Dear Mr Xenophobic
I hope this letter finds you before you commence on your journey of malicious murderous intent.
Once upon a time, we shared a kindred love. Through the formation of the SADC (South African Development Community) region, we fought against a system that threatened to be the downfall of your people. Today you have cut off all ties and labelled me a Kwerekwere.
I seem to suffer from severe amnesia. I desperately try, but I fail — I fail to recall what I could have done to fuel your hatred for me. All I have are memories of when you were good to me and I to you.
I have always closely linked oppression to whiteness. Oh, how more wrong could I have been. Your actions have proven to me that being black does not exonerate one from being an oppressor towards their own kind. Our mutual struggles against colonialism couldn’t make you stop and think for a moment before you set alight the homes of my family.
You call me a job hijacker, drug dealer and a Kwerekwere. I have not yet graduated from the school system, so I’m not in possession of the weapon that would put into action any plan of hijacking your job.
My uncle too, is innocent. Believe me, please. He is the most upright man I know and never has he stepped into the doors of a prison with a hijacking charge hanging onto his conscience.
The man you mercilessly killed yesterday was innocent. You blamed him for hijacking your job, you then put a knife into his South African dream. I despise you for your ignorance, Mr Xenophobic. How could that man have stolen your job? He was a medical practitioner, whereas you are a farmer.
You call me undocumented and tell me to go back to where I came from. How do I go back to a country that has become foreign to me, a country that falls apart each minute, a country that can no longer issue passports and ID’s to its citizens? I will definitely die if I go back, but if I stay you will definitely kill me. I am at a cross road, because I don’t know which is less brutal, death by xenophobic attack or death from hunger?
Each minute that passes, I shudder upon hearing news of fellow immigrants who have fallen victim to your xenophobic attacks. You have displaced 800 immigrants from their homes. How does that make you feel? Do you feel accomplished at your milestone?
My heart rate accelerates when my brother has not announced his arrival at home by 9pm. Images of death seek companionship in my mind.
I remember when you came to uncle Muhammad’s shop last month. You called him, ‘my friend’ and he naively smiled at you. Shame, if only he knew that today you would lead a mob that will loot his shop. Robbing him of his only source of income.
Marcus Garvey said, ‘A man will smile at you today and tomorrow he is the chief witness against you for execution. ‘
Am I Next? Is my brother next? Are my cousins next?
Dear Mr Misogynist
I have less words for you. You are inherently evil, so nothing I say will thaw your frozen heart. For reasons unknown to me, you hate all women.
Your hatred will not overlook a six-month old baby. You will force yourself between its tiny fragile legs.
Oh my word, you have no hope for redemption. Last month as I walked innocently from school, you whistled at me. I did not turn for the mere fact that I do not bark. You rushed towards me and violently shoved my bag into the dirt. You asked for my phone number, I said I didn’t have a phone. You called me a liar and threatened to beat me up.
Last year you raped Khensani Maseko. A beautiful Rhodes law student with her entire life ahead of her. It might sound cliché, but it is what it is. You robbed her of her life. No one expected her to get raped or that you would be the one to rape her. You see, society is designed in such a way that it has given rapists one face. No one expects a university student to rape.
Khensani could not bear the way you defiled her body, she drowned in depression and eventually took her own life. Destroying the person that she could have later grown up to become.
The justice system has become your puppet. Two years ago when you assaulted me, I went to lay a charge. I regretted that decision ever since, because I realised that justice has become a mere memory. There is no justice in this country.
I wish death finds and takes you to the land of pure suffering and endless agony.
Both you and your cousin, Mr Xenophobic, are out to get me. I don’t know which of you will find me first.
Which is more brutal, death by xenophobic attack or death by femicide?
The Female Kwerekwere
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