🌹Different Types of Divination 🌟
From Man, Myth, Magic reference book encyclopedia collection, Vol. 5

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@meanwhilemuzanima
🌹Different Types of Divination 🌟
From Man, Myth, Magic reference book encyclopedia collection, Vol. 5
Me, Spirit and Wamboland: Ancestral dreams brought me here & my journey into the esoterics.
Many of you will not be familiar with the phrase ‘Okukonghola kova Kwamhungu’ or ‘Eendjodi do Mhepo’, because your parents are either not culturally conscious or they weren’t interested in hearing about it while growing up (for whatever reason). Don’t sweat, neither did mine.
*Okukonghola kova Kwamhungu can be translated as “When ancestors or ancestral spirits knock on your door.”
But it is safe to say that through a very difficult process, I began to journey into that world which most of our people have been dissuaded from. Black, primal. Power-affirming. Zealous. Daunting and beautiful. A world which was extremely unfamiliar to me. A world which frightened me a great deal, before I acquired the right kind of understanding as to what it entailed – the world of Uundudu, Ovakwamhungu & Omhepo ya Kalunga.
Okay. So, a bit of background:
In the African spiritual belief system when humans die, their spirit goes to a special place which is closest to where god resides. Y’know – like heaven, eulu. They become the caretakers of our spiritual life and, through intercession, they become our eyes and ears to things which we cannot see or hear with our physical eyes and ears and therefore assume the cosmic responsibility of being our guides here on earth. When the ancestors become unsettled on the spiritual paradigm in which they exist, they become restless. During that period they begin to make life very uncomfortable for their families, tribes and King/Queendoms.
Ancestors can become restless for many reasons, but the overarching reason can be thought of as this: The more we make God unhappy and cause imbalance through our actions in the spirit realm, the more the ancestors become restless. Sometimes, ancestors arrive to give greetings and simply give their respects, especially when they’ve just passed on. Other times, it is to facilitate certain spirit rites of passage for the themselves. Or to carry on the good work (lol, nge oundudu oushi eshi handiti).
In my life story, they were restless because there were many things that had befallen my family and I was chosen to be the messenger or medium between my family and the ancestral world. Of course I am not going to go into deep detail with regards to what was happening to my family, but I’ll say that it had to do with life & death matters (which is a HUGE deal). The ancestors made me uncomfortable in many ways. For instance: my relationships began to fall apart; my love life shattered which sent me into a deep depression for nearly nine months (during this time, no one saw me, because my social life had declined a great deal and I never left my home); I resigned from my job when I had been given the chance to stay and work on what was troubling me and I basically began to lose everything I had subsequently after that. My projects began to fail. Basically, everything I touched turned to stone as opposed to gold. My life came to a dead end.
Very NB:
This is one of the aspects to how the ancestors work: They are responsible for making sure that your paths are open in the spirit realm. ie: if you want that really nice opportunity you’ve been praying for, the ancestors work hard to make sure that your paths to that opportunity are clear and open (because in spirit, there are many things that can work against you acquiring that thing which you really desire or need.) So they are not only your guardian angels; they are also your facilitators, protectors and conspirators. They are your “blessers,” oushishi mos, lol!
With nothing left, I had to admit defeat and go back home, to my village.
But a few months before that, I began to dream of many things. I dreamt almost every day. In one particular dream I remember walking from my workplace to rehearsals, where I was directing a theatre piece I had conceptualised and written into a full 40 page script. I arrived at the Camel Stables which is well known for hosting fire sessions and folk stories under the leadership of another famous Windhoek artist. In my dream, there were four people who featured strongly: an old woman who appeared with two younger male servants and an Apostoli faith prophet who seemed to be speaking in tongues as she walked past me. The old woman offered me Iilovu –traditional Oshiwambo beverages – in a brown calabash and proceeded to ask how life was going and if everyone is doing fine. She spoke to me with a sense of familiarity. She further told me that she has been waiting for the arrival of someone special in her life. I could not remember the rest of the conversation, but I remember walking into the rehearsal space and there were countless snakes which were slithering around almost furiously. An omen of ancestral spirits.
