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Afrique> Afrique du Sud
« In the Gold Mines » (B. W. Vilakazi)
| Ezikomponi | In the Gold Mines |
| Dumani mishini yezinkomponi, Nidume ngesokusa lize lishone. Ngizovuka, musani ukungibelesela. Dumani mishini ningalaleli Ukugquma kwezisebenz’ ezimnyama, Ziqaqanjelwa ngamanxeb’ omzimba, Nezithubula zomoya zifuthelene, Insila yomjuluko inuk’ emzimbeni, Inqulu yenu niyithintitha kuthi do. Memeza mfan’ omdala kukude, Kukude lapho wabunjwa khona, Washisw’ emlilweni, kwavuthwa Wena kwasal’ amalahle wathunyelwa, Sakubon’ uwel’ amanz’ olwandle. Wathwalwa ngononjinjikazi bezwe, Bakushushumbisa bakusa laph’ eGoli. Wakhala mhlathize kwaqhamuka, Kuvela macal’ onke izimbila. Izimbila zabambala mnyama, Zaswel’ imisila, wazithatha Wazigqum’ emgodini wazisenga. Guqukani masondo ezinsimbi, Nalethelwa thina naboshezelwa Kungekuthanda kwenu nokuzimisela. Namhla niduma nilokhu nidonse njalo. Abanye benu ngibabona begqwalile, Sebalahlwa ngaphandl’ emazaleni. Lapho ngidlula ngendlela, Ngiyaguquka ngibheke Ngicabanga ngithi niyozalana, Khathisimbe nande; kodwa qha. Abanewenu nabo bayagqwala Ngaphakathi ezinkomponi. Amaphaphu abo aya ngokugqwala, Bakhwehlele balale bafe. Pho, nina anikhwehleli ngani? Ngizwile kuthiwa emgodini Kuy’ izizwe ngezizwe zikaMnyama. Yizo lez’ ezivus’ amagqum’ amhlophe Amangalis’ amathong’ amnyana. Ngizwile kuthiwa kwakhala Imishini kwavela mbib’ emnyama, Emqondweni wayo kuhlwile khuhle. Yabanjwa yaphendulw’ imvukuzane, Yavukuz’ umhlabathi ngabon’ iGoli. Yebo, zivukuzil’ izimvukuzane Kwavel’ izindundum’ ezimhlophe. Zafukuzela phansi zakhwela, Namhla zingangeSandlwana. Ngizikhwela ngesul’ isithukuthuku, Ngithi ngiphezulu ngibon’ izikhatha Zentuthu emhlophe yothuli isuka Phans’ ezinyaweni zami, ngibheke, Ngiyibon’ ivimb’ umhlaba wonke. Dumani mishini yezinkomponi, Dumani kakhulu nakakhulu. Vimbezelani ngomsindo singezwakali Nakuba sikhala sigquma njalo. Amalungu emizimba yethu adliwa yini. Gegethekani mishin’ emidala, Kuhle nisihleka sifuquleka. Amandl’ enu makhulu niyesabeka. Ningenza ngokuthanda kwenu, siyavuma. Sivumile ukuphum’ eqhugwaneni, Sazoluswa njengezinkabi; Sashiy’ amabele namasi nobisi, Sazohlalel’ uphuthu nephalishi. Buphelile ubunumzane, singabafana. Siyabona izwe lishay’ ungqimphothwe. Sivuswa ngesokusa sim’ uhele. Wake wakubonaph’ ukungcwatshwa Ubheke ngawo omabili, uzihambela? Dumani mishini yezinkomponi. Ngiyavuka kanginwabuzeli. Ngizongena phansi komhlaba Ngiyoshay’ ijombolo phezu kwetshe. Naw’ ongaphandle ongangizwayo, Uyobona ngakho ukuthi sengiyalishaya Ijombolo lomLungu laph’ ubona Amagaliga nezingolovane ziphuma Zigcwel’ amatshe amhlophe naluhlaza. Umfoweth’ uyolithwal’ ipiki, Nehalavu alibek’ ehlombe Efak’ amagqukel’ ezinyaweni. Nay’ angen’ angilandele Umhlab’ usigwinye siyovukuza. Uma ngifile khona ngaphansi Kuyoba nani? Ngingubani nje nempela? Kwasa kusa, mntanomuntu, Bayagingqika begenuka ngibuka. Ngingene ngaphansi kwenhlabathi Kungekho mibhoshongo ekhwele Engiyibuka ngigebenyeke. Ngathi ngiyagoduka nemithwalo Ngashayw’ amahlanga namanxiwa, Ngenway’ ikhanda ngisangene. Ngabuz’ umkami nabakhwekazi, Bangitshel’ umLung’ engimsebenzelayo. Ngathula ngawuhlab’ inhlali. Dumani mishini yezinkomponi. Noma nikude kwaDukathole Amazw’ enu ahlabay’ emphefumulweni; Ayancencetha ezindlebeni zami, Anjengensimbi yethus’ izwakala kude; Angikhumbuz’ imibhoshong’ emide Nemicebo, nezicebi engizikhuphulile Zenyukel’ endlin’ engenhla, zangishiya Ngigxiz’ amanzi njengengcuba yenkomo. Amal’ezulu [1945], Witwartersrand University Press, 2021, p. 73-80 | Thunder away, machines of the mines Thunder away from dawn till sunset. I will get up soon; do not pester me; Thunder away, machines. Heed not The groans of the black labourers Writhing with the pain of their bodily wounds The air close and suffocating With the dirt and sweat of their bodies As they drain their hips till nothing is left. Call aloud, old boy. It is far, It is far away where you were moulded, Where you roasted in the fire till you were strong; The cold remained; you were sent away, And we saw you cross the waters of the sea; You were borne overland by