Post by Kay
Upile Chisala, from her book,’ Soft Magic’.
I came across Malawian writer, sociologist and human rights advocate Upile Chisala when I saw her gofundme campaign on instagram. She has written a poetry book (available on Amazon) called Soft Magic that encourages self-care, celebrates people of colour and explores gender, joy, diaspora and survival. She is also the co-founder of yanja, a monthly gathering series in Baltimore that strives to create a safe/courageous space for people of colour to connect, unwind and express themselves. Upile has another poetry book called ‘Nectar’ coming soon.
During her time at New Mexico State University (NMSU where she graduated with a High Honors BA), she worked part time, volunteered locally and internationally, helping asylum seekers as part of an internship and managed to maintain a 4.0 GPA. In 2014, she was awarded The Honors College Scholarship For International Research and with it she conducted maternal healthcare research on Likoma Island, Malawi.
Her dream is to continue conducting women’s rights research in Malawi and attending Oxford University is a way to make that possible.
I am a storyteller. I am the author of the self-published poetry book ‘soft magic’ and I hold a degree in Sociology, Law & Society, Women’s Studies and Contemporary Social Studies form New Mexico State University.
I was born and raised in Malawi and I am the last of five children. Growing up, my father was an educator and my mother was an accountant. They raised us in a small university town called Zomba.
Though there were degrees on the wall money was always scarce in our home. I never lacked for love or support and when secondary school came along my parents chose to send me to international schools. There are several instances where my brother and I were sent to the principal’s office because our school fees were overdue but somehow my parents always pulled through.
Though government secondary schools are fairly cheaper arguably international schools have more access to certain educational facilities that my parents did not want us to miss out on. I have family members who went to schools that did not have computers or desks or bathrooms with running water.
Malawi is one of the poorest nations in the world.
I think in the global north there are more opportunities for people who do not desire or cannot complete a ‘traditional education’ to still make a good living and sometimes even make more than their traditionally educated peers. However, I think it is so competitive in urban Malawian society that if you don’t have some sort of schooling it becomes much more difficult to truly make a living. The fact that there are not too many tertiary education options does not help this problem. Many middle-class to upper class Malawians would tell you that gaining an education was a must in their households.
The answer is yes and no.
The Malawian government’s main university, the University of Malawi, is free for ‘normal’ students meaning those students that sat the entrance exams and passed. So insofar as education being mainly for the privileged, when it comes to tertiary education, Malawi is highly competitive but for the most part it has more to do with a student’s scores than their socioeconomic status.
However, if a student could not afford to go to secondary school then they would not be eligible to write for the entrance exams to college. Recently my mother called her family in Usisya, the rural area in which she was raised, and as the phone was being passed from relative to relative somebody mentioned that a niece, Tiwonge, had to drop out of school because she could not find the money to continue. This child had to stop going to secondary school at 16 because she couldn’t pay the MK10, 000 fee (MK10, 000 is $14). Right away we sent her the money but it is crazy that Tiwonge’s story is like that of many individuals. Primary school is free in Malawi but secondary school isn’t and you need to complete secondary school to get even a chance to go to college, it’s such a catch 22.
I mentioned that I am a storyteller and that I grew up in urban Malawian areas, so once I got a chance to I did research on the rural and isolated island of Likoma. In 2014, I was awarded a scholarship for international research from my university and I used this conduct feminist maternal healthcare research.
This research experience opened up a whole new thought process for me where I got a chance to listen to mothers and healthcare workers from a rural area discuss maternal healthcare.
I am dripping melanin and honey.
I am black without apology. Soft Magic
My face-to-face interviews with mothers that had delivered on the island truly inspired me to my very core to continue to research knowledge from a counterhegemonic aspect.
Out of 8 women, 7 did not complete secondary school. When asked where they learnt about reproduction and childbirth all the mothers said a traditional midwife taught them. One of the mothers went so far as saying she did not see a difference between going to a traditional healer and going to the one hospital that is on the island.
There is a sense of isolation on the island that calls for an amount of self-sufficiency. There is one ambulance on the entire 6.95 mi² island and one hospital serving the needs of over 11,000 islanders, so the mothers created their own rite where most mothers accompanied by their female friends, neighbours and family members walk with her to the hospital during labor. This is only one of the amazing things I was able to document.
Today and all days,
I am thankful for women of color
who love/ write/create/emote
from the root
and never apologize for their magic. Soft Magic
I want to go to Oxford so that I can gain access to a world-class institution with research tools and the opportunities that will allow me to continue telling stories from the margins.
I want to go to Oxford so I can challenge epistemic privilege when it comes to feminist ideas.
I’ve sat in so many classes with people who looked nothing like me and may have never even heard about Malawi and I felt the need to constantly address stereotypes that were being conveyed as fact. In my poetry, my volunteer work, my research work and my personal life I hope to continue shedding light on counterhegemonic ways of viewing the world.
here you are,
black and woman and in love with yourself.
you are terrifying
they are terrified
(as they should be). Soft Magic
For so many people, myself included, my acceptance to Oxford has meant a big deal but I wish to see a time where it isn’t, rather, where it is expected.
