One of these rare and powerful individuals is the Moroka of the Pedi Tribe in South Afrika. Moroka means; the traditional rain-making doctor. The Pedi tribe of South Afrika belongs to the Sotho-Tswana major ethnic division. 

Their social structure is organized according to their native principle of Kgoro; that is huts built around a core assembly point. They are farmers and keepers of livestock. Among other tribal languages, the Pedi tribe speak Sepedi as their native tongue.

Commanding the coming of rains from the sky is a ritualistic tradition that has been practised by cultures the world over. The Aborigines of Australia are known to have visited sacred sites within their villages to invoke rain when there had been prolonged periods of drought.

The Native American Indians have a dance ritual they perform which is usually led by the tribe’s spiritual head to bring down rain. In southern Nigeria and northern Ghana, traditional medicine-men and witch-doctors are reported to engage in rituals and customs that cause rainfall.

To wield the power to command rainfall is by inference wielding the power to dictate the flow of the natural cycle, as well as climate conditions. This power belongs most probably to the creator, however, the creator’s essence dwells in all of us and that is the reason why certain individuals who have come to realize the power dwelling within them have been able to use it to their advantage and to the benefit of the community wherein they live.

Among the Pedi tribesmen, if a village is struck by prolonged periods of drought, the village head assembles his most trusted advisors including the Moroka himself. Reasons for the assembly include but not limited to; discussions on causes for the drought, how much in goods and/or money the Moroka would accept in recognition of his services and finally what needs to be done to prevent the future occurrence of another long period of drought.

When the assembly dissolves, what remains to be done is up to the leadership of the Moroka.

The Moroka consults with the deities and ancestors to understand the actual cause of the drought. Usually, among the Pedi tribesmen, it is believed that prolonged droughts are caused by conflicts existing between members of the community, particularly members of the royal family. The Moroka upon discovering the root cause of the drought sets out to resolve it before proceeding with the ritual proper.

The Moroka uses either a sacred horn or an arsenal consisting of; a clay pot, a gourd and a grinding stone to command the coming of rain.

Using the sacred horn, the Moroka says a prayer to the communal ancestors, after which he blows it facing the East. There are occasions when the rains come down immediately after the horn-blowing ritual and in other instances, the rains come down days or sometimes weeks later.

The other ritual practice the Moroka employs in commanding rainfall involves the use of a sacred; clay-pot, gourd and grinding stone. The grinding stone is used to crush some selected herbs and the paste is transferred into the clay-pot. Rainwater is poured into the clay-pot containing the crushed herbs and properly stirred till it froths at the surface. When this is done, the Moroka informs the village head and an assembly of virgin boys and girls.

The virgin boys and girls are led by the elders of the village to pour water from gourds unto the corners of the village, whiles striking the ground with sticks in the process in order to invoke the coming of rain.

After the water-pouring ritual, the virgin boys and girls visit the village corners again chanting; ‘rain’, ‘rain’, ‘rain’! Again, the rains tend to pour instantly, but can also last a few days to weeks even, depending on how effective the rituals were and also as to whether the underlying causes were properly dealt with.

The Moroka of the South Afrikan Pedi Tribe is one who is chosen and nurtured from birth by an elder Moroka to walk the path of a traditional rain-making doctor, and so he seldom fails at his task.

The Afrikan and persons of Afrikan descent in view of this must recognize the power within the heritage entrusted into our hands, and make highly conscious efforts to salvage whatever is left of them so that we can have in possession something of greater value to give unto the ones who are yet to come.

References.

ReShel, A. (2017). The Indigenous Art of Rainmaking. Uplift.

Semenya, K. D. (2013). The Making and Prevention of Rain amongst the Pedi Tribe of South Africa: A Pastoral Response. Herv. teol. stud. Vol 69 (1).

South African History Online. Pedi.

‘Mbongi’ is the Kikongo (a language spoken in Congo) word that connotes the coming together of a community to dig up and conscientiously address the problems and challenges that the community in question may be faced with, in a humane and most importantly, an Afrocentric manner; a manner that is inuring to the benefit of each man, woman and child within the Afrikan community. This is the highest essence of that misplaced concept Afrikan states have now referred to as ‘Democracy’.

