Town Ship

Township is the phrase referring to the South African underdeveloped urban and rural residential locations, situated near towns and cities. They were created in the late 19^th century to provide residence for African, so called Coloureds and Indian migrant workers; and later for apartheid regime classification non-white people who were forcibly removed in towns.

Townships are mostly surrounded by informal settlements and have poor standard of living. On the larger scale, people are squashed in them to service towns in the form of cheap labour. They are colloquially called locations or lok’shini by Africans, or lokasie in Afrikaans, or kasie from lokasie, or ekasi. Few townships have been developed into wealthy or middle class suburbs after 1994. Others saw little or no development – with people populating them from countryside villages – in search of greener pastures.

I have lived in the township for almost 20 years. I have seen much. I have experienced much. Too much to express with written words. Everyone who has lived in the township have stories to tell. Other stories are too gruesome to tell. I have written poems that I will never share. I once had a chat with a Facebook friend who grew up in Langa Township near Cape Town City. I asked her how it was like, growing up Kwa-Langa. She answered: “There is nothing good ngokhulela elokishini. Was bullied. So much happened kula kasi. But ndifunde izinto ezininzi. I have seen pain, suffering, inferiority. People downgrade themselves, and so much jealousy. La kasi indifundise izinto ezininzi, even though it sucked my self esteem.”

My experiences, in addition to experiences of other folks, about life in the township, permits me to name the township ‘a town ship’; a ship that belongs to town – which ship people to town – to sweat and build wealth for ship owners.

I scribbled a poem about township and I titled it “Town Ship”.

Hereunder it is:

Town Ship

Township is the deep dark dungeon

Where kids duck stray bullets

In streets darkened by pimps and drug merchants

Where poverty delves deep and descends the gift of thought

To dwell deep and dial direct on irrational norms

And drink to drift sorrows

Drenching deep

Sipping, drinking drinks like there is no tomorrow

Racketeering

It’s kung-fu to put food on the table

The table with unstable staple food that taste like sewerage

Cursed is the hearse

That carries the casket

To death camps

Like Hitler frog-marching Jews to gas chambers

Pestilence

Violence

Substance abuse

Depopulating the youth

Youth defaced

Debased

Erased

Self worth decayed

The dark demon of envy breaks families

As it delves deep into the depth of the dungeons of thought

Driven by jealousy

Broke blokes

Who lost hope

Have broke many souls

And broke many homes

Broken, beaten, battered

Dreams shattered

Into shambles by the shackles of the system

Township is the slave ship

Holding multitudes of the readily available cheap labour

It’s a room that breeds and groom

Gangsters, racketeers, pimps and prostitutes

Only the lucky few will glide and rise above the abyss of destitute