Spit in my Left Eye

Am I the consequence of poverty? a plaything that stirs a man's virility - a mannequin who boasts her lost virginity. Is this how victims are sold, like monkeys in a darkened cage alone? Perhaps hope will someday deliver me from this hell hole of candy-coated popsicles and dresses too tight for a little girl parading at night - her charred masked face displayed behind a glass cage. my soiled sheet exposed for all to see. What man would want a stained woman like me - Laugh you fools, you foolhardy pharisees who amuse yourselves with my plight - you who cackle as I fight for a moments respite; to breathe with ease. My pores implore you leave me to my own device, to confront this demon that has left me like a creepy crawly thing for life; MOTHERRRRR - other faces are caged not; come face my fate, sticky, seedy, slimy paws....STOP your paws! Laugh you cowardly vipers your day will come! Mother, what have you done! (an excerpt from the play, "RED" by Jambiya Kai/Beulah Kleinve

South Africa was caught in a civil war – the mob petrol bombed our home.  Machete armed men fighting for justice and peace. Aflamed torches seeking change.  Our home represented too many crossover elements. Too much education gained from the white man.  Teachers influenced by white education. I was five years old with no idea of the storm that raged in the hearts of my people who saw us as the enemy. The faction fighting and brandishing arms were displays of undisguised abhorrence that ignited and flared into a towering inferno.  I was the innocent victim and those who fought to rid their town of “traitors” melted my bones, my dreams.... my skin. My home.   but then again, there are no victors in war. And men give their lives for freedom.  In their distaste of all that was white they hastily took mine. A black 5 year old boy.   The scars were deep and disabilities hard to behold.  Skin grafting sessions were my second home throughout high school.  When my classmates refused t

My ears pricked as the shrill pierced my 2 year old innocence. "You're a chop off the old block"! Carina Reynecke was the master of wrangling. Her husband Ferdinand - a rooibos tea grower - was too princely. “Come Brown” he gently prompted, a reminder of how much he adored my eyes. I walked beside him along the Cypress lane as he relived past moments – The demon slugs hung about in villainous fervour. Mr "Old Brown Sherry" Reynecke had pissed and pooped his pants again; mumbling into his alcohol infused puke. 20 year old Ferdinand slung his father before the onlookers then footslogged. The old man’s expletives echoed through the cypress trees and raised its aggression to  beat the ground, where the armadillo sat in silence Ferdi doubled over at the torturous memory.Shame glazed his hot skin. Even now, 10 years later his tears are like freshly squeezed lemon; Fleshy splayed bits like Jackson Pollock’s No 5 -a gradient artistic creation articu

"I became a whole person when I finally put away the exile’s little packed suitcase. If I am ever liberated from this bondage of racialism, there are some things much more exciting to me, objectively, to write about. But this world has such a social orientation, and I am involved in this world and I can’t cut myself off.” ****Peter Abrahams - first internationally published Black South African author - 1946 "Mine Boy". I have been to Zimbabwe and experienced the fears and falling tears. I spent more than moments within the barracks of Nigeria and witnessed gruesome atrocities and the divides of rich and poor. The ghastly and animalistic slayings of refugees in South Africa and broader nations. Teens begging me to care less and let them die at their own hand - life in the trenches of the ghetto too painful and overwhelming. Poverty and abuse a hell hole most would do anything to be free of. I reflected and re-visited the sins of apartheid; it's authors a

They gag on our flag -   the old was "better".  how was it better being thrown off beaches;  out of trains,  buried in drains - barred from restaurants;  forced to enter side gates;  fed 2nd rate education;  kicked from our homes;  forcibly moved and  imprisoned for crossing the  "immorality act";  beaten and tortured;  murdered;  kicked and head-butted  for not having a pass;  playing music in secret places;  stealing away to indulge in the arts;  punished and  whipped when caught;  earning painful salaries;  called supervisor not  original designer; transferring your skills for nought.  How was it better  when bodies went missing;  domestic workers raped and harassed;  mixed babies born; not by men black or brown;  how was life better when we couldn't move beyond our space after 6. what joy was derived when  unable to fulfil your desired ambition because your colour wasn't right