|
Carina van der Walt
“Kanti amanzi mtoti” (Shaka 1828)
an ordinary village my village
The old shepherd whistles and shouts distinctly to the ears of his cattle and with a quick lash of his whip he brings them to rest at the pubic banks of the sweet water in the slow flowing Amanzi.
the day begins – Sanibonani!
Daddy-longlegged girls with bright white smiles and tightly-braided hair laugh and talk at the top of their voices – they have nothing to hide and everything to seek.
The stiff upperlipped English play bowls – bright and shiny! Hanging on to cucumber sandwich days the colonials still have their own ways. They hoist their club’s flag with each game, at half-mast when old Jack is knocked into the ditch.
The only things left of the Afrikaner are signatures and old jerseys of their rugby gods in the pub and rusty road signs like – versteekte uitgang – echoing a lost claim on bends and curbstones.
Indians mind their own bussinesses, ladies serving silently in saris, the way they do in the world, selling Curry and Rice and New Delhi Delight on Thursday evenings to the colonials, who suddenly long for stronger and more exotic tastes on the wide, white stoeps of Toti.
Beneath the big spray lights a group of Zulu boys practise football. In their hearts drum Bafana-dreams and in their ears atooo! and in their eyes the promising shadows of barelegged, amazing girls waiting for them on the banks of the Amanzi.
Ziyabonga! – the day ends
|
||||||||||