Marikana, Marikana!

Pastor Dean Ramjoomia, Beacon Valley

How sad your massacre Marikana.

Your pain and shame raised you from obscurity to a place of untold hurt and pain.

Your day of darkness so sad your pain, laid bare our human weakness for all the world to see.

Death of the weak by the hand of the strong. Innocent they were not, desperation drove their cause, no was not an option but at the cost of their lives, their dream was ruined by a bullet shot from a gun in the hand of a brother just like them! Was it their love for money, greed or cramps from their hungry tummy?

Marikana, Marikana!

When the dust and gun smoke settled on that dreadful day, a man lay still beside his spear while blood gasping from a father or was he someone’s son?

Tears rolling down the cheeks of a woman as she watched her man die on the afternoon news, a child at her side with no sound from their pain, Marikana!

Marikana se spook loop oppie vlakte! Not 34 on that August day but just one, two, three every other day. A koppie we have not, but oppie vlakte a brother unseen will snuff out your life with a single bullet from a stolen gun. Son op tot son sak, daai warrant served on your life! Brother to brother, friends fall and so do enemies.

The killing of the innocent is referred to as just a “happening”. Die Here hoor my, how did we all get here, a people paralysed by fear at war with itself!

Marikana, Marikana!

Oppie Cape Flats your ghost takes our lives day after day. Massacre not by the numbers just one, two, three every other day.

No Memorial! No Remembrance! As a massacre happens just too often over here, Marikana!

Someone said, my brother live your life in such a way, so that the pastor or imam doesn’t need to lie. One in the grave the other innie tronk daai’s die hopes and dreams van onse laaities now destroyed!

With God and religion we played and toyed for far too long, as both the villain and victim can preach a sermon of failed promises, banished hopes and dreams destroyed by choices made.

Marikana! The consequences of the choices we made!

We teach not our laaities to consider the risk, danger and consequences of the choices they made. If life was a journey dan sê ek maar net ons almal hettie verkeerde taxi gevat!

Marikana oppie vlakte!

Where mothers and fathers cry dried-up tears of deep pain and regret for the choices, they themselves had made.

God weet my hart is stukkend die lewe van ons kinnes is rêgtig niks meer werd.

Hier is ons! Die velle van ons gesigte is af, ja innie strate van vlakte * ê onse pyn skaamteloos en kaal, net soos bloed oppie hande van die moordenaar.

Marikana! Marikana! Oppie vlakte!

Maar niemand is hier to blame! Because ons mense wietie mos van praatie.

Secrets and silence – daai’s onse mense se game, tot die dag dat ons jou laaitie in ’* graf sit I say!

Love your neighbour, Love yourself the Bible says!

Maar God wiet we lost both our love and heart for one another!

Marikana Marikana!

My gebed is dat maybe eendag ons daai naam van dood oppie Cape Flats begrawe!