GUYS! SNAKES?! LIKE WTF!!
Frightened and seemingly alone, I walked out of the space and I bumped into the old woman again. She told me that I should never keep anyone waiting the way she has been waiting for this special person to arrive. It felt more and more like she was directing the message to me. She was not really angry, she was stern, but in the most loving manner. It’s difficult to put in logical terms. I took it seriously and told a friend about it and advised that I seek help. After that I had more dreams and visions, but I can’t go into detail (because of the specific nature of those dreams and the secrecy of it all).
I moved out of the place where I had been staying into a new place. I then began to sleep with the lights on, because I feared that I was hallucinating and they (ancestors) were tormenting me, but I wasn’t hallucinating, in spirit terms; I was being called, and one night alone at home proved that. I can’t say that I was asleep, but it felt like I was drifting between different levels of consciousness. I heard the voice of my departed grandmother calling out my name from behind my bedroom door as if she had been expecting me all along. I answered and woke up to find that my arm had been stretching out to reach her, but I couldn’t reach her for she had disappeared and I had somehow woken up again. I had woken up from a state which I only understand now as “Trance”. I knew then that that was it – the portal was opened.
When my grandfather passed. Just the day we had buried him. My cousins and I were asleep in the tent close to his sleeping quarters in his homestead and in the middle of the night, I tossed and turned and woke up to find that a short figure of a man had been poking me with his odibo – his walking cane. He smiled and then disappeared. I rubbed my eyes to see if I had seen a ghost, but I hadn’t. I now learnt that he had simply come to bid farewell to me and the family.
My trip to South Africa:
At the time, I had long risen out of my depression, but I had lost a lot of people who I had thought were my friends. I had also started hanging a lot more by myself and I wasn’t communicating with my family at all. Like, AT ALL. But I had then begun a cyber romance with a guy whom I had met on a social network site and we had many things in common. This guy, who is by every means a wonderful guy, would soon invite me over to his home country and the timing strangely coincided with the period during which I had begun having dreams. Strangely enough, his mother was a spiritual diviner (another aspect to the ancestors, which I got to learn: that that is one of the many ways they bring the necessary people into your life to bring you closer to them. It’s like reaching out to anyone who can hear you in order to reach out to someone who you want to talk to.
I had arrived in Joburg. I had met the man whom I instantly knew that I wanted to be with. We had many a conversation (if you know me too well, you know I have a terrible weakness for intelligent men. Sapiosexual for sure!). We had spent time together, which would be the laying of the cornerstone of our very fresh potential relationship if all things went well and the ancestors approved. Both of us had emerged from melancholic circumstances due to our recent ended relationships that had left us broken and in despair, but we equally carried some measure of renewed hope for each other and our future together. That is all I can say about that relationship as it ended too soon after that, which comes in to teach me that he had served the purpose which my ancestors wanted him to serve in bringing me closer to them and the message they had for me.
But in Joburg, as I was discovering what life would be like in the closeness of this man, I had asked him to visit a market place of traditional healers, abangoma, abathandaza and inyanga, called “Mai Mai” in downtown Jozi. I had the strongest desire to go there. I had NO CLUE what I was going to do there, but I knew that I had to go anyway. On the day that we were supposed to go, I chickened out – mostly out of fear – and decided that we should rather have the afternoon together at Arts on Main in The Maboneng Precinct, seeing that our time together was slipping away from us. We did so. As we were seated there enjoying our sundowners in the company of his friends, just as we were, a young spiritual diviner, izangoma, came to sit by our table. She was young, quirky, fun – nothing like I had ever imagined a zangoma to be. Something about her felt like home. I glanced at her as she left our table and my eyes were glued to her every move. My boyfriend’s friend noticed and asked if I wanted to be introduced to her and we went over and we exchanged a few words. Later that evening, my boyfriend kept asking if I wanted to go and see the healer whom we met at the Market on Main and I finally agreed (child, look at the ancestors working!!)
