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Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret,Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)
This year has had plethora of public worries in Africa over broken English among the young people and school children. It first started in the mid of the last months  in Nigeria, when the Nigerian government officials displayed public worry over the dying English and the strongly emerging slang known as pidgin English in Nigerian public offices and learning institutions. The same situation has also been encountered in Kenya, when in march 2014, Proffessor Jacob Kaimenyi, the minister of education otherwise known as cabinet secretary of education declared upsurge of broken English among high school students and university students a national disaster. However, the minister was making this announcement while speaking in broken English, with heavy mother tongue interference and insouciant execution of defective syntax redolent of a certain strong African linguistic sub-cultural disposition.
There is a more strong linguistic case of broken English in South Africa, which even crystallized into an accepted national language known as Afrikaans. But this South African case did not cause any brouhaha in the media nor attract international concern because the people who were breaking the English were Europeans of non British descend, but not Africans. Thus Afrikaans is not slang like the Kenyan sheng and the Nigerian pidgin or the Liberian krio, but instead is an acceptable European language spoken by Europeans in the diaspora. As of today, the there are books, bibles and software as well as dictionaries written in Afrikaans. This is a moot situation that Europeans have a cultural leeway to break a European language. May be this is a cultural reserve not available to African speakers of any European language. I can similarly enjoy some support from those of you who have ever gone to Germany, am sure you saw how Germans dealt with English as non serious language, treating it like a dialect. No German speaks grammatically correct English. And to my surprise they are not worried.
The point is that Africans must not and should never be worried of a dying colonialism like in this case the conventional experience of unstoppable death of British English language in Africa. Let the United Kingdom itself struggle to keep its culture relevant in the global quarters. But not African governments to worry over standard of English language. This is not cultural duty of Africa. Correct concerns would have been about the best ways and means of giving African indigenous languages universal recognition in the sense of global cultural presence. African languages like Kiswahili, Zulu, Yoruba, Mandiko, Gikuyu, Luhya, Luganda, Dholuo, Chaka and very many others deserve political support locally as well as internationally because they are vehicles that carry African culture and civilization.
I personally as an African am very shy to speak to another fellow African in English or even to any person who is not British. I find it more dignifying to speak any local language even if it is broken or if the worst comes to the worst, then I can use slang, like blend of broken English and the local language. To me this is linguistic indicators of having a decolonized mind. It is also my hypothesis that the young people who are speaking broken English in African schools and institutions are merely cultural overtures of Africans extricating themselves from imperial ploys of linguistic Darwinism.
There is no any research finding which shows that Africans cannot develop unless they speak English of grammatical standards like those of the United Kingdom and North America. If anything; letting of English to thrive as a lingua franca in Africa, will only make the western world to derive economic benefits out of this but not Africa to benefit. Let Africans cherish their culture like the way the Japanese and the Chinese have done, then other things will follow.
NOLWAZI JOUBERT Jun 2015
So many of us sit, think and still
wonder,
But have we ever gave ourselves the chance to ask?
Well no!
We just rejoice and find oursleves
floating on cloud nine because
"it is just another public holiday"

So many of us have cherished this day,
as a day of drinking, parting
and being in the family way.
Which "Us" am i refering to?
Well it is the youth of South Africa,
That can only sing "Freedom is coming tomorrow" very well
without knowing the significance
of that freedom
and what it took for this freedom
to come

well let me take you back to the
hands of time.
In June 16, 1976
the mongoloid youth of South Africa
marched down the streets of Soweto for this freedom we have today.

BLOOD SHADE,
SCREAMS,
EXPLOIDING SOUNDS
and the cries of faces without races
filled the streets of Soweto.

Parents feared for the lives of their children,
but who knew that adolescents
could be so brave?

They stood together in unity,
the same unity we lack today.
Fought for what was right and that came with their African roots,
which we nolonger honour today,

they fought against the usage af
Afrikaans as the main language of communication at schools.
And look where it left us today.
We have the Right to choice
and the Freedom of association.

