The Weeping Widows: An essay

( The following is adapted from an essay I wrote during Trial exams for English Paper 3. Since I have no word limit or time restrictions now, I had some fun rewriting this piece and thinking about the story I tried to get into three pages of writing. I hope you enjoy it)

The gunshot thundered from across the lake at daybreak. A sleepy sun rose and began to awaken all those that sang among the crystal dew- she did not sing with the birds but she was awake all the same. It was the girl this time, Old Sarah knew it would be the last of the rebels to be killed like this. They wanted to make a point first. They would hang the rest in the capital for the nation to see.The old woman sighed as her bones creaked into movement like dry branches in the wind, she had lived too long. Instead she yearned for a final rest while the youth were slain. She yearned for the clouds to gather and wash the dried blood off the girl's body. She cursed the sun for shining on a day as wretched as this.

The widows lived simply in the house by the lake. It belonged to Old Sarah who took them in if they had nowhere to go, if they had no kind relation to bear their sorrows with them. She had been a widow for more years than some had been alive. It kept them safe when the war began, the outsiders were superstitious - no harm fell on them for fear of divine retribution. 

There was no time for tears in this life, Old Sarah believed this through sunshine and through rain. But she shed them every time the gunshots boomed. As the day began the house filled with the sound of dishes clinking and bristles sweeping  away the dust that settled at night. It was like this every morning, all the widows cleaning and humming as they worked. On this morning there were no songs on their lips and no words that expressed their wounded hearts. 

The youngest one, wept while she peeled potatoes, her swollen belly pulled the cotton taut and caught the teardrops that fell. Her husband was among the first to be executed after the rebels were captured. So she came to the whitewashed house with the creaking doors, mourning as her fatherless child that grew month after month. Blameless child who was due to enter an unforgiving world soon. She had known the dead girl well. Everyone knew the girl. She had planned on studying teaching in the city nearby. Destined to be the pride of their valley one day. But that dream was no more.

The girl had been too young to die. 

The blush of womanhood was drained from her cheeks when she joined the rebels. The soft lines of her frame hidden in fatigues. A wedding veil for a helmet. Necklaces for the noose. The girl swapped all of those for the colours of freedom. Now she would return to the soil with hardened limbs and a face that would never see the wrinkles of age settle upon it. Old Sarah knew that this would be the turning point. The last drop that caused the floodgates to break open and unleash a flood. She knew it would happen when the rains came again. Or at least, she hoped that it would. 

It was midday when the mourners walked past, dragging their feet on the parched ground while singing sober hymns of a better life beyond the grave. Dust rose filled the air with a reddish haze that settled on their clothes and exhausted faces.They were tired of the war and of the outsiders who ruled the countryside. The girl's death would stir the hearts of men, perhaps. Perhaps they would cast out the foreigners who did this, who claimed to rule this valley.Many holy buildings that became defiled by these men were symbols of how far the oppression had come. The weekly prayers took place by the lake now, under the willow trees where God could see them worship beneath His shelters. But this did not alter their circumstance, they would need more than miracles.

It had been ten years of this existence: war and men of war who took, from the young women, what had been saved for the marriage bed. A decade of widows and widow makers. This is what war was in this place.Fields of green became dry battlefields watered with blood.The rebels were young and full of courage alas their rebellion did not last for more than a year before they were captured and sentenced to death. Old Sarah waited for the rain. She waited for war to end. It needed to end before she returned to the soil.

Night began to creep into the valley when the waters broke. Old Sarah chuckled as she looked up to the heavens, she had prayed for a new chapter of their lives that washed away the sadness of their past. But she did not expect this kind of flood to come so soon. Old Sarah hobbled to the room where the sounds of labour could be heard and the cries of an already fatherless child pierced the cool night air.

On Mandela and why I'm grateful to him

I know that I will always remember that I was buffing my nails and watching a TV show about gypsy weddings that night. Bored and a bit tired because we had a late flight back to Durban from Johannesburg, it was pretty quiet when my sister said to put the news on immediately. 