Day of Consultation:
My nerves were running from my belly to my asshole. I sat there looking at my boyfriend’s face and then back at the time on my phone as we sat waiting for the young spiritual diviner to arrive and pick us up. I felt like running away for some reason. I just wanted to go far away and avoid it all. Just as I was about to tell my boyfriend that we should stand up and leave, his phone rang and the healers long vintage Mercedes parked right at the entrance of the restaurant where we had been seated. We stood up and left for Diepkloof in the township of Soweto. During the drive, my healer eased me into a conversation and she began sensing my fear (because healing work allows that kind of privilege, y’know. She literally asked me what I’m afraid of whilst picking up on my boyfriend’s exhaustion (and he was suffering from exhaustion). The girl just kept yawning. The girl knew her thing.
We arrived. I soon realised that she was going to lead consultation under the guidance of her spiritual mentor, a male izangoma, as she had just twasa’d and was still a young one in the making, in spite of her old spirit, Thokoza gogo! She left for the back of the yard – you know Soweto is build just like Windhoek’s Katutura, but much bigger. She emerged from behind the house like an old woman singing an ancient song of her people and soon she had entered trance and begun announcing herself in spirit. Her mentor, a confident young man who seemed to carry an “I-got-this!” attitude sent me for a candle and by this time I just really wanted to pee hey. I left, got icandle and returned to enter indumba and the smoke of impepo was all around. I mean, like, I couldn’t see shit hey. At the end of the consultation, she said: “That thing which you have, you must take it to a healer from your own people.” I won’t mention what happened in the consultation, but I will say: a few weeks after that, everything that the two diviners had prophesied while navigating trance had begun to happen to my life.
Apart from meeting my ancestors at the consultation (go figure!), my South African izangoma had prescribed a special ritual which would connect me to my ancestors for further guidance. I didn’t do the ritual. I was too shit scared. My return home to Wamboland immediately led me to another traditional healer (you know shit’s about to go down when they ancestors send you a traditional healer). I left for the Kingdom of Uukwambi and she literally just happened to my life without even realising it. Strangely, before the day my aunt took me to see the healer, I had one of those trance sleep again: I was lying on the ground in my bedroom at my parents Ongwediva home and I saw the feet of a woman with white beads around her ankles, which I learnt was the vision of the healer I was going to see. This further confirmed that I needed to go and see her in spite of my fear. With her I would spend time learning everything there was to learn and understanding what was happening to my life.
By this time, the ancestors were relentless. I had begun to dream, in very vivid details, about what was happening to my life and to my family. I would receive certain omens in real time and dream about ancient tribal women I had never met. I dreamt more about people of the Apostoli faith and a very specific waterfall where they would gather at. I had also undergone a ritual which would open my spiritual path to my ancestors so that I could begin to observe their messages with clarity. During this time, I could sense things about people; I could see beyond the physical in that I picked up on people’s aura and I knew their intention immediately. I had also learnt Okuholola and how to connect to spirit when I needed it for strength or courage, but most importantly, I understood my life and why things happened the way they happened. I knew who I was in spirit and in this physical world and what my journey entailed. I still feel like my ancestors took me for a walk from the time I was born to where I am today and pointed out the significant points in my life and how they intersected. My sense of smell and memory had intensified. It’s like all these senses I did not know I had, had come to life.
Meanwhile, my family was like, Dafuq?!
My parents weren’t against the idea in the beginning, but the deeper I got the more they hesitated. They had also begun to realise that I was out of it and not myself. I had become quiet and I didn’t like being around certain people or too crowded spaces (because I had also become very aware of energy and I did not know how to shield myself from it). I kept to myself most of the time and I disappeared into the forest for many hours and they worried a lot. The forest had become my safe space just like during my childhood, but it was also a place where I connected to spirit the most. None of them took it seriously, but also because they did not know the full extent of what was happening to my life. It wasn’t until a great tragedy had unfolded in the family that they began to suspect that something was up. A tragedy which my grandmother and my uncle warned me about in a dream on the morning that it was about to happen. I had also contacted my South African izangoma about the difficulties I was experiencing and she told me that doing the ritual (which I had not done out of fear) would guarantee me some sense of direction from the ancestors so that I know what I had to do.
