Spit in my Left Eye

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

   "Rebecca the child will be a freak.  Give it up or do away with it.  It's not even human yet. I never wanted a child, I told you to take precautions so that we would never end in this kind of mess.  Honey, you know I love you.......but I can't do this".  I can't have a "Downs Baby”.  Think about it, he will be made fun of and bullied.  How will he cope? It will drive you mad"!  He seemed to have the future all worked out.   5 Years of love had ended as if it had no value........and perhaps it didn't.    "It not even human yet".  Tears rushed to her soul and spilled onto nervous hands trying to convince her to end the life she carried.  Guitar hands.  Her  baby was no freak.  Nothing was going to change her mind about him.  They would find their way back home.  He was all human.   They connected in the most incredible ways.  She felt him. He was her baby.  He felt, He spoke. He sensed and knew.  Ah yes, the world and science would d