And not forgeting that,
they left us with the courage to say "WE ARE PROUDLY SOUTH AFRICANS"
One of my longest poems ever!
Cry Sebastian Feb 2010
Met jou patetiese pantomiem teen n God wat jy haat
verkrag jy harte en bevestig sy bestaan.

*** seer voel jou vuiste as jy slaan na die wind?
*** groot voel jou ego met die roem wat jy vind?

Swakelinge swig soos skape voor jou opstand en hype
Jou talent is verduister in verganklike tripe.

Jy is nie die eerste of laaste wat laster,
wat liefde verloor met die haat wat jy koester.

Ons is almal maar net wasems wat verdwyn in die mis
tot verniet gaan ons woede en onheilige twis.

Daar is nog genade terwyl die son skyn
om omkeer te maak van die krakende pyn.
Cry Sebastian Jan 2010
Trek my siel uit met swart onlogiese krapmerke op my pick n pay strokie.

Breek my fingers af op n hout skryf blad
en hou die honde naby vir die bene wat spat.

Vermergel dan my vellies
en gooi dit op n graf
en se dis vir al die girlys
-dis van papers wat smag.

Edel en opreg is die regter se kaf.
Heilig is die helde van die bars van die nag.
Ons onthou die spoke van Oranje stad,
Ons kleef aan hulle woorde soos n tros vol kak.
Ons hou van die serries en die doef van Jak,
En moenie met my stry nie ek sal jou in pak.

Melodie jou wysie met ewige tone,
mengel mooi jou woordtjies met jou oulike drome.
Hou die fort van veiligheid en nasionalisme,
Wees n patriot en vermoor Anglisisme.

Beskerm jou mother language teen n kombuis taal.
Daar is niks in hierdie wereld wat die taal mag vaal.
Jenny Pearl Nov 2013
Jy was my maaitjie,
Vol lewe, vol praatjie...
Jy en jou “ninnie”
Nou is jy nie meer hier nie
Behalwe in my hart…

Lieflike sommers dag,
Julle swem en lag,
In huis toe om te eet,
Scrambled eggs, of het jy al vergeet?

Jy gaan buitentoe, klaar geëet,
Swembad oop – ons het vergeet.
Na ‘n ruk soek Rina jou,
Hol buitentoe, sy het onthou…

En daar lê jy, die water koud,
Mietie spring in, jou pols is oud.
Boet is vinnig, bel hospitaal,
Maar Rina is koud, Rina is vaal…
Want liewe Jesus het haar baba seuntjie kom haal.

Ek pyn nogsteeds 10 jaar later,
My maaitjie, Jy – onder die water.
Familie kind, die helder liggie
Dof skyn nou jou gesiggie –
Behalwe in my hart…
Written on 27 August 2004. 10years after my cousin, André, drowned in my aunt's pool.
Sia Jane Sep 2014
I'm made of all;
The books I've ever read
Poems I've ever written
Faces who have smiled at me
Hugs that have wrapped around me
Caresses that have graced my inner thigh
Countries & continents my feet have touched
The lovers as we simultaneously reach ecstasy within
Lonely nights shedding tear drops
Nights gazing black skies moon & stars
Children falling asleep to my heartbeat
Animals whose soul was found through reflective eye stares
Conversations spoken in French, Spanish, Italian, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Norwegian, German
Years of ******-, cognitive-, dialectical-, art-, drama-, music-, mindfulness-, trauma-, psychiatry-; therapies
The drinks & drugs & mind altering substances dispersing my mind
In all I'm made of;
Love
Lust
Greed
Fear
Joy
Freedom
Longing
Dreams
Despair
Sadne­ss
Anger
Frustrations
Happiness
Anxieties
Insecurities....

In all I'm made of;

A soul; securely contained within a body of battled scars;
over;
pain & triumphs, losses & gains, rejections & acceptances, dishonours & accolades...

With the hope; she too, can live life through.

© Sia Jane
Written at 1.53am
Queen May 2015
My name is Queen Stuurman.
Not Queen Elizabeth,
or Queen Latifah,
but simply just Queen.