After the ritual, I felt an incredible sense of protection over my family and myself. I feared nothing. I mean, I FEAR NOTHING. It’s like I was transformed into a warrior. I developed an incredible sense of self. I knew who and what my enemies were and how I could protect myself in their presence. I was on some King Mandume ya Ndemufayo tip. I even enjoyed receiving dreams, because I had some idea of what they meant in terms of interpretation. I enjoyed sleeping more, because I looked forward to what I was going to dream about. This journey had transformed me into a spiritual warrior!
Months later. My sister calls me…
…She tells me that she visited a woman who told her that she had received a vision of my journey and I had to go and see her.
So my mother and I drive to the City, in Windhoek, to see the woman. She seemed normal, regular, despite her eyes which were scanning my body madly. We exchanged greetings and she immediately introduced herself as a woman of the Apostoli faith. I began to get heart palpitations, which usually happen if I get a confirmation of a dream I had. I realised then that she is the woman of the Apostoli that I had dreamt about in the beginning. She belongs to the people who, in my dreams, were dressed in blue capes and gowns by the waterfall. I felt safe with her. She told us about her background and she had visited heaven with Jesus Christ a number of times (Chommie, it’s deep. ‘ll explain over coffee or something). She proceeded to divine for me and my mother, where she confirmed my gifts of spirit, and it was time for me to pray with her. My body was lame for a while and it began to vibrate the minute I met spirit. I mean, it was vibrations all around. We summoned the angels of peace and war who arrived just as quick and they battled opportunistic spirits which had noticed my activities in spirit. I had gone into trance. The next thing I remember is opening my eyes and tears flowing down my cheeks. My body had gained some composure. My gifts were ascertained.
I now understand a lot of things:
I understand that I belong to a greater force which is incomprehensible, even to myself. I know that I have been chosen for something greater which was revealed to me in that moment between the diviner of the Apostoli and I and my healer (watch this space). I have a sense of self and identity because of this journey that I was meant to follow. There are things that I will never fully understand until I meet the day of reckoning in the ancestral paradigm. But I seem to have arrived at a profound understanding and a deeper knowing of time and space; meaning that I operate in spirit as opposed to this physical world. I’m equipped with ancient wisdom and I walk and communicate with powerful guides, an entourage, who give me these nice things (because I mos like nice things you know). This journey has taught me about forgiveness of self and that of others and a strange appreciation and a wonder for the spirit and its gifts. I have reconciled with myself: most of us don’t know that we are hosts to many things, spirits, which battle within us. Spirits which seek agreements or confirmation ano Okukolekwa kweembepo. I have come to myself and claimed my unique abilities in the most power-affirming way. I am an extension of my ancestors and the God spirit in this material world and I seek to do good and heal and raise spirit in those who need healing and those who desire the closeness of spirit.
This journey is not over. In fact, it has really just begun. And I look forward to the wonderful places it will take me to and the eye-opening experiences, rituals and confirmation it will bring me. So long I carry breath in me.
Wena we Nkosi 🦁
Greetings to Familiar spaces.
