People think when you leave your country,
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any anger you feel is hate,
for some, perhaps…
Aggravated by their African-ness,
desperate for foreign belonging, a false equivalence,
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to them, I don’t relate.
My rage was compounded anger,
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the anger was blistering grief,
I loved my country, my continent.
For its people,
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grossly unequal,
impoverished, divided South Africa,
all I wanted was better, just outcomes…true relief.
I never wished for my countrymen,
poorer than my family,
poorer than my race,
more harm, less assets, less control or wealth.
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I didn’t care what colour leadership was,
I never said, how dare “they” want what is “ours”.
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Like my husband said,
shouldn’t everyone have an equal,
fair share.
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You’re born to the same sand,
some have citizenship from foreign lands,
but it is my birth right,
to see us go far, our futures safe and secure in hand.
Whatever pain,
born of brokenness,
I cannot explain.
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Generational trauma,
racism, war,
a capitalist white supremacy that harmed most, perhaps all,
we were owed better, rectification and more,
change, reparations.
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The bare minimum was ignored.
Everyone, less powerful,
powerless in spades,
are suffering in the lower classes,
being sold massaged heroics, distractions for days.
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It is so devastatingly bad,
my mom-in-law is still working,
in her sixties, past the age of retirement,
she can’t afford to stay home, to relax and be free,
too afraid of financial hard times, which may be lurking.
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born lower-middle class, racialised white,
Afrikaner by birth, where will she go?
what will happen when she’s too tired,
too sick to go on.
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my brother-in-law,
lowest-middle class,
tall and blonde,
forced to hop from turning,
to lifeguarding,
to handy man jobs.
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the democratic, capitalist trickle-down,
the minority, white supremacist glut,
has atomised and sentenced ordinary people,
to a life of hardship, monthly anxiety,
arduous night and day jobs.
It is so bad,
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this trickle-down plan,
my mum-in-law has palpitations,
using a private medical aid scheme,
she can barely afford,
to treat her life ailments,
caused by cortisol floods, crushing her more and more.
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And where was our government?
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The freedom-for-all, branded “socialist” stars,
signing foreign finance deals,
abandoning social reforms,
maintaining minority winnings,
while everyone, below upper-middle class steadily starved.
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They took money,
or they misspent,
they wasted our time,
and murdered for political bets.
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I lost my country.
I lost my continent.
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I am African, not Indian.
The 1994-crowd could have done the right things,
but they didn’t, they sold us to liberal capitalism,
gluing onto inequality, melting Icarus wings.
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We lost the sand of KZN beaches.
We lost the ease of knowing what words and phrases meant.
We lost our motherland!
They took Africa from us!
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And that, I’m struggling to forgive.
My sister,
always working like a slave,
like so many workers, lower class do.
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She can’t afford to buy,
the house she grew up in,
in the apartheid concentration camp,
the “Indian” neighbourhood,
they called Kenville.
Where is the justice?
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For people like her, like us.
We were children in 1994,
they sold us a system,
inherited from unfairness,
dressed it up like new,
a pig in makeup,
the end result so sickening,
I can’t even spew.
God help Africa,
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leave your blessings wish behind,
just help us, God. Help them,
to find the courage,
to say enough,
enough,
we are coming for our just outcomes,
for what’s owed, our better lives.