After months of not knowing what would happen and worrying about his health as a nation, Nelson Mandela had died. And suddenly, it was like a chunk of what defined our cultural identity passed from everyday news into the history books. I don't normally cry when people die but suddenly I felt tears stream down my face. 

I was born in 1995, a year and a chunk into democracy. I grew up free. I can't recall when I first heard about Apartheid because it was always just something you knew about as a kid (at least in our household). I enjoyed History most of all at school because I gained a deep appreciation for South Africa's journey from the first settlers until now. The syllabus for Matric was centered around black leaders like Martin Luther King Jnr, Steve Biko ,Nelson Mandela and the role he played in the road to democracy.(Cuba featured too but I didn't choose it because the appeal wasn't there for me). Many of my friends commented that our entire Road to Democracy essay came out in the TV shows. It was history learned and now we watched the screens as history was made.

I'm not going to write about Tata Madiba's life because its full of remarkable actions and besides, you can watch and read things that explore his role in the Struggle. They're wonderful and I ended up crying during most of them. But I can write about how grateful I am to him. 

I owe a lot to those who fought and died so that people of all colours could have opportunities and not be oppressed based on the level of melanin in their skin. I'm grateful that an Indian girl could have a good education and be friends with people of all walks of life. I'm grateful that my best friends could be Asian, Indian, Black, Coloured and White( I can't imagine life without the rainbow troupe I can call my friends). I'm thankful that I live in a country where I can go to a church, temple, mosque or synagogue and not be persecuted over my religion of choice. Grateful that I have friends who are gay, bisexual and straight and still know that they'll be able to marry who they choose to in this beautiful land. In many countries, people are not afforded that. 

You only begin to learn about the world when you meet the different kinds of people who live in it. After 27 years in prison, he came out and forgave those who oppressed him. He wasn't a saint but he was pretty close. He was a leader who respected every person he came into contact with. Not many leaders can profess to that level of humility. 

The world mourns. We weep as a nation but we sing too. To celebrate the man who changed the course of history. Our history. To celebrate a long life that had 27 years where he was behind bars and labelled a terrorist. He became a great leader a mere 4 years after his release.

Pray tell, people who who spout this fact vehemently( Namely the blonde girl in my Maths Lit class who, a few months ago, said he was a terrorist so why did the entire country have to celebrate his life on Mandela Day. Yeah you who sat in the back row and barely paid attention to the lesson and had no respect for the teacher. Open your mind)-  where have you seen a terrorist become a global icon for peace before? Terrorists are not empathetic, charitable people. Maybe read into why the Umkhonto We Sizwe was formed? Read about the Sharpeville Massacre. Then we can talk. 

 Nelson Mandela gave South Africans a reason to be filled with pride, to feel a sense of deep love for this land swell up inside of us when we sing the National Anthem. You can go anywhere in the world and people understand his significance. He dedicated his life to ensuring his dream of a better South Africa was seen through. 

So I thank you Madiba, for all the sacrifices you made so people like me could get an education and strive to fulfill our dreams. I'm grateful that in the upcoming elections, I'll be able to vote. I certainly will because you fought for that. 

Rest in peace Tata

(1918-2013)

On the cusp of adulthood and guns blazing about voting and groceries

In 29 days, I will be an adult. 18 with a terrible ID photo and a valid passport in case I decide to enter The Amazing Race. I won't because university registration is pretty early next year and apparently Wits and UP like having a response promptly after results come out. I'm also trying to book my learners so I can have valid reason for wanting a car.

I'm unemployed and registered to vote in the upcoming elections next year. I turn 18 at the end of the month and this prospect has been a topic that I've surrounded with excitement. I'll be able to drink, go to clubs and drive and all kinds of wonderful things. 

Haha I joke, I have strict parents. It'll be water and the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse for me (I'll go on my scooter. But not the Vespa kind). On a serious note though, this voting thing. The class of 2013 is a huge class, so a lot of 18 year olds will be able to vote next year for whatever party they see fit. 