Cold and Wet, Tired You Bet… Ernest Hardy
Cold and Wet, Tired You Bet… Ernest Hardy He gets so sad sometimes. Often, actually. It just wells up in him and breaks messily through the surface. Like in those science-fiction movies where the alien who’s been hiding out in human form suddenly rips through its host body, shredding skin and cracking bones. Tentacles and strange limbs protruding from the places where back, legs and arms used to be. Poisonous saliva dripping from massive, double-set fangs that glisten. That’s the way his sadness is. Except it’s quiet. And it doesn’t distort him so dramatically. If anything, it makes him smaller. He shrinks into it as it consumes him. He smiles (no fangs, no gnashing of teeth) and softly wills himself to disappear. He barely makes a sound. “It’s okay,” he’ll say, unable to look you in the eye. Smiling. “It’s okay.” His hands clench tightly and thrust deep into pants pockets, straining against the seams as his head bends slightly; he shrugs almost imperceptibly. “I’m cool.” I tremble when this happens. Like a terrified extra in a horror film. But I’ve learned not to make a sound. I’ve learned to swallow my own screams. Any reaction from me only twists his anguish, adds garnish of guilt to his psychic platter. My fear is that the transformation, as with the creature on the big screen, reveals the true being lurking beneath skin – in his case, a man so possessed by his demons that they permanently own him. A man made small by history and memory and flight-not-fight reflexes that uncoil at phantom triggers. He believes he’s going to hell. Every kiss is resignation; every fuck is condemnation. He cannot take pleasure in his pleasure. He cannot find the joy in love. Cannot receive it and battles himself when he feels it. He’s constantly at odds with his body and with mine. Late at night, I hold him while he flinches within the embrace. I whisper to him, “I would give you the world but I don’t believe in the world. But I do believe in you.” He won’t let himself feel joy because it fades, so he can’t let himself trust it. Sadness and despair have been more faithful. They stay in place. They Pox G. Winston James There are rats writing poetry in the corners of my room His pubic hair is tinged with passion Oiled mostly on my blood Our words are flies dying between thin black sheets by thousands Vipers writhe along the floor We neither rest in this plague nor rise to draw breath There are vermin waiting willing locust they flutter wings devour song. 6968 Hardy my right arm properly because I broke it when I was a child; it was set badly but we were too poor to get it corrected after it had healed. When I get flustered I stutter, my eyes blink rapidly and I swallow after every word—hair-trigger heirlooms from constant confrontations with a father embittered because he’d sired a faggot, and he missed no chance to hector, belittle and voice his disgust. Faint scars line my left wrist: Sixteen, without hope, unable to see a future. Death wasn’t really the goal, but it was an acceptable risk for the reprieve sought. Molecular memory of my own distress is the root of my empathy for him. My man. We speak the language of romance novels and five-hankie weepies with utmost sincerity. “If I save you, will you save me?” I ask him with a smile, sans irony but with ulterior motive. His ego is fragile. I geisha myself three feet behind him to make him feel strong, to mask the strenuous work required to nurture and carry him. He knows but if he knew it would shatter him. And sometimes I coast on the surface of my whispered nocturnal queries, staying above subtext or flipped meaning, letting the words that are spoken do all the heavy lifting. I volley the role of hero into his court. To be truthful, sometimes I do want to be the imperiled Pauline yanked from the rails with only seconds to spare before the steam engine crushes me, confident that the cavalry is on its way and that my life is worth Herculean effort. That it’s worth saving. Trembling, endangered captive is a cakewalk compared to 24-hour savior. “I don’t know,” he smiles back. “All the magazines and Oprah say you gotta save yourself.” (Sans irony.) “Fuck Oprah. I don’t give a fuck about myself. I really don’t. I don’t care if I live or die except for you. I get it up for you. I would take care of you. Would you do the same for me?” He thinks a long time. I wait. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you.” He grins sheepishly. Cold and Wet, Tired You Bet… dig deep. You can turn your back on them and trust that they will still be there when you turn back around. Waiting. They hang around as long as you feed them and they don’t need much to flourish. He hasn’t yet learned that joy has to be fed too. It’s not self-sustaining. You have to clear a place for it. Make it feel welcome. Let it know that you want it. He hasn’t learned that while sadness might seem to subsist solely on cigarettes and coffee, it’s constantly snacking behind his back, cleaning out the pantry and the fridge. It’s voracious. We often lie in this fashion in bed at night: I am on my side, facing him. He lies on his back. One of my arms is folded beneath my head while the other safety-belts across his chest. I throw a protective thigh over his thigh. He rests his head on a pillow that is so old, so flat and limp, that it’s folded twice to give it heft. His eyes are cast downward, looking absently at his chest and stomach. His arms are akimbo, angled slightly so that each hand nervously flutters a fingertip tap-dance on his lower belly. I stroke his chest. He swallows nervously. We’ve been together well over a year now and he still has an ingénue’s stage fright. No, he has the terror of someone stranded in a completely foreign land sans map or knowledge of the native language. Just before he falls asleep, he turns to his side and softly slides back against me, his ass against my hard-on. I kiss his shoulder, buckling arm and thigh around him. How it works: You draw up a list of what you want, what you need. Then from that master list you sub-head items that you absolutely must have, things on which you will not compromise. And then you meet someone and fall in love and the list is thrown out a window. This is the part you may not understand. I lean on him. The Germanic sturdiness of his insecurities and fears are constants in our days, acting almost as guideposts through our nights. They’re dependable guardrails. I want to dismantle them so that he—so that we—can be free, but I’m nervous about what that freedom might mean, what might lie beyond it. Will he need me then? Who will he be? And have I come to romanticize the very thing from which I claim to want to free him? My body can’t contain its history. It gives everything away. In repose I sit slightly hunched forward due to hereditary scoliosis. I cannot bend 70 71
Where were the Artists during covid?
