RIP

Where's the Love?

There are things that many people swear with but which I have never believed in since I came into this world more than three decades ago. One of those is justification for murder, in any condition, war or civil conflict. That's why I don't see the rationality of owning a firearm since it's just bringing me one step closer to shooting someone dead.

That is why on Thursday (May 29, 2008) I was numbed by the news that the only angel I have ever had the privilege of knowing in this world, the very humble, very human and highly creative Gabisile Nkosi (left) is no more.

I wanted to find out the cause since the last time I was with her in the Natal Midlands Meander she told me that she recently had a car accident. Gabisile said that she was not that concerned about the loss of material but how her son was doing. She cracked jokes about how he was crying in his baritone voice. She loved her son to bits.

Gabisile, (make it your point to Google her) was a gifted soul with a lot of humanity in her. A world-renowned artist who chose to spend most of her time mentoring rural children on arts. Nobody was paying her to do it, but it came from her heart. She was a celebrated, award-winning visual artist and painter whose artwork was selling at thousands of rands in many parts of the world. Her craft had taken her to many parts of the world many of us only dream of but she remained glued to her rural roots. She remained a loyal servant of the down-trodden people of Umngungundlovu.

She shared in their fears and aspirations and always thought of a better way for all of them. She was them. On Thursday Vonani Bila, who has conspired with her on many works in the past called me from Johannesburg to inform me that Gabisile is no more. I wanted to know what was the problem and he told me that the story he gathered from Malcolm Christian is that she was shot. Vonani was frank about the sketchiness of the details coming out of Caversham Farm in Howick. He told me that he heard that a boyfriend shot and killed her before turning the gun on himself. I wanted to know more. He said he was not sure since everyone was in pain and the details were very sketchy.

It however was enough for me to draw a conclusion to write this piece in memory of my sister, comrade and fellow artist. Gabi was an angel if you saw one.

During our stay at Caversham she cooked for us, washed our dishes and entertained us with stories behind her many drawings and paintings. Above all she worked closely with us to produce a beautiful book that solicits tears everytime I look at it. I wonder if Caversham will be the same without her? I remember the two little girls in school uniform she was mentoring who came to meet us when we were there. I remember their hunger for knowledge which was obvious for the few hours that we spent with them. A hunger that Gabi was trying to erode, one session at a time.
One session at a time until some rogue muthafucka put all that to an end. One session at a time until some jealous guy whose name I don't know and do not give a fart about brought all that to an abrupt stop. One session at a time until some fella with low-self esteem expressed his self-hate by taking her life. One session at a time until her number with called. The life of the loser was worth nothing anyway.

I have heard of people dying tragically, some killed by boyfriends who later kill themselves, but I have never been numbed until I heard that an angel has fallen - by the designs of men. Rest in Peace Soul Sista!