A letter of distress to the movement,

I write to you because of the last weeks in NZAR

Showing how we are still in the middle of a revolution,

To be constitutionally viable to life, shelter, sanitation, good health and protection by the police’

I remember how the country was rejoicing to the snow a couple of years ago and the headlines reading “South Africa hasn’t experienced snow since 1987, bringing its people together in rejoice over the weather…” had, me skeptical about what it is we were happy for, because of the homeless people that had to adapt and a week later this very same country was divided between its Citizens and the South African Police Services in Marikana.

So in dyer signal to the Country I wrote a piece of Distress to the movement.

Philippians 2;12 “Not only in my absence but now much more in my presence, keep on working with fear and Trembling to complete your Salvation”

Because nothing about this weather is normal, from the last flake that couldn’t scrape the surface to the last bullet that seized fire,

Our people were, are and will not be sheltered enough to weather the snow, no matter how much of a blessing you think it is, How “colorful” the rainbow that followed 1994. The last time we experienced conditions like this was 1987, what kind of storm is this?

People dancing to white ash while it was like a salted wound by the wind and the dust in the hills, to the homeless, I guess it can get hot just as it can get any colder.

Tomorrow am bagging blankets in this free government plastic bag of recycled promises and giving it away, it’s always been to many blankets for me to imagine someone sleeping in between boxes…

Philippians 2;12 “Not only in my absence but now much more in my presence, keep on working with fear and Trembling to complete your Salvation”

I write to you also about our rainbow colored people in governance, a sellout, Comrades turning into Missionaries in involvement to the Police. Who in turn policies the Police?

There is no longer any innocence from these sheep clothed wolves that sell their mandate in parliament.

Black Governed Countries harbor a black market place of greed and vanity, late textbooks, abductions more killings, and more rape that even civilians are machines.

We can’t afford any more deaths in our generation because our forefathers traded this Land at a loss, inherited even the tribal wars before then and in the now, regretting the lost time, still absent men mining the CBDs in no return with no returns. Until there’s a death count on live television and identities of the families involved, making it beyond us to decide who is more to blame.

To the two Cops, the colleagues that were killed were no reason to open fire on a crowd of 3000,

To me it sounds like it became violently personal of Professionals paid well enough to react tactically NOT inhumanely or does the 34 Killed and others injured encourage anymore deaths in the name of a Government to a forgotten Province.

Look at us now, ‘Marikana Massacre’ and the ongoing enquiry, shunning the affected women and children I dare not speak off. What army does the South African Police think they are trained for, fired at or not I saw the guns and the 1 pistol they were defending themselves against?

Dear Mr. President I remember how you cancelled your summit short and flew back,

I say good, Come Mr. President your Countries post-apartheid laundry is being showed to the world.

Come see the dried up blood on the lesser green side of the dusty roads of Rusty,

Come see the crime in the mountains were harvest should be but instead dark clouds of industrialism mine our brothers senseless for a minimum wage.

Come give your shortened speech to the people who could see how jetlagged your were from Mozambique, just so you make your presidential appearance, come explain to them, to us, why we shouldn’t pick up arms in the new Republic of South Africa, Since the Sharpeville massacre, since the snow of ’87 and the many headlines that shock us still in a post-apartheid era.

Come and leave Mr. President, the house respected your exciting the room by asking no further questions as to what happened on August 16, only because of the frenzied shock from the pictures seen, silencing us.

Now our people, your people bear witness to how it feels to be shot down in a “democracy.”

 

Poem by Ramoloti Kganakga

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