My tribe is beautiful. Wamboland. Ancestors. 1900′s.
Sangweezy.
Another one. Gogo Naledi. A thunywing hun [22/22]
The sensation of water down my back is one of the most unsettling and awakening experiences to this day.
Yes at my big age water pouring down my back is like sticking my finger in an electric socket.
How I miss the feeling; to be aware of sensation is to be aware of the mind. To be aware of the energy that flows in your body; is to be aware of the flow of spirit within you.
This is a time to be aware Be open in your heart Still the mind Create flow in your body
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Itwasa lam. My 9th descendant. Mkhulu Nkoshi.
Super proud.
#Africanspirituality #sangoma #Namibia #ubungoma #ukutwasa
Go forth and multiply, dlozi
Queerness & African Spirituality
The African culture or what we consider “African culture” in modern-day societies is one that has been influenced quite heavily by many factors: colonialism, religion, capitalism.
In the beginning African culture was as a result of African Spirituality. From the clothing we wear to the languages we speak. Even as far as our gender and sexual expression goes.
Homosexuality & Queerness has always been part of the African identity. In our cultures, we’ve heard of men who disappeared into the bushes months on end without the presence or the affection of women. What happened in those bushes was not spoken about, but it was always assumed.
I speak obviously as a gay man. I speak as a gay Sangoma who had to reckon the history & spirit of our people as derivative of the Nguni or Bantu tribe.
For me, I’ve come to understand the God source or “spirit” as an expression of many things. Our sexuality and gender is influenced by the dynamism and vastness of spirit. We know today that science will talk of XY and XX chromosomes when it comes to the arrangement of DNA to explain the gender & sexuality phenomenon in people of lgbtq.
My experience has been that when I meet someone who is attracted to the same sex or has qualities in him or her that resemble the opposite sex, I look deep into the ancestors they walk with to explain why they behave in such a particular way. And because ancestors live within us, both the male & female energies, they tend to also influence our choices in so far as how we express our gender or sexuality.
So if in science the XX chromosome is female and the XY is male, when explaining genetics (which is essentially another way of saying “ancestry”) how do we find people who have more feminine genes or masculine genes?
If science can explain it, so can Ubungoma.
In order for Africans to understand issues of the lgbtq, they need to understand that these people come from ancestors, which means that they have always been with us since the beginning of creation. They’ve existed whichever way you look at it. The mere fact that religion condemns them; it means they existed even before Christ.
But Africans also need to question why these people, our community, the lgbtq, were condemned: you cannot want to condemn something without understanding why it deserves condemnation. Especially if it has caused you no harm. You don’t automatically “hate” someone because someone else, or a religious text, tells you to hate them. In fact there is no text throughout religious text which explicitly asks of human beings to condemn one another. Most of all, it is illogical.
People know I am a gay Sangoma. They are curious. When I went to twasa, my ancestors came and explained everything to me; my sexuality, why I suffered homophobia, why I never had friends, why I constantly felt rejected by this physical world. So I understand where homophobia comes from. I also understand that homophobia was never ours as Africans. We had no part in it and we shouldn’t feel compelled to play a role in it today.
After all, what have gay people ever taken from this world? More than anything, they have been giving. Look around you.
In native spiritual forms “Dual Spirits” consisting of both feminine and masculine attributes were embraced. Mostly feared, but embraced. Queer people were embraced because we believed that they were the manifestation of the God source. We believed that God was neither man nor woman, but a lingering of a spirit entity which shape-shifted and inhabited people, animals, the waters and trees. Those people were the queers. The healers.
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