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South Africa

ACROSS THE VELDT

For Sizwe Vilakazi

 

Fearing electricity – only installed

in rural Kwazulu post-Apartheid –

would disturb and thus devalue their cattle

the village elders decided it should come

no closer than the main road to Bergville,

a mile or so from their scattered houses.

 

Though the night sky, with its myriads

and myriads of stars, stayed above

the ancestors’ houses unpolluted,

in time there were fewer cattle, fewer folk.

Young people still left for the townships.

 

***

 

On our last morning, the family’s

little girl and her younger brother took us

across the veldt to their uncle’s kraal

to see newly born twin calves. The children,

on the dirt path through high dry grasses,

moved like silence, but we, clumsy townies,

raised a flock of plovers. The spindly calves

were suckling, and watched us with startled,

curious eyes, their mother impassive.

 

***

 

As we drove north on the Bergville road

to join the N3 we passed a primary school

with a Coca Cola sponsored sign,

and slowly over the Drakensberg mountains

winter’s first clouds appeared.

 

 

 

 

TRAILS OF TEARS

Alexis De Tocqueville, in DEMOCRACY

IN AMERICA, witnesses an event

on the Trail of Tears: the expulsion

of the so-called Five Civilised Tribes –

Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muscogee,

and Seminole – from the Deep South.

They were expelled to make way for share croppers,

gold prospectors, cotton plantations.

The government promised the people asylum

on what it described as empty grasslands

to the west of the Mississippi.

 

In December 1831

De Tocqueville is in Memphis, Tennessee.

The snow has frozen hard, and immense ice floes

are moving fast down the Mississippi.

He watches a large family group of Choctaws

arrive, among them are old people dying

and newborns. Their possessions are only

what they have been able to carry

on the long exhausting walk from the south east.

They are silent as they pass him, knowing

their injuries are beyond remedy.

There is no room for their dogs in the vessels

that will take them across to the west bank.

As the boats leave the shore the dogs begin to howl,

then enter the icy waters to follow them.

 

***

 

De Tocqueville’s sympathetic testimony

seems the exception that proves the following

rule: that it is some sort of hubris makes

those of European heritage

record and justify – almost by default –

in detail, and with self-righteousness,

their settler-colonial iniquities,

their removal of people from their homelands,

their furtherance of capitalism,

whether by cavalry, cannons, starvation,

litigation, fraud, whether in

the Americas, Ireland, Siberia,

Australia, Algeria, New Zealand,

Indo-China, Malaya, Kenya,

Tanzania, Uganda, Rhodesia,

South Africa…

 

 

SIMONSTOWN, FALSE BAY, SOUTH AFRICA

Where the dual carriageway to Simonstown

is nearest the bay some cars were parked

on the hard shoulder and some folk were standing

on the stony beach. A Southern Right Whale

had calved near the shallows. We stood with strangers,

in the silence, watching the suckling baby

and the mother in their huge gentleness.

 

False Bay is wide as a sea, as deep,

so-called because sailors without charts

thought it was Table Bay twenty miles west.

Simonstown was one of the last to accede

to Apartheid. A colonial port,

way station to the East, British dockyard,

it became a diverse place of Dutchmen

and Lascars, Jews and Muslims, entrepreneurs

and runaways, Xhosa guides, and Khoisan

strayed the few miles from the heather of the Cape.

 

Opposite our guesthouse was a cove where whales,

at the end of the breeding season, came,

like ships of the line, to scrape off barnacles,

before their journey to the sounding oceans.

 

As we left town we passed the main car park,

and, at its edge, eight young men in white

and navy blue from Khayelitsha township

singing a capella: ‘Nkosi

sikelel’ iAfrika’.

 

 

OTHER PEOPLE’S FLOWERS Sizwe Vilakazi: Writer & Performer

In 2003 I joined Vulavulani Theatre Company (based in Soweto, South Africa) in my early 20’s after an extensive engagement in community theatre, which was largely protest in its nature. They were doing their second co-production with Action Transport Theatre Company (based in Ellesmere Port, UK) – http://www.actiontransporttheatre.org/. That is when I met David Selzer. He was part of the Board at the time. I worked as an actor on two productions that introduced me to the idea of making theatre for children and young people.

A few years later, when I was given an opportunity to work as a writer for Action Transport, David became a huge support for me because we share a common love for writing and literature. He loved the ‘chalk poem’ I wrote in my teens and that was eventually included in my one man show TIKA:

The rising roar from your screeching sound reveals the dark.
Your every day sacrifice from your powder is much better than gunpowder.
Every day I long for your sound to expand my horizons.

TIKA is a contemporary township piece that is designed to give hope to the youth about their future and also to create a theatre piece that will reflect a changing society in the fairly new democracy of post-apartheid South Africa. Tika is young boy who lives in a township shack alone.  He has no source of income.  That creates a struggle for him through school until he finishes matric.  The challenge begins when he is out of school because all the support systems fall off and survival becomes a daily struggle for him.  All this turns him into a criminal.  The play is about him, the challenges he goes through and the choices he makes – see https://www.sylviaselzer.com/2014/06/07/tika/.

David also appreciated the many other poems and plays I wrote for myself as a way of documenting what I was going through at the time.

When I travelled to the UK for the first time I brought my book full of handwritten poems, most written in my teen years. I think that was when David  got to familiarise himself with my work. When Action Transport visited Soweto they came to watch the show which I had developed together with a group of young people I worked with. We called ourselves Renaissance Theatre and the name of the show we created was RENAISSANCE, a play about the Atlantic Slave Trade.

