Umoya

 Sundays are days of holiness and beauty...-- Myesha Jenkins, ("I call it home”)

This post began writing itself while I was in the water a few hours ago. I was swimming laps which is always a time for reflection and allowing my mind to wander. A strange sensation occurred as I swam breaststroke. I burped. It was a release I didn't even know I needed. It felt like an air bubble had been trapped in my body. I wondered where it came from. It felt like a release yokukhupha umoya. My body felt instantly lighter. Free. Clearer. My body took me to places about my relationship with umoya.

Yipasika. It's an evening service. Siyacula. UYesu asikamvusi. The service is coming to an end. IGuilders recently introduced instimbi ecaweni and it's causing tensions. A'khoseziyoni apha. KuseWisile. Sibetha umpampampa. Intsimbi yenza ikenqke. Ivusa imimoya. But we persist as ulutsha because there's something that wants intsimbi ecaweni. There's something that demands ikenqke eWisile. We were standing in a circle about to do ufefe. His outburst was akin to a lament at first and then a torrent of wailing. Yangathi yimbongi but he was also crying. His tiny body convulsed and was shaken and taken over by something else. We were singing iculo which died down into a hum while his outburst morphed into a prayer. No one panicked. We witnessed. I don't remember what he said. But I remember the feeling of witnessing. It felt like something important was happening. Umfundisi and umama unoBhayibhile inched towards him and prayed for him, calming him down. There was no rush. Umoya wanikwa ithuba. The song continued. We were all part of the moment. Later mama would explain that unomoya la mntwana. That child was taken over by a spirit. This made him special. It made us special that the spirit would give us the opportunity to witness a holy moment. We were safe enough for his release. I never forgot the moment of being a witness.

This is the memory which comes to mind as I am in the water feeling my body change and I am trying to trace where the air bubble comes from. I was in church earlier. I went to a different service in the 'burbs rather than eKhayelitsha where I have been trying to ensconce myself as a member amongst people who do not know who I am. The music wasn't great. The preacher even said ingathi asikaculi as the service began. It was a slow warm up. Te Deum was a disaster. I regretted not going to my church which never sacrifices uSiyakudumisa. But because I am my mother's daughter, I had to suspend my judgement and be in the service and choose to be present. The moment came when we sang Nkosi ndive ngezibele. It's one of those hymns that always changes the texture of the room. It is transcendental. Like many songs eWisile it has the ability yokuvuselela. Ivusa imimoya.

I grew up in the black church. And after many years of bumbling through multiracial churches and white churches, I am firmly back in the black church for political and psychospiritual reasons. But at the most fundamental level, nditsalwa yingoma. One thing I was never able to replicate when I left the church for almost ten years was the collective embodiment of spirit. The heaving and swaying of bodies singing together. Creating something beautiful. Evoking something elevating. Raising the roof in song. Edifying ourselves. Sizinika ubuntu bethu. Together. Carrying each other through sound and reading the room anticipating when we have had enough and when we have healed our bodies by moving together and singing together.

This is an ancient register. Ndikhule ekhaya kukho iintlombe. I grew up missing them when we moved to the 'burbs. I grew up around the magic of umoya and what it can do. I grew up knowing the power of igubu and the pounding in my chest which mirrored igubu. I grew up with prayer that made us weep. I grew up knowing that words chosen carefully and said in a voice trembling with reverence and fear had the ability to lift our burdens and change our perspective after the tears released our bodies. I grew up with words said by elders which made a material impact in the world. I have been chasing this holiness throughout my adult life. And in the absence yentlombe nemisebenzi ekhaya, I find it through amaculo aseWisile.

After the sermon today we sang Lukhangela kuwe. Another elevation which is the most moving when sang in reverence in a slow tempo. I recognised the bubble in my chest. But because I do not trust my body and I was in an unfamiliar church, I made an active decision to ignore it. I gave myself to the songs hoping that would relieve my body. I have seen people allow themselves a wail, a scream and sometimes a whimper in church. Sometimes it's grief. Sometimes banyukelwa ngumoya. I have actively denied the wail. Andiyifuni into ejongisayo. But I also insist on safety before I let myself go. Those who know, know that I am kidding myself. My restraint will only take me so far and one day it will betray me.

But for today, the release came in the water while in a stroke I have identified as a heart opening gesture. I denied myself witnesses. The environment felt artificial. There was no song to carry me. Just the sound of the few other swimmers and my body changing in posture. I was relieved that at least my body would not allow me to sit with the bubble in my chest. I was reminded of something igqirha once said to me when I was trying to understand umoya intellectually. She said to me, the body always remembers. Today my body remembered umoya.

But come to think of it, the bubble began last night while watching Gregory Maqoma's Exit/Exist. I felt it in my body. I walked away telling my friend I have artist envy. I have witnessed artists who allow themselves to become vessels zomoya. Last night Gregory Maqoma, the singers and the guitarist became those vessels.

Watching a friend of mine perform recently I had the same sensation. She's a singer. And I recently told her one day I will write about her (this is not that piece) because I have seen her perform a few times and I have watched her harness her gift and allow it to do what it needs to do in the room. To evoke ubuntu bethu. We had a long conversation about creativity and what it does in the world and recognising my own anxieties and insecurities. My friend seems to have the confidence I lack and I witnessed this in the short set she did. I was struck by her hands and arms: wide open as though she was embracing the room. At times it felt like a take off, as though she would levitate. I'm sure she will be shocked by my observation. Maybe I am projecting. Maybe I was searching for an elevating experience and I found it in her performance. She seemed to give herself to the moment and give her voice to the room wholeheartedly. A full body experience that cannot be be done otherwise; because the people in the room know wholeheartedness when they see it. They know hollowness and superficiality when they see it.

Today swimming gave me a gift I didn't know I even needed. In the same way collective singing holds me together. Swimming reminded my body that it needs umoya. Swimming reminded me to suspend my complicated feelings with church and the politics and its history. This is only possible when I allow my body to remember.