the whispers of the Lusaka wind and the gentle pounding of the rain against the window. My mind was

 tormented by the ongoing global social-economic and emotional turmoil caused by the COVID19 pandemic that has entered a second wave, leaving a trail of viral destruction in its wake. It feels as if a giant python has gotten hold of greedy mother earth and is slowly crushing and suffocating it before swallowing it whole. The CNN analysts on TV were having a heated debate about Donald Trump and his handling of the electoral loss. It was a shrill monotonous cacophony that sounded like the yodeling yelp of the African fish eagle. I have never quite understood the outgoing US President, whenever he is on TV I get distracted by his well-coiffed mop of hair, strange hand gestures and my imagination of a giant wall across the Mexican border.

The ghosts of Africa's past are always close by, gnawing my soul. Africa has bled throughout its rich history. The fertile and mineral rich soil is drenched with blood, sweat and sorrow. Lost and restless souls are lurking in the shadows, yearning to have their stories told correctly, trying to find their way home across the mighty rivers and valleys so that they can finally rest in peace.

Sara ‘Saartjie’ Baartman (whose Khoisan name was Ssehura) speaks to my conscience. Her story is widely documented by scholars with some slight variations in their accounts. But I wonder, is she resting in peace? According to the South African History Online (SAHO), “Sara ‘Saartjie’ Baartman was born around 1789 at the Gamtoos river in what is now known as the Eastern Cape. She belonged to the cattle-herding Gonaquasub group of the Khoikhoi. Sara grew up on a colonial farm where her family most probably worked as servants. Her mother died when she was two years old and her father, who was a cattle driver, died when she reached adolescence.”

SAHO continues to say that, "Sara married a Khoikhoi man who was a drummer and they had one child together who died shortly after birth. Due to colonial expansion, the Dutch came into conflict with the Khoikhoi. As a result people were gradually absorbed into the labour system. When she was sixteen years old Sara's fiancé was murdered by Dutch colonists. Soon after, she was sold into slavery to a trader named Pieter Willem Cezar, who took her to Cape Town where she became a domestic servant to his brother. It was during this time that she was given the name 'Saartjie', a Dutch diminutive for Sara."

Mere words cannot encapsulate the emotions, the fear, the tears and the hardship that she went through. I wish I could reach back in time and give her a hug and tell her everything will be alright in the end. Historical accounts of her life are cold and devoid of empathy. Her whole life seems knitted together by death, pain and loss, but in some moments I am sure she smiled, laughed, loved, wished, hoped, prayed and dreamt like any other normal human being