what if you were a flower
and your roots were lodged
on that part of earth that
separates Israel from Palestine?

would you give your scent to Israel
your beauty to Palestine
or withhold both?

what if you were a bee
and at some point in your buzzing about
you stopped to draw nectar
from the flower rooted on the edge
of the green line that separates Israel from Palestine?

would you make your nest
in Tel Aviv maybe Bethlehem, or on no strip at all?

what if you were a honey farmer
and you made a living selling
honey that you got from the hive
in which lived the bee
that got its nectar from the flower
that struggled for six days to sprout
and take root along the frame of the wall
that separates Israel from Palestine?

would you sell its texture to Israel
its sweetness to Palestine,
or forfeit the sale?

what if you were a tongue
and on you rolled the taste of the honey
you bought from the farmer
who got it from the hive, in which lived the bee
that got its nectar from the flower (watered by blood)
and rooted on that part of earth
that separates fear from hope?

would you savour its sweetness
spew out its bitterness, or plain ignore the taste in between?

what if…

* Lindiwe Nkutha is a poet, storyteller and film maker based in South Africa

Monday, 8 May, 2006

Today is a sad day in my life. Not in mine alone, in a lot of other people’s too, I’m sure, some for different reasons no doubt, but some, I suspect for the same reason as me. Today also marks the last day of our relationship. I am afraid I can’t write in you anymore, without risking incriminating myself. Who knows in whose hands these pages might one day end up? And who knows what unreasonable deductions they may seek to make about me, after leafing through you. I am afraid I can no longer share my innermost thoughts with you. Not my joys either, or my traumas, or my nightmares borne of my past and present. I’m afraid I can no longer come to you at the end of a harrowing day, to tell you, in that honest and sincere way, I seem able to tell only you. I’m afraid that if I should ever get raped, again, and cry wolf (because there really is one), they might make you admissible evidence, and that you might just contribute to my downfall. It’s not because I don’t love you anymore. Not that you have not provided an outlet for my frustrations, and emotional turmoil. If there’s anyone who knows all my highs and lows, it is you. It’s just that this place that I love with all my heart, has made it somewhat unsafe for us to carry on. But I thought it would be unfair if I left without telling you, the best I know how, the reasons why I have to pack away my commas and exclamation marks. I hope you understand.

Today I woke up in a place that said to me be free
so long as I kept my mouth shut and made no
demands that my freedom actually be taken seriously

I woke up in a place that said be what you want to be
so long as what I wanted to be did not include
me being a woman who wears a kanga,
has a history of mental illness
is prone to forgetting
or has in the past been raped

I woke up to a dream, and I realised that I am stronger than I was yesterday
but this dream rapidly turned into a nightmare
right in front of my eyes as I began to see
that I had in fact been rendered much weaker than I was,
just yesterday

I woke up in a place where it’s the size of your heart that counts not your fists
and realised that no matter how big my heart was,
these fists would continue to find a landing pad on my face
and that if I am to survive, I needed to pack a punch in mine.

Because yesterday I was digging for gold, and today I am wearing it
on my wrists, around my ankles, across my heart
it shackles my every step,
because now it is expected that I wear my chains with pride,
in line with the dictates of my culture
Yesterday I was burning with frustration; today I am growing big business
and this business of growing ever more sick and tired fuels my anxiety

I woke up and realised that I don’t need a gun to make you listen
because the one that hangs from your crotch
isbhamu somdoko as you call it, is more potent
and if that does not make me listen, what else will?

And even if I have nothing, this place can give me everything
on condition that I give it in return every inch of my entire being,
until I am left in the end with much less than what I had when I started.

All I need do is believe
in nothing, because nothing much is worth believing in anymore
not the comfort in the knowledge that my elders will not hurt me
not the comfort in the fact that if they do the law will protect me
just the ugly reality, that depending on how its spun
every sexual act I am forced to engage in,
no matter how many times I say no
will be construed as having being consensual

Today I woke up in a place whose cheering can be heard on the other side of the world
but whose screams land on deaf ears inside my home
A place where my brother is my brother no matter what
and my sister is someone who does not matter, no matter what

Today I woke up in a place that flows with courage
but drowns under showers of cowardice
That laughs,
at me often
that’s cried
sometimes with me, (well only a handful)
that says it’s okay
go ahead do to her what you please
we will find something in her history
to make her allegations sound like a fairy tale

Today I woke up in a place that sings with hope to the rest of the world
but mutters despair to itself
And I smiled because
well because this morning left me a tad haggard,
and smile to stave off my tears is all I can do sometimes
when I’m feeling like this, besides I hear,
South Africans are creating a new dawn everyday
oh how I wish this dawn would cast its rays my direction too.

Today I woke up in South Africa
and so help me I am never ever going back to sleep
lest those who relish in plotting against me should
devise more schemes while I slumber
lest I miss in my sleep a chance to be part of a legion
that will create for myself, my sisters, my aunts, my mothers, my daughters
a solid string of incandescent dawns that are truly
Alive with possibility
Unlike the one I woke up to today
that seems to me to be languishing in a state of atrophy

So you see why this full stop I am about to write has to be my last, from now on I am holding inside me everything I otherwise would have shared with you, so long.

* Lindiwe Nkutha is an author and a woman in the world

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