Mashayabhuqe KaMamba Lyrics
Before Christian Ndlovu could awake into Mashayabhuqe KaMamba, his brother had to die in his sleep . Culture and tradition is something that is steadily losing its grip on the last piece of land it holds, as it dangles on the Western cliff above the rumbling rapids of European modernisation, corroding everything in its wake. There is an irony there somewhere, especially considering the fact that this is being written from the Southern Most tip of Africa.
When Christian’s brother died of an Epileptic seizure in the dead of night, it’s safe to say Christian hung himself the very next morning, because Nsikelelo was ready to emerge. Taking it upon himself to lend a hand to dangling culture and tradition, repackage him in the same ways of the ancients, stitched and wrapped in the threads of the presents, and present him raw and uncut to the urbanised African c(r)ool-kid with a digital maskandi beat here, and an Instagram filter there, Mashayabhuqe KaMamba was born.
Mahayabhuqe thinks he is a man. He thinks he is flesh and warm breath. That is only because he is still under the control of Nsikelelo Ndlovu, whose Mandeni/eNkandla upbringing prevents him from being anything but a calabash of humble. If it wasn’t for Nsikelelo, Mashayabhuqe would realise that he is not flesh and warm breath. He is incense and spirit-pressure.