Editor's note

Growing up in Kwatsaduza

I remember as far back as 1998 when PASO and the Congress of South African Students (COSAS) were prominent in the streets of Kwatsaduza.

I was one of those children who was never around the township during peak hours so I did not see some of the brutalities that would occur.

I could not distinguish between myself and my friends until I sang baa baa black sheep while they sang shosholoza.

As a child it took me a while to understand social class because my friends and I made sure we equally were dirty when playing on the fields of Deep Levels.

The generation just after me doesn’t know the smell of rusted steel cars, the taste of a meal cooked in a used tin, the joy of playing with a longnstrapped stocking and the fun of swimming in a dam.

It is not their fault society has changed.

It is not their fault there has been development in these townships.

It is no longer safe for them to engage in fun unsupervised or at least that is what we are told.

Driving around Kwatsaduza today I ask myself did I know one day I would be the observer of the place my ancestors settled on once upon a time.

Wondering about the streets of Kwatsaduza I step on my roots and pass those I wasn’t told about on a weekly basis.

What encourages me to see you everyday Kwatsaduza is the smiles you give me and the understanding that I am just trying to impersonate your voice.

Visiting you each day is a transformation and a realisation that perhaps the future is firmly planted here.

Connecting with you recently made me realise that there is a me that I could be but his pacing sad and empty corridors inside,

He is made of dreams that flow in between these walls in my mind,

He is the relentless hope that slowly seeps through my mind like the sun drapes dawn,

He will never ask why it is his job to ignite me or his purpose to be my guide,

Till there is a me that I could be who isn’t afraid to face outside.

Kwatsaduza thank you for teaching me that I need to equally enjoy the joy of sound and its absence.

I experience this at “China” or “London” formally known as Duduza Rank.

The place were everyone has to pass to go to the city or come back home.

If that place had a camera it would explain were some of the missing people are…

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