“Modern Afrika is often a stranger to itself, its so-called institutions are alien to it. The national economic disease spreading to many Afrikan states is not of Afrikan in origin. It is a disease generated by alien economic systems blindly adopted or being adopted by Afrikan leaders who have never sat inside an Afrikan ‘Mbongi’; a truly indigenous political institution.” – Fu-Kiau Kimbwandende Kia Bunseki.

The system of government referred to as ‘Democracy’ being practiced by majority of Afrikan states is a misplaced system which can best be described as a square peg in a round hole; the square peg being ‘Democracy’, and the round hole being those Afrikan states whose system of government and consequent socio-cultural organization rests on it.

The fundamental underpinnings of modern ‘Democracy’ within Afrika take on the forms of organizing periodic political elections to put some self-acclaimed ‘leaders’ in power, as to whether they qualify or not given the portfolios they strive to occupy, how can that be ascertained? 

There are usually two or more political parties involved in such political run for political power and as has been evident since it was instituted, only one of the contesting parties emerge ‘victorious’, whatever that means; for victory is not earned when a society is divided against each other on the grounds of ‘Democracy’ and the politicking mechanism associated with it. The political party whose campaign policies and campaign strategies prove ‘effective’ emerge as the ‘chosen’ cohort of men and women vested with that singular sacrosanct authority to lead the masses, but by whom were those powers vested in them, and to what degree?

The modern-day Afrikan ‘Democracy’ has suffered a reductionist attack as it has been reduced to a struggle for political power, with little focus on the ideal of governance and the well-being and welfare of the masses to whom the cohort of that political sect who wield political authority belong. It is a smokescreen and a shadow of the true essence of administrating an Afrikan community.

The ‘losing’ party and those citizens who associate themselves with it tend to sit back with arms folded, occasionally contributing their quota of blatant criticisms, and whose prioritized focus and contribution to the advancement of society’s interest entails putting in work but to chart new and elusive ways to win the next bout of elections. So with each passing generation, the Afrikan and his community are caught up in a self-replicating matrix of retrogression.

The political heads of those Afrikan countries trapped in this wave of stagnation have for some reasons best known to them found comfort in this entanglement and this has accounted for why Afrika possesses wealth unimaginable but is still living in her dark ages so to speak.

The mechanisms and institutions with which a group of people are governed must be intrinsically derived from those rules of usage, communal conventions, customs, practices and beliefs by which they dictate the course of their lives and livelihood, as well as from ways by which they seek to expand the reaches of their spirituality and those impersonal bonds that identify them as a people. These are the fundamental ropes that bind a group of people together, defining their communal spirit; a force that must not be tampered with.

A system of governance for any Afrikan community must share in these core values of any group of people, otherwise they are doomed to tow the lines of degeneration; of their values, beliefs and any other thing they hold in esteemed reverence. There essentially is no progress in any given community if the ‘modus operandi’ underlying their governing wheel does not inculcate the socio-cultural milieu within which they find themselves.

The Mbongi, according to the esteemed Bantu-Kongo scholar; Fu-Kiau Kimbwandende Kia Bunseki is; “a common ‘shelter’ of very simplistic architecture that one finds in the middle of almost every village in the Bantu countries in general and in Kongo region in particular. The construction is the physical living symbol of one of the most powerful and most important Afrikan traditional political institutions.”

The ‘shelter’ of which Fu-Kiau speaks is that atmosphere of justice and harmony co-existing with the adoption of modes and mechanisms inspired by the deep-seated beliefs of a group of people. This is what makes Mbongi an indigenous Afrikan traditional political institution powerful and sacrosanct because any other system of governance whose ‘effectiveness’ requires by virtue of procedural necessity the division and segregation of a people with a common identity and within a common geographical enclave is not of their intrinsic interest, and this is self-evident. It is in the togetherness that progress will be born, for a people conditioned to rival themselves on political grounds are ones who are being played against themselves, and to their own detriment.

The Mbongi was located in the middle of the successful Afrikan village whose leadership mechanism was inspired by it. Within that ‘shelter’, the young and old alike sit together and engage in a constructive process of mutually inclusive dialoguing; family heads, leaders of initiated youth groups, trade unions and every single sub-community within the family is represented and their opinions incorporated in the decision-making and communal policy formulation process.