I am a straight-A student who so happens to be an African woman of color and I belong in spaces like Oxford just as much as the next student.
I am very passionate about reproductive, maternal and infant health and want to help address some of the issues that affect such health like education, socioeconomics, etc. I would also like to continue this work of telling stories by writing a few more poetry books and eventually becoming a professor at the University of Malawi that teaches classes on gender, justice and history.
There is danger in letting people misname you. If you are a fire, do not answer when they call you a spark. Nectar
I am strong believer in community that is why I started my gofundme campaign. Though I qualify in every way for this program I have not received the financial backing from Oxford to attend their school.
My hope is not to pressure anyone to contribute but to make people understand how even the littlest of contributions goes a long way. I think we often forget the small actions we do and view them in comparison to large acts but at the end of the day both made an impact and isn’t that something?
Post by Thandie
I promised on Instagram that I would write about my night at The Orpheum Theatre in LA, for the finals of the Get Lit Poetry Slam.
I met Founder Diane Lane at the Women in the World conference held in New York last year. I was on a panel discussing how women are influenced by the media.
One of Diane’s brilliant young poets Marquesha Babers, opened the conference with her tour de force poem THAT GIRL. I asked her to come and perform when I hosted a V Day event in LA last November, for Kimberle Crenshaw and the SayHerName campaign.
At the slam, Marquesha introduced a poetry duet to the stage, performing a piece in response to the highly anticipated new Nate Parker movie ‘Birth of a Nation’. I was blown away. Here is a transcript of the poem written by Jazmine Marie, on the night it was performed by Jazmine and Zyland Turner.
By Jazmine Marie
The voice of God came quiet
Like morning dew on cotton fields
It clapped within clean sheets
blowing in a crisp melodic wind
as sparrows watched over calloused feet marching into the sunrise
It curled up unto the apples of mistresses cheeks
and rested between the crossings of her fingers
Blessing the breakfast fragrant with sweet grits and eggs
It lounged in the grins of massas eyes
Beaming at the chorus of praise and worship
At church where mammy wore the prettiest dress
a slave would ever find herself kneeling in
As a testament to heaven’s blessings over this plantation
It floated into the nursery
where little white hands and small black ones were playing patty cake
Just below the window sill
Where the air was drunk on rose petals, lemons, and the stain of a new fruit hanging one mile away
The kind of fruit that God comes down to personally collect off of its branch himself
The kind of fruit that often stares back at you
The black body blowing in the wind
with his ear angled to the sky as if to be listening
To the voices of his ancestors thundering 300 years into the future
With a sermon that sent the holy ghost rippling from our cabins to Jerusalem
Is the belief that there is such a thing as a morally just slave owner
Even if his name is Benjamin
You put shackles on our wrists as gifts from your forefathers and called them bracelets
Massa say you listen to me
and you might just make it into heaven
But the Bible say
You belong to your father,
the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires.
But the voice of God tip-toes quiet
Like massa’s exit from bed bunks just before the break of dawn
Quiet like mistresses expression at mammy burying her mulatto newborn
It floated subtle like the stench of blood that these trees couldn’t outgrow
Evil is generational
Karma is confrontational
We can’t talk
About the 72% of black mothers single in 2016
Without starting at the auction block in 1865
Or the indifferent black male attitudes towards South Central
and Chiraq genocides
without discussing 300 years of black casualties casually waving in the wind
It’s hard to find love in a community haunted by rape
And divided by prison structures
sanctioned by laws enslaving black men until white business suits decide they’re ready to profit off of the same marijuana dime bag crimes
Literacy was a liberator
Warriors were risen from the pages of the bible
Riding the whites only education train to freedom
Where today the same ticket comes at the cost of 12 to 40 years
a student loan slave to a plantation of dead presidents
And they wonder why even under the flags of Ivy League colleges
We hesitate to jump in bed with massa
Still forcing slave food into the bellies of our neighborhoods
As if the McDonalds and Liquor stores
Are any better than the pork and cornmeal
used to force feed 3/5ths of a man constitutional verbiage
If I’s a good nigga he gone see to it that I receives ma blessuns
And mamma say
You comes from a people’s crowned by heavens water when they dance
Vengeance belongs to the Lord our God
But these scars on my back have been here so long they’ve turned into generational birth marks my children’s children will wear
And I can’t keep pretending like I don’t see the Red Elephant in the room
Trumping that one version of oppression is more acceptable over another
the slave quarters that we lived and died in
were upgraded to ghettos that we struggle until we’re killed in
We are still running from modernized plantations
Hiding behind cars and vacant houses from overseers patrolling behind badges
who see a nigga, kill a nigga
risking it all for a taste of freedom
The voice of God
floated down and clung to the negro spirituals
drifting past a resting hound dog
and into the study where one lonely Nat Turner sat with a Bible in his lap
searching for a sword
determined to learn how to articulate the pain of his people
Because all massa ever taught us to say was
To be living in a legacy of wounds
That birthed a nation