The week before I came I was advised to stop working so hard and take time to prepare myself and begin to listen. And what I was told to do, was to listen for the songs, that Africa wanted to sing to me...and I wasn’t sure how to do that….How d’you listen for a song? Would it come on the wind or play in the treetops? So I’ve tried to listen and I’ve heard many things from crying to laughing to whispering grasses...and in between I’ve heard a lament...and this is what I’ll speak of to you.
I’ve heard a lament…
I’ve heard a lament…
It’s a song for a land, polluted with suffering...
A funeral song looking back on apartheid..
Of crazy injustice...of such separation…
leaving broken up people...legacies of division...
the poorest still living in enforced separation.
It’s a song for a land, polluted with suffering...
A funeral song looking back on apartheid..
Of crazy injustice...of such separation…
leaving broken up people...legacies of division...
the poorest still living in enforced separation.
The song was lamenting the blessings not flowing…
leaving people downtrodden, distracted, no vision…
A lament for the men: making children, then leaving
A song for the women: chased away from rondavels
A lament for the gogos: neglected, abandoned
A song for the broken, the homeless, the orphaned.
leaving people downtrodden, distracted, no vision…
A lament for the men: making children, then leaving
A song for the women: chased away from rondavels
A lament for the gogos: neglected, abandoned
A song for the broken, the homeless, the orphaned.
I heard the song weeping, for missing role-models
of daddies and chieftains, of pastors and preachers
...A song crying out for new leaders and teachers.
A song of burned grasses in Mpumalanga.
of daddies and chieftains, of pastors and preachers
...A song crying out for new leaders and teachers.
A song of burned grasses in Mpumalanga.
But high on the winds, I hear new songs are coming:
Care-workers are singing and weeping and working-
selflessly walking and feeding the children…
protecting the fragile...embracing the broken…
foot-washing grandpas- giving hope to the gogos..
Care-workers are singing and weeping and working-
selflessly walking and feeding the children…
protecting the fragile...embracing the broken…
foot-washing grandpas- giving hope to the gogos..
And Black Fathers are coming to sing to the women
And Black Mothers are rising to care for their children
I see hope rising: the children are playing!
They are skipping and laughing and learning and thriving!
I see hope coming as people lose blindness:
reach out to their neighbours & stand up for justice!
And Black Mothers are rising to care for their children
I see hope rising: the children are playing!
They are skipping and laughing and learning and thriving!
I see hope coming as people lose blindness:
reach out to their neighbours & stand up for justice!
I see hope coming like rain in the grasses...the parched burning grasses of Mpumalanga
For I know God as Father- One who’ll stay with his children...who will comfort the gogos...not chase away mothers
I see hope coming like rain in the grasses of Mpumalanga...dear Mpumalanga….
For I know God as Father- One who’ll stay with his children...who will comfort the gogos...not chase away mothers
I see hope coming like rain in the grasses of Mpumalanga...dear Mpumalanga….
Ruth Clay 30/7/14
Hi Ruth, thanks for posting this, people need to hear, people need to feel, I need to hear, I need to feel. Coming back is going to be difficult
ReplyDeleteHere we are, ready to go again, please give my love to all the team, and assure them of our prayers. We'll be in the same hemisphere, though in the opposite time zone. Mutual Blessings.
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