guilt

it’s been about 50 years since the instruments of the empire were dismantled. we ex-colonies are bumbling-stumbling to reclaim identities, realign our selves, figure out 101 ways of decolonization - to great tragicomic effect. still bleeding – but this time, with self-inflicted wounds, doing unto ourselves what the other did to us. but bleeding under your own sun on your own earth is not a bad deal, eh?

where are the powers that drove the age and ambition of imperialism? the man of the moment is the trigger-happy cowboy. but on the periphery of the present, the white man still trudges along with his burden of memories. every once in a while, he mumbles apologies for past trangressions – sometimes to the transgressed, sometimes to no one in particular. new victors and new victims – fresh blood spilt everywhere, but like an obsessive-compulsive, he feverishly worries the dried crust of blood under his fingernails that only he notices anymore.

and somewhere in this karmic wheel of guilt and penance, a woman of indigenous origins, wanting to understand ‘development’, is offered the opportunity to do so on a substantial scholarship so that she need not sell her soul to the world bank.

forgiveness is on its way, white man. plus, prayers for a 2010 world cup victory.