MY TRUTH.

This little light of mine;

I'm going to let it shine.

 

How It Got Started.

Hear It From Me.

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Words are to me what numbers are to a Mathematician.

Once upon an Africa, in the land before time upon which the sun set and on whose foot lies the vast Atlantic (West Africa), there lived and breathed a people whose momentous civilization was a tale to behold and be told... and so it was, religiously so, for you see... in the king's court there sat the Griot.

A griot was a man of repute: a man whose role was an exceptionally auspicious one: a man whose death could only be compared to that of a burnt library. 

The griot was both the storyteller and the story keeper; a community's walking library and a resource person. Should the king find himself in an affliction similar to that of any of his late predecessors, he would refer to history via the griot.  Should a civilian want to know the meaning of his surname as inherited from his ancestors, he as well would approach the griot.

Whereas the king was the heart of the kingdom, the griot was considered the djeli; the blood.

It goes without a saying that storytelling was the griot's tool of trade. Once in a generation however, there happened to occur a multi-talented griot who incorporated other art forms such as poetry and music in his delivery. The Kora for instance, a 21 stringed instrument, was a personal favorite among the griots.

To imply that I think of myself as some modern-day griot would be outright perversion to the sanctity of that institution. Besides... that's what the internet is for.More humbly, I like to think of myself as a storyteller... or at least that is what I'm working towards. As for now, I simply have settled for the title of a self-ordained writer; a writer whose craft is a work in progress. 

Hello there :), my name is Shalom Kendi Mbae, and welcome to the humble beginnings of my beautiful journey. I do hope you enjoy your stay.

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