Slavery 2.0.16

This morning, I saw, poverty cuff my father with shackles of desperation- dragging him to the road intersection. There, vans driven by Kobus, Van Joel, and Peterson load helpless men like my father.

My mind battles to apprehend what my eyes are seeing  because  just yesterday my textbook had sad slavery  ended in 1865 it must be a typo because I wake up every morning to witness the trans-settlement slave trade �"from the township to the city, my father and uncles are shipped to go work like machines in construction sites around Sandton.

As the bakkies take off, my ancestors kick and scream from their graves raising dust….We stand amid our ancestor's rage and ignore their commands to stop their sons because even if we tried to scream and stop them from going, our voices cannot compete with our uproarious growling stomachs.

At this moment my mother looks at us and assures that he is going to get us a brighter future but mama you lie and how do I blame you because this is the same lie you were breastfed by your mother who had fed it from her own mother. And now I know for a fact that Mama was not being honest because that evening daddy comes home with R150 rand meaning I am 69 850 away from my brighter future.

 So don’t, don’t tell me to get over it, don’t tell me things have changed unless if you are talking about slave ship Amistad that now has four  HI-Q tires.