Nelson Mandela: an inspiration
I am of African descent, a child of the mocking sun, the grass that shreds the ego, the doleful moon that sends arrogance to pasture, the river that put paid to the individual long before the wind could sing or the sweat could touch the ground. I am a descendant of Phalo, from the barren lands of Mqanduli, of Amanqabe and my father pouted a bellyful from that petite beauty of Amangqosini of Cofimvamba. I am a public servant, a slave to love, yes love for my people.
When I see the cracked heels of that laughing little girl whose nose leaks as she adjusts that four-times big school-shirt which last met a detergent when it was first discovered, I stop to think…I man of the people, do I work hard enough? Would Mandela approve? When the phone rings decibels higher than the hungry urchin growing in that shack that threatens in a wink to fall, pick up to be told that the sewer is running, my streetlights don’t shine anymore-they might come for me in the dead of night, my road is crooked-it don’t come to my house, my tar road has washed away, I stop to think…I man of the people, do I work hard enough for the little child who is not fine or the big man who has a line? Would Mandela approve?
Fortune has met many of us and threw some lot our way and now what was once the dusty streets I walked and frolicked in – up to no mischief and for relief, I drive down and then I see them. The hungry eyes of the dreamers, lining up the avenues and crescents, waiting and waiting, patiently crying with a smile for the yield of the day…this freedom! Angry at dawn, they are…not a lawn do they prefer. The sick and tired who’ve gotten tired of being sick and tired. They wait for it and it’s only a three letter word…job. I cry too in my heart, I greet and they don’t return favours like that…I know. They are my kind, my friends, my sisters, my brothers and they only want it –even if it is a piece of it. A piece job, they call it. I see the big-hearted hustlers too, busy with business that’s never busy. When the traffic light turns red, I stop to think…I man of the people, do I work hard enough for the men and women who have lost their dignity because they cannot put just a slice of bread on the table? Would Mandela approve? Everyday I wake up to think, what should I not do to slight him that made it all possible. I work to make Mandela approve!! He is my inspiration and I hope he becomes yours too. He is on God’s side at this hour, and my Mama taught me that you are never wrong on that side!!
When I see the cracked heels of that laughing little girl whose nose leaks as she adjusts that four-times big school-shirt which last met a detergent when it was first discovered, I stop to think…I man of the people, do I work hard enough? Would Mandela approve? When the phone rings decibels higher than the hungry urchin growing in that shack that threatens in a wink to fall, pick up to be told that the sewer is running, my streetlights don’t shine anymore-they might come for me in the dead of night, my road is crooked-it don’t come to my house, my tar road has washed away, I stop to think…I man of the people, do I work hard enough for the little child who is not fine or the big man who has a line? Would Mandela approve?
Fortune has met many of us and threw some lot our way and now what was once the dusty streets I walked and frolicked in – up to no mischief and for relief, I drive down and then I see them. The hungry eyes of the dreamers, lining up the avenues and crescents, waiting and waiting, patiently crying with a smile for the yield of the day…this freedom! Angry at dawn, they are…not a lawn do they prefer. The sick and tired who’ve gotten tired of being sick and tired. They wait for it and it’s only a three letter word…job. I cry too in my heart, I greet and they don’t return favours like that…I know. They are my kind, my friends, my sisters, my brothers and they only want it –even if it is a piece of it. A piece job, they call it. I see the big-hearted hustlers too, busy with business that’s never busy. When the traffic light turns red, I stop to think…I man of the people, do I work hard enough for the men and women who have lost their dignity because they cannot put just a slice of bread on the table? Would Mandela approve? Everyday I wake up to think, what should I not do to slight him that made it all possible. I work to make Mandela approve!! He is my inspiration and I hope he becomes yours too. He is on God’s side at this hour, and my Mama taught me that you are never wrong on that side!!
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