Freedom Where Are You?

22 September

I wasn’t there but I’ve heard, I’ve read and a clear picture has been drawn for me to elucidate my lacuna mind

The cartridge, the bullet, the pistol, the trigger and “bang”

The gun smokes out the blood of an unarmed African black man

For the colour of his skin frightened the brutal foreign white men

The song, the march, the shouts, the race begins and the dust rise up

For the ikwelakakwela invades the streets of SOWETO before the Sunset

A dog released off and after a black man it chases and bites off a pound piece of a black man’s leg

The wound bleeds and triggers the pain, the pain triggers the scream and the scream tickles the brutal white men and in laughter they bust

The impimpi, the night, the door down, the guns, the bright lights and the handcuffs

Then kicked like a ball and forcefully pushed into the back of the van

With a wet pee smelling cloth on the head blindfolded so he could not see the pain coming nor smell the piece of freedom

In prison, the beating begins until the scream dies like a goat running out of breath when it is being slaughtered.

The cell separation, the hanging, the disappearing, the hidden burial and the lies told to the cellmates for the leader has been murdered in the dark while they were not watching

The tears shared and the sad Mzabalazo songs sang to accompany the spirit of the mist fallen freedom fighter

The fight continues in and out of prisons until even the inescapable Roben Island prison escapes the apartheid government and call it a quite

1991, the release, the back to the families, the freedom and winning back of the country and looking back at the scars for the wounds slowly heal but the scars remain

Estimated 21,000 black people lost their lives so I and you would enjoy every second of our breath

But today their blood and tears keep pouring like the rains of Noah for the killing of each other never stops

Every night I sleep with one eye open for I do not know whose turn it is to be taken out since yesterday my neighbours 2-year-old baby got raped and murdered.

The killing, rapes, teenage pregnancy, diseases, drugs and alcohol all increase day by day and in fear we remain still

All this got me asking myself ‘Freedom where are you?’

Could it happen that the African men we call heroes fought apartheid to own it for themselves?

If not, then why are we living in fear in our own houses?

I prefer to go back to white apartheid error for back then I knew who my enemy was unlike now where my brother is a wolf in sheep’s fare and anytime he may attack me

Author: Yamkela Ngcongo 

Source: FunDza
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