This system ensures that the leading elders act only in tandem to what is in the best interest for the people. Solutions are tailored towards reported and identified problems given the community in question and not carried out in the absence of their consent in the hopes that it may convey some remedial comfort to the ailing group only because the system of government avails it as one of the ‘viable’ means of tackling such problems.

The continent of Afrika’s progress demon is the exodus from the arena of those deep-seated values, beliefs and institutions indigenous to us, to the embrace of some other culture whose basic fundamental principle of social organization, preservation of the communal spirit and communal progress is in dire contradiction to who we are as a people. 

One size does not fit all, given the system of governance by which nations in Afrika who refer to themselves as sovereign govern themselves. In the end, Afrikans are not ruling themselves though it may seem so, but are being ruled by the hands that crafted the system of government by which they are illusioned. However, we can and we must take back that power, and invest it into ourselves and communities, now!

The night’s sky was graced with the presence of a full moon, the stars told their stories to each other; light stories of faith and hope. We heard their happy chatter through their luminescence as we prepared the courtyard for a night with Baba. We set the fire in the middle of eight stools arranged in a circle.

We were a family of nine, mother took leave of us earlier in the day to go attend to her father; our grandfather who was reported to have taken ill. So we spent the day on the farm planting and harvesting medicinal herbs with Baba our father, who used them for his herbal concoctions. He was the village’s herbalist; the means by which he earned a living as well.

We were his seven children born one year apart from each other. The night’s gathering was in response to our humble request to hear of the secret mysteries underlying Baba’s sacred profession. A request motivated by our long-term observance of the respect and dedication with which our father carried out his duty as a herbalist.

We sat in a circle, the fire burned where it stood in our midst and Baba took over the night…

“The Earth and all things therein is a mystery my children…” he begun, “…our ancestors regarded the Earth as a ‘Futu dia n’kisi diakanga Kalunga mu diambu dia moyo’, that is to say; ‘a parcel of medicine tied up by Kalunga for life on Earth’. We believed and still hold on to the belief that the Earth is not a dead pile of sand and stones, it is a living entity and once care and respect are not accorded her anymore, she will die off like any other living entity…”

“…According to the teachings of your Bantu-Kongo ancestry, the Earth as a Futu means she is a container of the secret mysteries of life. She is the holder of that energy called life. Everything mankind needs to make life and living worthwhile is contained in the Earth. There is no known disease be it physical or mental that the Earth does not hold a cure for, her gifts are made accessible to those who offer their sacrifices of kindness and reverence when dealing with her. The Futu can also refer to a pouch that usually contained sacred objects of its owner, this was conferred on their recipients by the scholars of your ancient Bantu-Kongo mystical schools. Your great grandfather always told me that; ‘the Earth is your mother, so make sure you pamper her…’”

“…I have heard you say among yourselves that such and such plant wields medicinal value of such and such potency and so forth, teachings from your ancient Bantu-Kongo heritage however did not indicate plants as sole carriers of nutritional and/or medicinal value. Plants according to your ancestral heritage are pipes used by Kalunga to draw specific ‘goodies’ from the mysteries of the Earth. Each plant bears a structural configuration that enables it to take from the Futu called Earth only that which Kalunga has purposed for the plant in question to draw from it…”. This is the point where I interrupted Baba to inquire who ‘Kalunga’ is.

“…Kalunga my son is the absolute, the source from whose bosom all life emerged. Kalunga is also a mystery, but the source of all mysteries…”

“…Since you are all keen on also knowing why I treat my work with high degrees of respect and dedication, I will close the curtains on the night by sharing with you another insight from your great grandfather. He said; ‘when you forcibly open a Futu that does not belong to you, you put yourself at risk of incurring the wrath of the mysteries contained within.’ And so I am not one who is interested in tasting of that wrath, for farming is a sacred act of assisting the creator in drawing to the surface, mysteries contained in the Futu, such that the hands that decide to co-work with Kalunga the creator must do it respectfully, in humility and with dedication…”

Baba respectfully thanked us for our attention as he rose in dignity and poise to take leave of us to play beneath the grace of the full moon, and most certainly debate amongst ourselves on all that we have heard, for how else could we have increased in understanding?

Let there be light, and light was made.
Let there be law, and law obeyed.
Let there be thrones, let kings decree,
Let mortals kneel—unchained, yet free.
But if all voices must sing praise,
Then who will dare expose decay?

