Carina van der Walt
Poëzie

“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