ꜱʜᴀɴɢᴀ

ᴏᴍᴜᴋᴡᴀɴʏᴀᴍᴀ.

The book is "Ovamboland" by Rev. Herman Tönjes, A German Missionary. A book about my kind, my tribe the 'Kwanyamas'. I got this book as a gift from a fellow Kwanyama, and I was intrigued by one chapter that has always been on my mind.

The chapter is, "The Character of the people." Page 145, but my main focus is on page 146-147, speaking on the brutality and the cruelty in us,

"Apart from being lazy, the natives are also accused of brutality."

"It is said to have occurred during raids that infants were torn from their mothers' backs and bashed against trees."

"A woman sentenced to death was shot after she had been tied to a pole and her eyes had been gouged out."

"Prisoner's hands and feet are bound and they are left to sit in the searing sun all day without offering them even a drop of water."

"Many will turn away in disgust at such brutality."

"But this is gruesome! Those are not humans - those are animals!"

"Some are past masters when it comes to lying. They will stick to their lies even if all the evidence is against them and their guilt is proven or, should this not help, attempt to cast the blame on someone else."

"But what is the excitement all about? What acts of the most bestial brutality do we not get to read about in our newspapers virtually everyday - and those are performed by members of a nation that stands at the head of the civilized countries.

...

I'm the biggest hypocrite in 2023,
If you're hearing this, listeners might convey just what I mean,
You hate me don't you?
Try to judge me because I'm not you,
If you had a chance you would kill me won't you,
But you're a wizard, you prefer to torture me don't you,
Trying to get at me spiritually shashi kolutu ito dulu,
Two sides to every story, I know both sides,
I can see the snake in you through both eyes,
Self reflecting like, let's switch bodies for a day I can be you and you can be me,
By the time I get my body back, if I wasn't as wicked as you,
I would probably faint cause of all the trauma in my mind from all the blood you shed,
By the time you get your body back
Your account might be overkill, but your soul is broke still, even a rich spirit money can't buy.
The white man got it from you how to do all that which you do,
Killing your own people must be the reason he never hesitated to kill you too.
Go ahead, judge me,
Go around making a fool of me,
Go ahead and lie about me,
Go ahead and turn everybody against me,
I don't blame you it's probably the generational curses that were set unto thee.