For over seven years we exchanged both artistic and cultural experiences by traveling between the United Kingdom and South Africa, and David has been a valuable mentor and life coach. We are still pen pals even long after my contract with Action Transport Theatre is over. We still find time to talk on social media and to me he is like a sweet fountain of refreshing knowledge that I, from time to time, draw inspiration from. He is affectionately known only to me as Mkhulu (grandfather in Zulu).

Here are four more poems:

I am an actor/writer/clown/workshop/play enthusiast/facilitator based in Soweto. I use my work as an artist to advance social work in and around my community. I began my work as an actor doing community protest theatre during the late 1990’s when south Africa was in transition towards a democratic dispensation. After joining the Soweto-based Vulavulani Theatre Company I changed direction from protest into a more children-based theatre, touring work to schools (mostly supported financially and professionally by Action Transport based in the UK), day care centres and theatres across South Africa and other countries.

In 2005 I started Lets Play children’s theatre and also founded Renaissance Theatre for young people in Soweto, which gave birth to a young writers’ forum to instil the love of writing in young people. I have written many plays for youth including my one man show TIKA, which was developed and performed both in South Africa and the UK. I continue to work in South Africa as an actor and writer. My love for history and information is what drives my passion to write.

I also facilitate arts-in-education workshops working with ASSITEJ South Africa – https://assitej.org.za/. I work as a story teller for various children’s institutions, museums and schools. Four years ago I was trained  by DR HEARTBEAT as a part time clown and puppeteer for children on the oncology wards in Johannesburg hospital. I have recently joined Sounds Of Azania, an online radio show, as a talk show presenter because I always have a lot to say – https://soundsofazania.com/

 

©Sizwe Vilakazi 2022

 
 

STERKFONTEIN CAVES

For Sizwe Vilakazi

 

An hour’s drive or so from Johannesburg

and Pretoria are limestone caves,

a depository of fossils,

a chance ossuary of hominids,

the so-called Cradle of Humankind, owned

by Witwatersrand University.

 

Our guide, the first time we visited, was Arnold,

a young man in his twenties, who had lived

all his life near the caves, and whose ambition,

since boyhood, had been to be a guide.

He showed us a pool and its blind reptiles –

which, he said, if brought to the light, would see.

 

Our second visit, seven years later,

World Cup year, the clapboard visitor centre

had been replaced by plate glass and videos.

A white, nameless, archaeology student

showed us around. In the very depths of the caves,

he turned off the lights – so that we might

“experience the dark our ancestors knew

more than three million years ago”.

And I thought, in that pristine blackness,

for a brief moment before fear took flight,

of a history, a topography,

a geology of ironies.

CECIL AND PRECIOUS

David Selzer By David Selzer5 Comments2 min read788 views

 

RHODES MEMORIAL
Rhodes Memorial, Cape Town, © Sylvia Selzer 2009

 

‘Equal rights for all civilized men south of the Zambesi!’

Cecil Rhodes

 

I

 

Apparently, he loved the view from this spot –

the north east slopes of Table Mountain – indeed,

owned much of the foreground. The sycophants

of Cape Town built, with granite quarried

from the mountain itself, this monument –

with Doric columns and arcades (which he

so revered, apparently), bronze lions à la

Trafalgar Square and a pensive, almost

wistful, bust of Cecil, clergyman’s son,

diamond broker, chancer.

 

 

II

 

The wooden bench from which he so enjoyed

the view survives below the monument

and on which he might have preferred a brass plaque

but perhaps not. He bequeathed the mountainside

to the nation and so ensured its slopes

preserved. We brunched at the restaurant

among the pines. At the next table,

a Coloured waiter served an Asian man

and a Black woman Italian Tomato

Soup and Quiche of the Day.

 

The air was pellucid, alpine. Oddly,

a Marsh Harrier circled above us –

yet this was beautiful. The restaurant

suggested his wish had been achieved

though not, of course, quite as he intended!

Below were the airport, disused cooling towers,

the Guguletsu township and, out of sight,

beyond the mountains that bound the horizon,

his unrealised, longed for, imperial road

from the Cape  to Cairo.

 

 

III

 

When we returned to our rented villa

in Newlands, Precious, our maid, was leaving

to catch her train for Guguletsu.

This was her first time at the villa

so she was nervous. She would be home before

nightfall but she must walk through the dark

in the morning, evading the tsotsis.

Her daughter had stayed on at school, planned

to go to Rhodes University, planned

to leave South Africa.

 

We could not assuage Precious’ fear. We thanked her

for looking after us. We became used

to the gratings on all of the windows.

We felt safe behind the garden’s high walls.

From the verandah, we watched the mist

pour down Table Mountain like dry ice –

and listened to a pair of  Sugarbirds sing

in the Jacaranda. So nothing had changed

yet everything had changed.

 

 

IV

 

Someone in black spray paint had, as it were,

crossed out Rudyard Kipling’s words on the plinth

beneath the bust: THE IMMENSE AND BROODING

SPIRIT STILL SHALL QUICKEN AND CONTROL

LIVING HE WAS THE LAND AND DEAD HIS SOUL

SHALL BE HER SOUL. The same hand probably

had sprayed the plinth, at the foot of the steps,

with: ‘reject racist heroes’. It supports,

on a rearing bronze horse, a bronze horseman

looking for the future.

 

 

Note: first published on the site in January 2012 and subsequently published at http://www.sylviaselzer.com/2015/06/14/the-rhodes-memorial-cape-town/.