the engines of fire That puffed and glided to Goli here; You screamed one day, and all at once they appeared, They came rock-rabbits from all sides. Those black rock-rabbits without tails You caught and stowed away in holes To own and milk as yielding cows. Whirl round and round, you wheels of iron; It was for us they brought you here; You were tied together against your will; To-day you thunder and strain unceasingly; See how some of your kind, now rusty and old, Have been cast away on the rubbish dumps. As I pass along the road I turn around and watch, Wondering if you will ever give birth, Perchance increase. But no! Your brother too go rusty Within the mine compounds; Their lungs go rusty and rusty, And they cough and they lie down and they die. But you irons, you never cough. I note and wonder why. I have heard it said that in the hole They are tribes and tribes of the Black One; It is they who raise the great white mounds That astonish their black forebears. I have heard it said that on a certain day A siren shrieked, and a black-field mouse With mind all wrapped in darkness came; He was caught and changes into a mole And he burrowed the earth and I saw the gold. O yes they burrowed, those burrowing moles, And the great white mounds appeared. Swelling from the ground and climbing and climbing Till to-day they top iSandlwana mountain. I labour to the top, I wipe off the sweat, And from on high I see the piles Of fine white dust, fine dust arising From below my feet. I look around And I note that the piles block the earth around. Thunder away, machines of the mines, Thunder loud and loud, Deafen with noise that we may not be heard Though we cry out aloud and groan As you eat away the joints of our bodies; Giggle and snigger, you old machines; It is well that you laugh and scorn our rage, For great is your power and fearful; You may do as you please: we succumb. We agreed to leave our round-shaped huts, To be herded here like castrated males; We gave up our corn, amasi and milk, To live here on pap and porridge; All gone is our manhood: we are mere boys; We see that the world is upside down; We are woken at dawn, and we stand in a row; Were was it ever done to bury a man While he walks and sees with both is eyes? Thunder away, machines of the mines, I am getting up, not chameleon-like, I will go beneath the earth, I will strike the rocks with the bowing rod; Even you above, though you hear not a sound, Will know that I strike with the white man’s rod When you see the trucks coming laden high With the stones that are white and blue. My brother too will come with me, The pick and the shovel on his shoulder, His heavy boots on his feet; He too will enter and follow me, Swallowed by the earth, we will burrow away; And if I should die right here beneath What matters it? Who am I at all? From dawn to dawn, O son of man; I see them stumble and tumble and die. When I went beneath the earth, There were none of the giants mounds Whereat now I gaze and wonder; I carried my bundle to seek my home, But was hit in the face by cropless stalks, By empty huts and abandoned homes; I paused and scratched my heads, puzzled; Where was my wife? My mother-in-law? I was told they had gone to the white man, To the white man for whom I work. I shut my mouth and spoke not a word. Thunder away, machines of the mines, Though reaching me from far-away Dukathole (The-place-where-the-calf-goes-astray), Your voice stab deep into my soul, Tinkling and tinkling in my ears Like the startling sound of a bell far away. They bring to my mind the lofty homes, The riches and the rich ones whom I raised To the beautiful house on high, while I stay here Dripping, sweating, a lean dying ox. Translated form the isiZulu by A. C. Jordan. |
ENJEU CONCERNÉ
AUTRES CRÉATIONS MOBILISÉES
Chant de mineurs sotho (Ngoan’atooane Motsoafi)
“City Johannesburg” (Mongane Wally Serote, 1971)Mine: A Litany of Loss Movement (Uhuru Portia Phalafala, 2023)Mntanami! Mntanami! (Sibusiso Nyembesi, 1950)State of Mine: Deeds (Uhuru Portia Phalafala, 2023)Unyiukimo Lomhlaba-E-Rautini (Nontsizi Mgqwetho)
William Kentridge, « Mine » (1991)