Johannesburg,South Africa: and a tale of change and images

It feels different somehow. Johannesburg.  It's been years since I've been here but I used to live next door in Namibia, and so South Africa was a destination for conferences and vacations.  Everyone talked about the violence back then.  About the gated compounds and safe rooms and car jackings.  There was a kind of tension in the air -- a low level alert, a static electricity that wouldn't go away.   As my cab driver pointed out, Those years right after apartheid we didn't know each other.  We just assumed about each other.  And what we assumed wasn't good.  

That suspicion, that worry, that constant looking over the shoulder seems to have dissipated.  It's easier now.  There's more mixing between people and colors and neighborhoods. Everyone says, Oh, it's much better now.  Much better.  And it seems, really, to be.

I've been working and working.  But a few photos I've taken.

**************************************

PS If you read this blog from time to time, please, please like it on Facebook here. I'd so appreciate it:-)

Bamako, Mali: and a tale of the witchdoctor's assistant

His father had named him Gauche, as in "Left" in French.  I wondered if Gauche was left-handed but didn't ask -- it was a commonly held belief that those left handed were bad luck.  But perhaps his father was able to turn Gauche's luck around.  You see his father was a Malian witch doctor and Gauche, himself, was a purveyor of magical goods.  It was all there -- the skins and bones and hooves and claws -- in his, ahem, pungent shop in Bamako. 

I asked Gauche if he had "the gift" -- if he knew the secrets.  He said that his father had told him a few things but not many.  Magic was powerful, after all and black magic, in particular, was dangerous -- it could hurt someone, or even kill them.  His father had said he would reveal more to Gauche later, when he was sure that his son would use the information responsibly and when Gauche became enlightened with the gift.  Until then, Guache was tucking the information away.  Away for one day, when he was the witch doctor, not his father....

And now...for some magic.....

If you want to make someone fall in love with you or listen to you, place your gris-gris (voodoo amulet) inside the head of a crocodile.

Cowrie shells have many magical purposes, including for divination.

Beware -- a monkey head can be used to make someone sick or....crazy.  Extract the brain of the hyena to ensure prosperity.  Put fur from a rabbit's head in hot water or tea and inhale the vapor to treat headaches.  Rabbit vapor is also helpful for treating children's bloody noses.

Use the teeth of bats to help children suffering during teething.
.  

if you want to ensure that your fields are fertile, place your gris-gris inside the head of a wild dog and bury it on your land. 

Turtle shells can be ground and used to "treat" adulterous women.

PS  Be wary of the leg bones of ostriches.  They can be used to make someone leave and never come back.....

Bamako, Mali: and a tale of the witchdoctor's market

Oh, I seem ordinary, rationale, why, nearly scientific.  I base my decisions on facts, just the facts, only the facts.  But perhaps that is just a cover.  Because, you see, underneath it all lies a pocket filled with talismans and a heart filled with magic.  {Did I mention a past replete with visits to witch doctors, attendance at African exorcisms, the reading of palms and auras, and true encounters with genies and the evil eye? }

I confess my fascination, my rapacious curiosity for all that is unexplained and inexplicable.  And my attraction to mysteries seemingly solved only by magic -- whether white {yes, please} or black  {oh no!}.

Oh you, yes, you, believer of men who walk on water and virgin births, or wafers and wine that turn {just like that} into body and blood....  And you, yes, you, believer in horoscopes and wishes on stars, with worries of black cats or broken mirrors......  And you, yes, you, believer in none of that but plagued by keys that disapppear and then are found, why..... just there -- where you are quite sure, you just looked.  Yes, I'm talking about you.....I beg you, don't judge me too harshly.  I make no claim to higher elected office or positions requiring congressional clearance, and so I can explain my visit {if you must know} to the purveyor of goods for witchdoctors and mystical healers in Bamako, Mali. 

It is there that you'll find the odd, the strange, the horrid, and the frankly just shocking .....The skins and bones, the teeth and claws.  And gasp, yes, the heads. {You see, the spells and incantations of magic and sorcery are hungry, so hungry for that and much more.} 

Yes, there's more, much more......Because tomorrow a tale of the Malian witchdoctor's assistant and what is actually done with these magical goods.  Want to make him fall in love......? Want to earn more money?  Or simply want to stop your headache?  I have the magical solutions to those issues and  more.  

Tomorrow, yes......tomorrow.  Come prepared with a paper and pen {and please, tell no one.....}

{And just like that, in a puff of smoke or a cloud of words.....she was gone}

The Fez Sacred Music Festival 2013: a tale of gospel and Oh! A Happy Day

It was under a big dark Moroccan sky.  It was under a Fez arch hundreds of years old.  It was there they came...the Zulus.  

They were called the Ladysmith Red Lions and they were from South Africa.

The Lion Zulus came to dance and they came to sing at the Fez  Festival of World Sacred Music. They sang of many things. But mostly they sang of Jesus.

Soon on the stage was  Leanne Faine from Chicago.  Her voice was deep and raspy.  And she belted out songs like a woman on fire.  

She, too, sang of Jesus.

As did Leanne's ensemble band.

And then from California came Butterscotch.  She didn't really sing at all but beat-boxed.  I think {but I can't be sure} that she, too, was inspired by Jesus.

And then something happened.  

Leanne was joined by the Zulu Lions........

And by the beatboxing Butterscotch........

And they all sang gospel together.

{That sort of thing happens at the Fez Festival of World Sacred Music.}

Now I must confess....I never sing about Jesus.  Ever.  But I was on my feet, my hands clapping, and yes, singing about Jesus.  And another thing.....the Moroccan Muslims to my left and to my right {and behind me and in front of me}, I would wager that they never sing about Jesus either.  But they were on their feet, too.  And we were all singing.....

Oh happy day (oh happy day) 
When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed) 
Washed my sins away (oh happy day) 

And for a moment, it really didn't matter what we all believed and what separated us.  And it really was.....a happy day.  And a happy night.