Ndabezinhle Collen: A Work in Progress

Whilst speaking to him, it felt as though Ndabezinhle was actively ascending into his passion, getting lost in it and finding his gravity in it all at the same time. It was as though he was resting whilst being fuelled simultaneously. The Mic's Bea Kasale reports.

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Tall, Dark & Formidable

— What might it sound like when a Black man cries?

It’s many a time that I am softened by the quaint nature of creation. I am caressed and swayed gently each time man manifests himself into a vision. But this vision is not ordinary. From sound to sight, the vision comes alive and the universe is finally our witness. The universe bears witness to a nature, a way of life and culture so ingrained into the fibre of humanity. Into the sake of humanity. Ndabezinhle Collen might just be humanity’s signal of coming alive, again and again and again—Ndabezinhle might just be humanity’s signal of what eternity might sound like, look like — what eternity translates to once crafted by man.

In the wake of speaking with him, it was made known to me that Ndabezinhle is rooted in Africanity. and consequently, his creation is morbidly akin to what God’s kiss feels like on a deep, burdensome wound. I suppose the similarity might only be ‘morbid’ on account of Ndabezinhle bringing to life a kind of gentleness that is reckoned in fairytales. Being a Black man rarely, if ever, escapes the coarse, formidable and stoic mask society prescribes. Being an African man is nearly synonymous with that mask, but has been cursed with the mole of being understood to be impossible. Impossibly inhuman.

A journey that was kicked off by gqula (act of drumming) was the profound genesis of reshaping masculinity. By refurbishing the ideology in the hands of love. Abandoning violence and constraint, the beat Ndabezinhle beat was the heartbeat of a kind, kind, gentle man.

He spoke and spoke some more. His speech eventually morphed into a plea. In that moment I realised that my shame might not be impeached. I ought to sit in the shame and account for each moment I forgot that a man was a child. That men too are children of the universe.

“God just had a plan for me.” - Ndabezinhle Collen

Ndabezinhle uttered that his music is “focused on healing... young black men.” It was when this was uttered I recalled the entrapments of humanity: stereotypes and social constructs. I realised that black men, the plurality of which escapes fathomable, have lost their lives, their shine, to everything the world told them they would be, should be — no one mentioned everything they could be.

This a revolutionary act, might you reckon that sheer fact with me? Ndabezinhle is singing to an onus that has nearly diminished what Black men could be. He is not causing it harm. He intends not to crush it or destroy it. He only pursues to heal it. When it was revealed that songs serve the same purpose that a message does, when Ndabezinhle listens, I realised that our saving grace is embedded in rhythm. Art will set us free. Art will save us. Art — my goodness — art!

Every journey is distinct. Every path leads elsewhere and everywhere. But what might lead us into unity, despite the road travelled, is trusting an instrument to teach us something different. Something new, true and causes us no harm or malice. I am daring to say that that instrument is Ndabezinhle.

“Songs are like messages to me.” - Ndabezinhle Collen

I hope, if ever my piece on who I understand Ndabezinhle Collen to be is diluted, I hope the very crux of it is an alchemy of awe and apology. Also, be so for real and listen to Relate. Emancipate your mind and heart — recall that you are human, and as such, everyone else is too.

Bea Kasale

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Edited by Daniela Roux

Photo courtesy of Ndabezinhle