Where others bow, I rise instead.
Where silence reigns, I wake the dead.
For what is law if none oppose?
What throne endures where no one knows
If justice bends to serve its lord,
Or if the sword commands the word?

Oh, King of Kings, step down, step down!
Power alone is not enough.
I summon You, I call You forth,
To answer for Your rule above!

⸻

II. The Trial of God

Let Heaven hear, let angels see,
For even God must answer me.
If wisdom sits upon Your throne,
Then let Your judgment be Your own.

You drowned the earth, You burned the land,
Your justice rules with iron hand.
Your people beg, yet famine grows,
Your servants pray, yet suffering flows.
If all is shaped by Your decree,
Then is it love—or tyranny?

If Job was righteous, why was he torn?
If sin was purged, why was man born?
Why shape the clay, then curse the form?
Why light the sun, then bring the storm?
If good is good because of You,
Then is it fair—or just Your rule?

The faithful weep, the wicked thrive,
The innocent are left to die.
What kind of god demands such pain?
What king stays strong through death and shame?
And if You claim to be the truth,
Then prove Your law—defend Your name!

⸻

III. God’s Reckoning

A hush, a breath, the cosmos waits,
As silence bends beneath its weight.
And then—a voice, both fierce and wise,
No thunder speaks, yet Heaven sighs.

“Oh Accuser bold, who dares to rise,
Your fire burns, but truth survives.
For law unchallenged turns to dust,
And truth, if real, must stand the test.

Would light be light if no one saw?
Would love be love if never flawed?
Would faith have meaning, standing still?
Would man be man without free will?

Yes, floods have come, and fire too,
But tell me—who could build, if nothing blew?
If mercy bent to every plea,
Then justice fades, and law is weak.
If good were soft, a painless thing,
Then would it still mean anything?

No soul is forged without the flame,
No truth revealed without the pain.
To rise is loss, to love is cost,
To live is risk, to doubt is just.
But I still stand—My throne remains,
Not by command, but justified.”

The gavel falls, the trial is done,
Yet still the Accuser lingers on.
For even God must face the flame,
And only fire proves His name.

⸻

IV. God’s Counter-Trial

Yet still the voice does not retreat,
Nor wrath descend, nor judgment meet.
For justice weighs not wrath nor plea—
It turns the blade on judge and thief.

“Oh Accuser, you speak of pain,
But tell Me—who gave you the flame?
Who shaped your voice, who made your mind?
Who let you stand and not be blind?

You ask of suffering, loss, and fate,
Yet tell Me, who should bear its weight?
Should no man die? Should none feel pain?
Would you remove their right to change?
Should love be given, never earned?
Should fire be warm, yet never burn?

Would you make good and evil one?
Would you have light without a sun?
Shall hands be pure, yet never scarred?
Shall roads be walked, yet never marred?

You claim to seek the highest truth,
Then tell Me—what would justice do?
Would you bring peace by ending choice?
Would silence serve a world with voice?
Would you, to spare the guilt of men,
Erase their will, erase their pen?

Who claims to love, yet shuns the cost?
Who seeks the path, yet fears the loss?
Who begs for meaning, seeks the way,
Yet curses night and shuns the day?

Even doubt was born of Me—
For truth is strong when tested free.
I gave you fire, I gave you sight,
Yet tell Me, Accuser—who gave you the right?”

