WHAT WILL THEY EAT?

WHAT WILL THEY EAT?

WHAT WILL THEY EAT?

There was stormy panic
When the police came
To round up polltax defaulters.
Once more the knowing forest
Hurriedly beckoned
To hide in its bosom
Men of the village.
But uncle was again betrayed
By his arthritic limbs.
Women wailed
Hearts seized by apprehension
And cousin cried
Fear in his little heart.
We had never seen a handcuffed person.

The police returned one day
And we craned our necks for uncle.
But he was not there.
For a long time,
Lasting almost the day,
Grandpa and grandma
Argued with the white policemen.
There was a black one
Well known for torturing
Standing away near the kraal
Like a skullpanda .


For the first time I saw tears
In granny’s dark face,
Grandpa so furious
It was coming through his nose.
That day no tea,
Cookies or sour milk were served.
In the afternoon the guests left.
Granny was in grief
Parroting a recital,
“What will they eat?
What will my children eat?”

In the evening a man came
To herd all three suckling cattle,
Their calves and a pregnant cow.
He drove them away.
He herded away our wealth,
Our source of nutrition,
Grandfather’s status and pride.
Their value would pay for his son’s freedom.
A complete invalid.

Grief was choking my throat.
Would they know their special names?
Would they graze them in lucerne?
Give them chaff and salt?
What of the green acres at home?
The calabashes,
Would they now be turned upside down?
What would we milk, feed the dogs on?
We would never again
Watch them grazing in the field.

For many seasons
Our home lay
Under the roof of sorrow.
Now I know
That from a dog’s withered back
You can tell that
There’s hunger in a home.