Sadly, many will not be instagramming their #InkedThumb next year and a lot will post Facebook statuses about how "cool" they feel because they don't contribute to the system by voting. Of these non-voters, a large portion will be the first to complain about the state of the country. This is where I get annoyed with the Department of Education for not putting the importance of voting into the Life Orientation syllabus. Thanks to the DoE I can advise my friend on how to deal with stress and creativity but my friend does not know that she should be at a voting station next year.

 I'm not getting into the politics of it all but I do believe that apathy is a choice. Those who blatantly say "Meh I don't care, I won't vote. It doesn't matter" are the people I have a real problem with. The leaders have their own issues but they have the media and Twitter activists to keep them in check. It's the people my age that bother me, the Freedom babies and Tender Toddlers(here it isn't referring to their softness)who proclaim loudly that this country is going to the dogs and they don't give a damn. 

To me the greatest evil is NOT the man on the street stabbing another, oh no. The evil ones are those who watch and do nothing. If you have a problem with how the way things are run, don't get on your soapbox and moan and moan. Vote for somebody, anybody, who can make a change to whatever you're unhappy with. If you see something that isn't kosher, go out of your way to make it right. Have some humanity dammit! 

Of course you don't care about etolls and that wretched Secrecy Bill now but in 5 years you will care. In 5 years you'll start to wonder where your tax money is REALLY going to and why MP's are getting mega houses when their salaries can't possibly finance it. In 10 years, you may have kids and wonder why the level of education is so mediocre and why some settlement in the rural areas still has a school without chairs, desks or teachers. 

Or not. In 10 years some, actually MANY, of you will probably still be apathetic and you'll still be telling your kids and friends and anyone who will listen that there is a "Them" and an "Us". You'll be people who leave backward comments on News24 (if you even read news) and spouting nonsense about how everything is about race and that it defines you. It doesn't. Lets move past the racial typecasting now because you just look idiotic when you use them to strengthen whatever argument you're making. Judge people by their actions not the level of melanin in their skin. 

If you were born here, in this glorious land of boerewors, bunnychow, babotie, braais and bhontshisi then you are the product of a few centuries of brave industrious people who came here and settled on the shores of the Mother City. You are a testament that peace can triumph over many decades of hate and separation. You are part of the "We". Every action you make has a ripple effect. It doesn't need to be a huge splash or a wave that bring attention for a short time.  Little drops, little actions all add up. It's the little drops of rain that make up the flood. It's the tiny grains of sand that make the mountain. 

Please vote, people died so you could have that right. I beseech you. Make an informed choice. Your vote is a secret so it's just between you and the ballot. Vote for yourself, for your future. You don't have to shove the political party of your choice down people's throats but try to discuss things more. There are people in the world who can't vote. Even today. Think about that for a second. It doesn't matter who you choose to vote for, but vote. You're a generation with access to the Internet. Google the suffrage, South Africa has the longest entry on the Wikipedia page. Do some reading on the corruption in parliament or the whistleblowers who are being silenced. You have nothing to lose by trying to open your mind. You don't have to have a degree or be a brainiac to have an informed opinion about why it's your DUTY to vote. 

Also, there was an MP called Sylvia Lucas who spent 50k on her groceries using the tax money saying," How would we have eaten if we didn't use tax payers money?". Here's the link to the Mail&Guardian article : http://mg.co.za/article/2013-09-16-00-n-cape-premier-defends-r50k-fast-food-bill. This annoys me, I'd like to have her voted out at some point. I'm sorry but if I have to pay for my Cherry smoothie, hidden centre cupcakes and speckled eggs at Woolies, then everyone should be paying for their own stuff. Go to Checkers if Woolies is too high end but don't use tax dollars( Tax rand doesn't have the same effect). 

If all else fails, I'm going to start trending #IVotedToday when the elections come. Peer pressure is a thing, it works. I mean have you SEEN how many people are not wearing pants on the Internet? I'm using the information LO gave me for something useful. Vote or peer pressure will give you FOMO(fear of missing out) next year.