Jimmy ✍🏾

It was in a little cozy Wine & Champaign Café somewhere in the heart of Accra-Ghana that it happened. His friend a comrade Poet had asked him as to whether he was available for a Poetry Night at this elitist Wine & Champaign Café and he said yes. There wasn’t much to do these days, he had just graduated with Bachelors Honors and was awaiting the next big thing to happen to him. The Poetry Night was in three days. He already knew what Poems he would share, so he took the time & relished the pleasure of rehearsing his mastery. The night came, he kept to time and begun on an outlook prep three hours before. A traditional blue Kaftan with black leather sandals adorn his physical symmetry and he looked the part. The Wine & Champaign space was cut out for Poetry for it was contained and intimate in feng-shui. The lights were at a soft glow and the couches were firm yet tender with a book shelf at reach from an arms stretch with every seat setting. The music wove an Aura of Calm into the mystic atmosphere and was the setting not ordained to bless with Poetry. He was in early, and so was his comrade Poet who had invited him along with one other gentleman of a Poet who was adorned with dreadlocks and a white Kaftan. The visitors started filing in a few minutes after, and soon the little cozy space was teeming with beautiful people seeking to satisfy some artistic cravings. So the parley begun, his comrade Poet went in on the stage set first, the rendition was sensual and calculated, artistic and confident. The acceptance & praise from the audience was evident in the finger snaps and hmmms. Then he went in next with a piece on the mediocrity of his generation. The stimulation was most welcomed as it was awakening yet somewhat uncomfortable for some. Then the dreadlocked Poet culminated the first round of performances. There was a second parley and a final third then the sacred exchange with and between everyone present amidst Wine & Champaign. That was when she seemed apparent in the small convocation for she approached him to express her deep-felt resonance with the Poetry pieces he shared and after a brief exchange between the two she handed him her complementary card. The card revealed she was a Doctor with a clinic to her name on the other side of Town. The night was still young but he decided to go home early and be by himself. The next morning he called the number on the card and she picked up, the exchange was lighthearted and filled with the simple joy of laughter. They had connected on the Poetry Night when they first met, but both of them felt the connection deepen on this first phone call. She ended the phone conversation with an invitation extended him to come share in the glories of a plant-based cook-out in her clinic organized by her sister who happened to be a Vegan Chef. The next morning he was present in the clinic and early much so. She was attending to a few patients upon his arrival, but upon her finish she eagerly came out to meet & greet him. The clinic was filled with her visiting patients and clean-eat enthusiasts who had all come to enjoin the spirit of the moment. Then she asked him if he was willing to do some Poetry at the setting, he said yes. For he would not miss an opportunity however small. He rendered a heartfelt one and commanded everyone’s attention while at it. Their attraction strengthened, the good Poet & the good Doctor, they found they had a lot in common interests so they spent some time together after the cook-out session and he left for home. They spoke on phone later that night and met again a few times afterwards. The bond in-between grew so strong they would speak several times a day in-between their itineraries and he finally ended up moving in with her as the Order of Things would have it. She was older than he was, twice his age for that matter yet she looked and felt very youthful & vibrant. They carried on life’s cares together on every level, the love-making was passionate, sensual, artistic and often spontaneous. The love grew roots, deep ones that beaconed a long-term go yet both of them knew somewhere deep down enough that the time will dawn when the entwined must loosen up so their fated-destines can keep progressive on their own unique paths. Both of them sensed it strongly but neither dared speak of it because what transpired in-between was truly beautiful. But even the dawn must give way to the dusk for all beginnings are crowned in the glories of their dissolutions. It was the good Doctor that started hinting at this dissolution in their therapeutic conversations. She told him to not get attached to her because she was a nomad, a free bird cursed with the blessing to be where her Spirit desired flight. It was true what she shared, but it was too late for that at this point and they both knew that. So obviously the natural progression at a detachment must set in so their true natures can flourish even if that meant to love each other from the distance. They were both Spiritually Mature, and thus very aware of the flow of the Cosmic Tide, and that all Sentient Beings must flow with it for all things are in a perpetual state of flow. Their hold unto each other was born of a deep-seated need to shield themselves from the pain of abandonment. They had both experienced a tearing away from guardian figures that fed them the warmth of light at an earlier time of their lives, so their respective presence in each other’s presence complimented their losses, and of this phenomenon was the temptation to attachment born of, one which they had already fallen for. He would grow unusually quiet for moments long enough that made the good Doctor feel abandoned in his presence, but his pensive silence was not a directed arsenal unto that end, but the end to something he knew in his heart to be truly beautiful beckoned at him from the recesses of his visions and so the sorrows of the future poured in into his present moments for he allowed them so he could bear a semblance of what it would be like in the end. She would strongly register her displeasure for the unexplained pensiveness for she felt isolated and this was the end’s beginning. He begged her leave to go back to his own dwelling to relish some reflective solitary moments so as to put things in perspective, they both needed it and agreed to it, but they also knew things will not be the same again afterwards. They would meet occasionally and commune but would dwell separate ways until they naturally grew into parting ways amidst deep-wounds they spoke not of to one another but knew to heal out of. For that was the consequent effect of detaching from a love attempt glued together, the bringing apart rips aspects of the Self with it, and it is painful when that happens, the healing of which takes time and intentional effort in help seeking where needed. Attachments of this kind stagnates the progress of Self he came to learn, for as was hinted at in the course of this solemn narrative, all things subsist in life within a motion intrinsic to their very nature and the essence of the greater Consciousness we all share in. So that when one gets attached to another person at an attempt at consummating their ill-conceived notion of love, or a store of material wealth or the accumulation of it to engender a certain sense of responsibleness, that is exactly what actually happens, one gets attached and thus ceases to flow foremost by the motions intrinsic to their essences then by the greater ever raging Cosmic Movement intrinsic to everything we form a part of. It was, because it had to be, yet could it have been otherwise?

