There were days when our everyday lives revolved around our own creativity.
When we’d chant excitedly under the sheet of drizzles “mayine mvula,sidle amathanga mvula..”
Every drop of mother nature’s nurturing rippled on our tiny bodies, trembling our frail physicality and evoked in us creativity we wholeheartedly embraced with smiles and pure joy….
Those mud houses were a demarcation of happiness,from those who owned a single pair of shoes and only had a porridge burnt crust and sugarless tea for breakfast, to those whose houses stand tall and dazzling above all the shacks in the neighborhood, there were hierarchies of course but food ,latest clothing brand,wealth had nothing to do with it…envy was a distance blur ,we did not compare but compliment….we knew who built the best wire cars,who was the fastest on our daily tyre race,who scored the most marbles ,who could climb the tallest tree for the ripest apricots when we were
out stealing ,half our faces covered with coaldust..
Who will out run us all at the slightest movement of the curtains and who will save us for an encore of our hide and seek games.
When we were at the streets we were all equal,this sense of importance your peers gave you regardless of your financial status,those true smiles and grudgless mocking for crying out loud when you took a beating for breaking your curfew ,made you endure the hiding with a smile and lead the crew with renewed courage for one last game when dark came the next day…
Broody Hen (Poetry Anthology 2018)
The Narrative.
© Copyright Reserved 2018
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Africa Zwelibanzi 