Today something unusual happened. I took a train to town and as we approached Cape Town, I tweeted and put a Facebook photo of the train with the mountain as a small backdrop and captioned: I love taking the train. My experience in France has made me to appreciate public transport. Unlike driving- and I hate traffic, taking the train allows me to see a glimpse of people's lives as they go to and fro. Middle, working class, the poor all mashed up in a space. I went back home on the train. Then took another train after a few hours en route to work. An elderly couple got onto the train and decided to sit in front of me. The gentleman asked: Do you speak Xhosa? I replied: I am still learning Him: Where are you from? Me: Half Congolese, Half Zimbabwean Then he asks a question which most South Africans do not ask: Which Congo? Me: The small one. Him: Brazzaville? Why do you say the small one? He went on to tell me that he was in Brazzaville in the 80's. And his spouse went on to say that he was on Robben Island for 22 years, and was released in 1986. In that moment my heart, my eyes were almost filled with tears. I am even holding back tears as I write this. I responded: That's the year I was born! To think that I had only met political prisoners at Robben Island itself on tours. One of the things that I dislike about the tours is how much emphasis is solely placed on Mandela. A great man indeed- but there were hundreds of others who also endured prisons and their names are largely unknown. But to meet one in this daily life was an honour for me. It shifted the narrative for me. It became person-al. So I humbly asked for his name, and unfortunately my mind could not pronounce it for my memory, due to not have acquired a local ear. And I felt it would have been rude to ask him to say it again or to spell it for me. Amidst the #RhodesMustFall movement that has swept UCT, Stellebosch and now Oxford, I was reminded that #BlackLivesMatter as we have endured oppression for centuries and continue to gain strength. Through this history embodied in this esteemed (in my eyes) old man, I was reminded that the struggle is not over. Statistically Blacks still live in poorer conditions than whites in South Africa. We earn less. We still experience racism in so many ways. And so forth... I am humbled to have briefly read this history embodied in this gracious old man that reminded me that my shout in the desert is not in vain. The struggle continues. AuthorShingai Ndinga Comments are closed.
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