Blog 7 Sept 2019

This is a different blog to the one I thought I was going to put up online this week.

 
On Monday I listened to a partially inaudible speech by an aging, and not overly comfortable, Scandinavian Liberista… regarding his rekolektions of a famous writer lady, from my home town: who supported and cherished freedom.

 
This morning, I watched a young reporter woman on tv. She is known to me as someone who was a few years ahead of my oldest kids at the same primary school. She has, for years now been seen by me, with a weird sense of pride, reporting for overseas news stations from some of the wildest scenes we have experienced during the past eight or nine years, all over the world: Wars, massacres, floods and catastrophes.

 
Today she was in her home town, where I live; reporting from a part of the city, in which, until only a short while ago I was taking classes. I have seen this courageous young lady in many front lines, as a hugely respected reporter. I have never until today heard her admit her unease… standing in a city street, her hometown, in the ruins of previously productive stores and shopping precincts … Scenes that I have seen her filming in East Ukraine, for instance… Now covering city scenes more reminiscent of the Bahamas, presently recovering from a ‘tsunami’ storm called Dorian that ran across an island… only this tsunami in Jozi’s eastern suburbs was a human one. She spoke of our streets, oozing with terror for all who walk it, not only those deemed “foreigners”.

 
The unspoken horror was, that where she was filming, was only one of many different sites… some a few blocks from my home; in a number of our cities: where the week has been a hell for foreign owned businesses.

 
IN retrospect I had to consider the unthinkable. That while listening, earlier in the week, with difficulty to the huskily whispered speech of the visiting dignitary foreigner I could reasonably assume that, for all I know, the visiting foreign speaker was deeply anxious about what he was to say, and that, perhaps the sound was down so low: because he didn’t want to inadvertently incur rage… from a place he had always admired as a:

 
Tireless
SupporterOf
LiberationOfLandFromA
PartHeitDispossessionNow
Burning….

 
So I am now watching someone reporting for a global news station, who I know to be native to our city, confessing unprecedented unease at the random, almost inchoate violence, targeted seemingly, at specific, emigrant groupings: that has erupted like an orchestrated wildfire: simultaneously all over the country, almost out of no-where.

 
What is being called Xenophobik violence is being reported on every global station; and has terrified other foreigners, to such an extent that the lady reporter went out of her way to repeat a few times, an advisory notifying terrified victims of the violence, that Nigerian aircraft [for instance] were standing by to airlift them home to safety.

 
This admonition from Monday’s speaker rang in my ears: –

DoNot
ForgetKomrades
MakingSenseAgainOf
LifeAfterLiberationBrought
SmallChange.

 
So in a supreme period of irony… One of the victims interviewed by the International reporter, was an economic refugee from the liberated place run by the [now] late ‘BoBTheRoz’ Mugabe: liberator of and later destroyer incarnate, of the failed state called Zimbabwe.

Bob died, unlamented by millions this week. Here the young economic refugee’s place of employment, burned to the ground, along with the apartment that had housed all her scarce belongings also gone. All done by those who had been liberated here: twenty five years ago.

 
I listened to her broken hearted, shocked traumatised explanation of her new plight; and I heard again, our liberationista visitor from Scandinavia, remonstrating about unwanted outcomes with whispered politeness and

 
WithAn
AirOfPainfrom
AnAgeOfStrainAtThe
LackOfGainAndTheSearedOutcomes
PostReign.

 
And then on top of all of this; Women’s month being over, it was back to femicide with a rush. BY Friday the Twitteratti were all agitation… Where is our man… Our President hiding away they all did say; while seemingly the country was burning; a stream of young women were, and are, being brutally raped, shot down, stabbed and murdered … One a national young boxing champion; another a teenage CapeTown U’ student, in a post office nogal, where she had gone to collect mail.

 
Nene, the teenage student was raped and butchered by a psychotic post office worker, who beat the young lady to death with an office scale because she refused to hand over her vagina…

 
And our new seemingly paralysed or reluctant apparently national President is no-where to be seen as: –

 
MobsRule

CR
SevenTeenWon
AnElektionAndCho
SenNewBossNowHidesAwayFrom
ItAll.

 
TheyTook
TheChequeBanked
TheMoneySquanderedE
VeryCentNowAbsentwithoutLeave
OrRent.

 
Oi

 
Such a week as this… should not occur more frequently.

 
Loves ya all

 
!NiK[‘19]