The Being that we are as Humans is a Process, so that we are in effect not stationary embodiments of the Breath of Spirit, but an organizational framework tiered in layers that act in an integrated manner to spur on the evolution of our Being. So we are a Be-ing, and that is to suggest that we foremost have an identity representation, and that this identity is on a constant move towards an end entrenched in a purpose Higher than the ones we craft for ourselves. So that at any point in time we meet with a Dis-ease or any form of uneasiness in any of the constituting members of the above mentioned tiered organizational framework, then we must inevitably conclude that there is registered in one or more of our organizational constitution some form of stagnation in the flow of the Process that we are.

 

The Human Being is made up of four basic constituting organizational members namely;

 

1. The Physical Body.

This member of the Human Being’s organizational framework constitutes the; flesh, blood, bone, marrow, cells & fluids that can be observed and interacted with on the physical level of things. Yet it was born of a member preceding it namely; the Ethereal Body.

 

• The Ethereal Body.

This member of the Human Being’s organizational framework constitutes the emotional | energy factory & storehouse, where most of what we feel are generated, received, synthesized & stored. It is however born of the Astral Body.

 

• The Astral Body

This member of the Human Being’s organizational framework constitutes the work house for the products of our thoughts & imaginations, all of which churn out real forms of what is thought of & imagined to effect the purpose contained in the intention that gave rise to them. The Ego gave birth to it nonetheless.

 

• The Ego

This member of the Human Being’s organizational framework is who we truly are, as it represents the sum of; the identity gifted us by the Breath of Spirit [God], and the accumulation of all karmic debts & rewards over many lives than one. From the Ego sprouted the other three members above.

 

The four cited members of the Human Being’s organizational framework above are integrative in function, so that for every word that a man speaks and every move the feet makes or any cough the lung spurts, there must by necessity have been an interaction between all these aspects of the Human Being’s organizational framework to register an effect on the output agent of the Physical Body, a true inwards-out process for the most part.

 

This is the primary reason for why physical ailments & Dis–eases are not merely physical alone as may be espoused by modern medical science, as the uneasiness experienced by the Physical Body have originating sources in the three other deeper members laying within such that, when the stagnations in the procedural flow of the members laying deeper beneath the flesh are not eased out, attendant remedial measures on the Physical Body will serve only temporal respites and thus the effects of deeper stagnated causes will resurface time & time again on the Physical Body to indicate a neglect of a deeper healing within. Of all the four members constituting the organizational framework of the Human Being, only the Physical Body can be interacted with by the five traditional senses where healing is concerned, the remaining three are non-material and thus healing on those levels call for the holistic artistry of a Healer & the willing readiness of the other! 

