Blog
Qhali | Being fully present
Fri, 30 August 2024
How do we celebrate Women’s Month in a country where gender-based violence is so prevalent? What role can poetry play in that celebration?
To explore these burning questions, the AVBOB Poetry Project sat down with Qhali, a poet, editor and social justice activist whose debut poetry collection, Crying in My Mother’s Tongue (Ukulila) was published by Akashic Records and the African Poetry Book Fund this year.
“As a child, whenever I was hurt, I imagined my mother was the safest place on earth,” she explains. “When I experienced violation of my body, I literally wanted to return into her body. Later, when my first child was born, I felt immense joy and the need to keep her safe inside that joy. But she had to leave my belly to experience what she came here for – joy and sorrow.
“The isiXhosa phrase in the title reflects another way in which I want to cry inside my mother, which is to cry in her tongue, in her language, in the first rhythms I heard.”
Qhali’s raw, honest exploration of gender-based violence has led to the creation of an extraordinary, multilingual project.
“Loss-i-Lahleko – A National Choreopoem is a multilingual anthology and survival guide that has been translated into 11 books in all official [written] South African languages, as well as an audiobook. It is currently out at some Exclusive Books stores, and I hope it will become more widely accessible. Everyone should have the right to mourn, relate and heal in their own language.”
One of her most moving poems, ‘Return to Tsolobeng’, explores the need for self-care in order to nurture others. It features a mother who takes a long journey into the mountains, temporarily entrusting her two young children into her own mother’s care for the sake of her mental well-being:
“Sometimes a mother needs to return home to be a mother
Because sometimes this place can make you forget
How to be a human,
How to feed a child and be nowhere else…”
Qhali remembers, “I had lost my mind. That is how this poem came about. I had just left a well-paying job for poetry, hoping it would save me. I was lying in bed in my mother’s house with my two children in my arms. I didn’t know what to do next. Then a text message from a former supervisor came through, encouraging me to enter a poem for a competition. And so I wrote it, without putting my pen down. Afterwards, I read it and knew exactly what I was going to do with my life. I no longer cared about the competition. I had just found my plan to keep me here.
“So this is what I would like readers to bear in mind this Women’s Month: You can save yourself, rebirth yourself, over and over, just as your mother did once.”
When asked what practices and rituals most deeply nourish her writing, Qhali shares, “I employ a few practices and rituals before I write, even if I feel the poem is ready to be written. I walk barefoot outdoors for some time, place my body in water (a bath or the ocean), or speak to my ancestors before sitting in silence with them. Often, I bring gifts with me, including water and light. In order to write, I need to be completely alone and yet somehow feel held by them.”
In the next few weeks, use the rituals that work best for you and write a poem describing an inner journey of self-discovery you have undertaken.
The AVBOB Poetry Competition is open for submissions until midnight on 30 November 2024. Visit www.avbobpoetry.co.za today and familiarise yourself with the competition rules.
To explore these burning questions, the AVBOB Poetry Project sat down with Qhali, a poet, editor and social justice activist whose debut poetry collection, Crying in My Mother’s Tongue (Ukulila) was published by Akashic Records and the African Poetry Book Fund this year.
“As a child, whenever I was hurt, I imagined my mother was the safest place on earth,” she explains. “When I experienced violation of my body, I literally wanted to return into her body. Later, when my first child was born, I felt immense joy and the need to keep her safe inside that joy. But she had to leave my belly to experience what she came here for – joy and sorrow.
“The isiXhosa phrase in the title reflects another way in which I want to cry inside my mother, which is to cry in her tongue, in her language, in the first rhythms I heard.”
Qhali’s raw, honest exploration of gender-based violence has led to the creation of an extraordinary, multilingual project.
“Loss-i-Lahleko – A National Choreopoem is a multilingual anthology and survival guide that has been translated into 11 books in all official [written] South African languages, as well as an audiobook. It is currently out at some Exclusive Books stores, and I hope it will become more widely accessible. Everyone should have the right to mourn, relate and heal in their own language.”
One of her most moving poems, ‘Return to Tsolobeng’, explores the need for self-care in order to nurture others. It features a mother who takes a long journey into the mountains, temporarily entrusting her two young children into her own mother’s care for the sake of her mental well-being:
“Sometimes a mother needs to return home to be a mother
Because sometimes this place can make you forget
How to be a human,
How to feed a child and be nowhere else…”
Qhali remembers, “I had lost my mind. That is how this poem came about. I had just left a well-paying job for poetry, hoping it would save me. I was lying in bed in my mother’s house with my two children in my arms. I didn’t know what to do next. Then a text message from a former supervisor came through, encouraging me to enter a poem for a competition. And so I wrote it, without putting my pen down. Afterwards, I read it and knew exactly what I was going to do with my life. I no longer cared about the competition. I had just found my plan to keep me here.
“So this is what I would like readers to bear in mind this Women’s Month: You can save yourself, rebirth yourself, over and over, just as your mother did once.”
When asked what practices and rituals most deeply nourish her writing, Qhali shares, “I employ a few practices and rituals before I write, even if I feel the poem is ready to be written. I walk barefoot outdoors for some time, place my body in water (a bath or the ocean), or speak to my ancestors before sitting in silence with them. Often, I bring gifts with me, including water and light. In order to write, I need to be completely alone and yet somehow feel held by them.”
In the next few weeks, use the rituals that work best for you and write a poem describing an inner journey of self-discovery you have undertaken.
The AVBOB Poetry Competition is open for submissions until midnight on 30 November 2024. Visit www.avbobpoetry.co.za today and familiarise yourself with the competition rules.
