13 like i said zamdela is my sorrow the pain is in my heart & every part of township & rural south africa suffers my heartache you and me and him and her we bleed from the same pain at the ntakunyisa place i see my beloved people with faces that say 50 something years & a witty lingo that shouts born in ‘76\ born in ‘86 it’s my comrades the ungovernables the same funky & eloquent classmates who unpacked the pros and cons of spontaneity & debated the choice between reform and revolution with a Luxembourgian acumen in standard 8 fight for a quart of sorghum beer with senior citizens when the intoxication level rises and the effects reach below the belt the age difference disappears & insidious incest occurs….. the shame in me disallows me to look this guerilla comrade in the eye blistered lips and sunken eyes gray hair of desolation this brother was a carefree hip boy enjoying the life without a toss about race and class let alone the gender thing until i polluted his mind with Ngungi wa Thiongo and Dedan Kimathi moving him to cross the border to be a freedom fighter “azobuya maguerrila” the people sang when the returnees arrived the leaders where in suits & the rest in unfitting two-decades old shabby rags the ladies came back talking of a strange training sessions preparing them for the eventuality of being raped by the settlers & their dogs
Posted on: Mon, 24 Nov 2014 11:11:45 +0000
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