I’m from a place where the bones of heroes – Percy Qoboza, Bheki Mlangeni and Margaret Mcingana – are planted on the ground like batons,
Reminding me to embrace the race and run it at whatever pace.
A place where it is not enough to dream, but to get up and beam your light.
A place where they say Walala Wasala, you snooze you lose.
I’m from a place where the seller of amakiep kiep can be a millionaire and a millionaire the seller of amakiep kiep.
A place where a man’s pride and respect are not in his strides but in his pockets.
His jokes are yellow and he has people coming off his pockets!
A place where you are either Bra So and So or so invisible you may very well be a bra!
I’m from a place where men never see anything though there’s nothing wrong with their sight.
They shove substance up their noses as if to numb their sense of smell.
Murder, rape and violence happen in broad daylight and they never see anything.
Smoke oozes off the country’s burn wounds and men of substance never smell anything.
I’m from a place where ancestral graves are burning with fury!
Abaphansi bashay’ unyawo phansi yintukuthelo.
(The ancestors are stomping the ground with fury)
I’m from a place where the moral campus points everywhere as if to ask: ‘So Where To?’
I’m from the South Western Townships; I’m from Soweto.