As a creative person, I sometimes catch feelings about the fact that, in my current job, I’m not really in a position to create my own work as much as I would like but instead have to facilitate commentary on, response to and engagement with other people’s work.

This is a serious privilege in a country like the unhinged tap of creativity that is South Africa right now.

That said, I can’t deny the “even me” feeling that attaches itself to my mental list of anxieties about my life’s purpose when I see what my peers are doing in film, music, fashion, art and literature both locally and internationally.

My anxiety is gaining mass lately, not because of my pale green envy but because of the perspective I’m gaining on the lack of African lived experiences as stories and histories in the world’s legitimised knowledge systems.

Knowing the necessity of stories as a human tradition and as a tool of a people’s historicisation, I find it astounding how many stories there still are to tell about this continent – stories that are not being told to the world and thereby contributing to the erasure of African perspectives.

This, of course, extends to all of Africa’s thievable intellectual property: fashion, jewellery, food, music, architecture, medicine, sciences, esoterism and all forms of design – oh, and those lovely minerals. read more