Early September Editorial

What should a person expect from a news rag such as this? Well … I come not to make speeches, salutations; pledges or promises – but to assure you of sustenance. This rag is about a fuel and a fire; food for the mind, body and soul. We do this because unlike a great many publications, we know that there is probably a battle raging in each and every one of you. You, undoubtedly, would like to see the things in your home country going portentously better. But this, unfortunately, has not come to pass. You feel the shame that comes with defending the indefensible actions on the African continent; and you surely ask what went wrong. And then you put your head in your hands, shake off the misery and return to the rat race. We do the same thing on a regular basis, have attended conventions and forums where ideas and plans are a dime and a dozen; and have decided not to be seduced by the slippery slope to cynicism and inevitable semi nihilism.

When one flies over Africa in the night, they will not see the scattered signs of human life until they come to places like South Africa or Egypt. It seems as though you are flying over a sentient beast considering that you know that there are billions of people living lives right below you. Because we know this, we go off on a tangent to look for spots of news, glory; success, progress and seeds of transformation blossoming in every landmass or commune made up of those people of color who display the blush of extra melanin.

When there is a rumor that a certain African despot has cancer, we will draw on that for sustenance. If another person of color wins a major tournament, we’ll provide you with the background, context and information while praying that the rest of the talent sitting in the background comes up to inherit the mantle in a few years. That is what ‘sustenance’ is all about. We need to feed on both tragedy and the diamonds that come from the actions of people of color.

In the meantime, we need to point out that in the middle of the disaster that is Libya, there’s a disfigured Ethiopian girl – touched by the scalding water administered by Gaddafi’s own daughter. But she will not give up. She is frustrated, angry and confused – broke and unpaid for all her years of service as an ‘ayah‘ – but she is alive. In this seemingly bleak room and atmosphere, there’s a story there. She will probably be repaired and perhaps, soon. Maybe, her life will be normal again or maybe, she will go right back to being one of the many helpless beggars on the streets of Addis Ababa – albeit a horribly disfigured one.

Dennis Matanda,

Editor