We were caught in the middle of a civil war – the mob petrol bombed our home in Nyanga, a township in Cape Town South Africa.
I was just five years old with no idea of the terror that raged outside my home.
The faction fighting and brandishing arms were displays of bitterness that ignited and flared into a towering inferno - I was the innocent victim and those who fought to rid their town of “traitors” were unaware that they had obliterated their aims when their flamed torches clung to my skin. To my home.
but then again, there are no victors in war.
And men give their lives for freedom.
The scars were deep and the skin grafting and pain followed me throughout high school.
My ears were as if glued to my head.
When the students refused to listen my teacher would make his point , “Don’t you bunch listen –
are your ears glued shut like Juneck’s”? In those few words I once again heard the hiss of the blue-gum slats that framed our home and dream…