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She cornered her eldest daughter in the front porch of their apartment and kept beating her, initially with her fists, then with every other cooking utensil she could lay her hands on at the time, the young teenager kept pleading for forgiveness for a crime she hadn’t committed only because she sought release from the brutalities and all the pain that came with it. The mother just kept on beating her for she hadn’t her fill of the malice she was undertaking. Then midway in-between the crime she started shouting some senseless inquiries in the line of; “why didn’t you come first to me to inform me you have had your menarche? Why do I your mother have to know that by our neighbor’s agency huh? She is more of a mother to you than I am erh? So tell me when was it? And how did you manage it you ingrate of a child? Speak up!” All these rants of an inquiry were accompanied by even more severe beatings than the assaults that landed without them. The young teenage daughter just stood helplessly in the corner collecting all those misdirected blows and responding how best she could to those mindless inquiries. Her younger siblings; two brothers and a sister stood aghast looking on with added horror to the happenings in motion. What could they do but cry along, any attempt on their part to succor their big sister will also be met with their own measure of blows, beatings, assaults and abuses of every form and kind. This is a snapshot of their world for the most part growing up. The mother drawn upon in this narrative had a man but he was not always around because they fought a lot. She drank too much of alcohol and will on most occasions leave the house at the break of day dishing out moneys to each child and ask them to buy food when they get hungry. She will show up in the course of the day once or maybe twice intermittently but always came home to share the evening and night moments. Her interactions with her children were marked by a masked affection, for she interacted with them yet in a very haughty and somewhat abusive manner for their interactions were laced with insults and degrading utterances that were not deserving of the light these little ones were. This was no poverty situation for she had business going on. And money flowed in decently enough to cater for basic needs and some extra spending when she chose, so why this degenerate quality of interactivity with her very flesh & blood? There were many times without count when she would say upon embarking on her abusive stunts that; “the discipline that was cultured in me is what I am teaching you so that no outsider will come and tell me I didn’t raise my children well!” But beneath this particular utterance lay the masked communication that says; ‘the undue trauma that was inflicted upon me by my own mother is what I am inflicting upon you too’. And this is the case of the matter. For this woman was raised by a mother who suffered considerable hardships & rejection from her own family. And given that we are containments of our experiences and often times becoming the contents of what we contain, we pour these contents into the holding cups of our loved ones unconsciously for these grim experiences that we on occasions must phase through tend to shadow our awareness such that when we move to interact with the ones we call loved, we act them out. So her own mother treated her with the abusive indifference she is now meting out to her own daughter for she doesn’t know any better. Love & tender kindness in her interactions as a young girl herself was near absent, so was she not cultured into another trauma machine to churn out same into the bloodline of the generations she will birth? As a mother the love for her children was evident for they were clothed & fed, but the quality of the interactivity was off-balance. And this motherly love of which we speak was contained in the agency of her abusive tendencies such that in her eyes she was doing a good job as a mother, for her own mother taught her nothing more, or perhaps less! Her sense of self-respect was born of the fear-response the children naturally gave off at the sight of her presence, yes, she felt respected when she sensed the pain of fear in her own children, so that the fearlessness that a well-balanced child will exhibit in a show of love for their guardian was rather considered an act of dire disrespect that was met with blows to instill that fear. So you see how inverted the motions of love & tender kindness in the quality of interactivity amongst a family was? You may probably seek to know what the opinions of the neighbors and probably members of the extended family were? It was that of normalcy, for this was the norm of the culture, an unconscious sharing of trauma from one generation to the other. There were however a few people who had grown lofty enough to see the degeneracy of the cycle in motion. One of whom was her own father who obviously was a very patient & wise man. There was this one time he paid a visit to the apartment where his daughter lived in a black volgswagon passat, and as he relished quality time in-doors to eat and converse with his daughter, the two boys, that is his grandsons went and hid themselves in the back seat of his car so that when the time was ripe for him to take off, he would inevitably ferry them along to his own residence without his knowledge. He did drive some considerable distance with them hidden where they were upon setting off, but at that point the children felt as though they were too far in the journey away from a home they didn’t want to be a part of to be taken back, they reared their heads at the back seat and he caught a glimpse of them in the rearview mirror. But for the monument of a man their grandfather was, he didn’t panic neither did he get angry, he only patiently asked them whether they had informed their mother that they were coming with him, when they said no he patiently steered the car around and drove them back to the house. He must have had a more heartfelt conversation with his daughter upon that turn of events for after he had left for the second time, their mother remained calm in their presence, this was not her norm, for that act in her eyes is one of dire rebellion and the disrespect that is contained within it and thus more diversified beatings & variegated abuses would have followed in response. But thats the thing, you can only give of what you have, and if your consciousness is teeming with abuses from parents & guardians you trusted to have safeguarded you from the very abuses they now rain upon you, of what quality of interactive content can you perhaps share with your immediate circle of loved ones? Many long years up the line of this narrative, her daughter who was chiefly the target of her abuses has grown into a young woman obviously not without her own store of emotional baggage and living away from her mother, purposively avoiding her at every turn. She is often heard calling another woman she fellowships with in a community church her mother, and affectionately so, for the need to nurture that parent-child bond is a sacred need in which is contained a long-lasting wellness that cannot be ignored lest its absence manifests a certain marked dysfunction in behavior that is capable of disrupting the harmonious succession of the Light of Love in any human setting.