The hardest part was hearing the word foreigner
from mouths that once borrowed salt from our mothers.
Now every accent sounds like a lit match in a dry room,
and children learn fear before they learn each other’s names.
We used to play football until the streetlights blinked alive,
trading languages like sweets after school.
Now shop windows wear plywood like missing teeth,
and everybody walks home carrying invisible fire.
I think xenophobia survives because grief needs a victim,
because hunger is loud and politicians whisper directions.
But somewhere, an old woman still says my child to strangers,
and I swear that is the South Africa I keep mourning for.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 1:05 PM UTC
The hardest part was hearing the word foreigner
from mouths that once borrowed salt from our mothers.
Now every accent sounds like a lit match in a dry room,
and children learn fear before they learn each other’s names.
We used to play football until the streetlights blinked alive,
trading languages like sweets after school.
Now shop windows wear plywood like missing teeth,
and everybody walks home carrying invisible fire.
I think xenophobia survives because grief needs a victim,
because hunger is loud and politicians whisper directions.
But somewhere, an old woman still says my child to strangers,
and I swear that is the South Africa I keep mourning for.
were's the love for one another as the Africans that we are
