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 19th 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
