Staffrider Vol.3 No.1 Feb 1980 - DISA

Poetry/ DurbanFor My Brothers(Mandla and Bheki) In ExileYou have seen part of the worldMet some very nice peopleExperienced the hardships of fresh airLonged for the warm home-firesAround which we sat on winter nightsListening to pa tell us storiesOr reading passages from the Bible.Those were the days, my brother Mandla,Some days they were, my brother Bheki.Do you remember those days?When we were young and happy togetherPlaying cops and robbers, hide and seek,Pinching bottoms whilst in hiding —Young and happy together?One day it would rainAnd before the night was outWe'd be carrying brooms, sacks and buckets,Urging the water out of our house.You do remember those days?Maybe I do not know where you are.You left in the stealth of the nightMaybe hiked miles in fear but determinedTo finally reach new worlds unknown.Some days I happen to clean houseExploring every nook and cranny.I find here and there memories of our youthWritten on scraps of black and white photos.I shake my head in pain of loss,Say to myself, 'Gone are those days/The old woman is still around, brothers,Heavy creases run down her mahogany face;They are dry rivulets opened by heavy rains ofpain.At night, alone in the vaults of darkness,She prays. In her prayer she talks about you.Mama cries at night — by day she laughs,Tending sisters' small children.I know she longs to catch but one glimpseOf her flesh and blood. Of her own womb.Sometimes she talks about it,Swallowing lumps, hiding tears behind eyes.Mama is strong. Very tough. She was carved inteak.In the evenings when we're together, shesometimesSings the songs we used to sing together.Then she goes to sleep. I wonder if she'll sleep.On Xmas Day mama makes custard and jelly,Reminds us of how we all looked forward toXmasBecause that was about the only dayWe ever tasted custard and jelly.Lino-cut, Mzwakhe/Rorkes Drift, 1977Big bowls of jelly would be madeThen taken to the kindly butcher(Remember, we didn't have a fridge).Some time before our big mealShe'd send one of us to collect the bowls.I remember we would handle those bowlsgingerlyAs though our whole life depended on them.I do not know, maybe, what you're doing outthere.I know you're alive, yet longing for the homecountry.You loved this country deeply,So much that you could leave only to comebackWhen it has gained more sense.Our neighbours (the ones you knew so well) arestill there.We meet at the tap (it's still outside) and chat.They ask about you. They care about you.Those days you do remember.In all our pain and agony we rejoice,For the tensile steel strength of our soulsTranscends borders and boundaries.However far apart our bodies may beOur souls are locked together in a perpetualembrace.Ben J. Langa/Malopoets, Durban28 STAFFRIDER, FEBRUARY 1980