I am a unique being born and raised in the roots of Africa,
my culture and roots are proof of where I'm from,
I'm not made in China.
I AM PROUDLY AFRICAN!!
A representation of my country,
its war cry resides within me,
my rainbow nation skin colour,
the many stories about my beautiful country I have yet to tell in my head.

So next time you see me,
call me Queen Stuurman
that's my Afrikaans and isiXhosa surname,
made and bred in Africa,
I am the African Queen.
#proudly african
it is said that
a prophet finds no honor
in his own country

hard truths
boldly spoken
are received as a
wretched cacophony
threatening to melt
the caked wax
blocking the closed
intolerant ears of
intransigence

Madiba
once found no
personhood
in his homeland

his people driven
from their land
by Voortrekkers

snortling Boers
gobbling the land
uprooting native
people from villages
they had occupied
since the dawn
of time

spilling Zulu blood
into roiling rivers
of conquest

meeting peaceful
petitions of the
aggrieved with
Sharpsville bullets
splattering
the blood of
innocents onto
hardscrabble roads

redressing crimes
against the victims
by corralling them into
denuded Bantustans
where rivers do not
flow, grass never grows,
game cannot graze;
only the dust doth blow

riddling the captives
with torments of
Transvaal Apartheid,
mocking the speakers
of mother tongues with
the fained eloquence
of bastardized Afrikaans

the dominion of the
oppressors, sanctioned
and affirmed by exiling
a people from their land,
outlawing their language,
dividing the nations into
a fallacy of separate
destinies where a forgetful
history blessed with amnesia
will anoint the conquerors
with the spoils of abundance
stolen from the vanquished

Madiba spoke of these things
and was awarded a prison
cell for twenty seven years

but the hostages of
a conquerors justice
remained destined
to be freed by the arrival
of an accepted truth
set free by the very words
prophetically spoken

prisons cannot contain truth
steel bars cannot imprison
the idea of divine justice

it slips through the smallest openings
like a wafting fragrance of the first day of spring

it saws away at the rust strewn steel bars
like the surest movement of a master carpenter’s arm

it melts the thickest links of iron chains
in the fiery forges that burn in the hearts
of all freedom loving people

the truth of justice
is born and takes flight
on the wings of history
covering the globes
cardinal ordinates

nesting in the most
humble villages
and mean estates
on God’s good earth

truth and reconciliation
can never be separated
planted together to grow
healthy nations and
communities of
trust and restoration

Madiba, you always
found honor with
the salt of the earth
the children of light
who seek to dispel
the darkness of
acrimony and
*******

we continue to
walk your way
guided by your
prophetic visions
we take the first steps
asking liberators to join
with oppressors, pairing
in a magnanimous walk
along wholesome pathways
perceiving the buena vistas
of reconciled communities
firmly established
on foundations
of peace, equality
and justice for all citizens

I caught a fleeting glimpse of Madiba
as he rolled by in the Canyon of Heros
showered under a June blizzard of confetti
and a resounding acclimation of love.

I was a plebe inhabiting a lower floor
Broadway office, yet my station blessedly
brought me closer to Madiba.  As he passed
I was moved by his miraculous smile and felt
the colossal reverberations of his waving arm
triumphantly hailing the sweet freedom of
liberation all hostages of feigned justice
exude in the vindication of divine justice
enraptured in the joy of affirmed truth.

Dearest Madiba
we are enriched
and blessed for
the time you walked
among us.  

You fought
the good fight
my brother.

Rest easy
for we shall resume
the climb to
the next mountaintop.

Well done Madiba
Godspeed

Rolihlahla “Nelson” Mandela
7/18/18 - 12/5/13

Ladysmith Black Mombazo
How Long

Oakland
12/6/13
jbm
Elizabeth Burns Jul 2016
Rooi rosige wange
En n eerlike mond
n Hart van goud
My Ouma
Ek sal nooit ooit my Ouma met Rooi wange En die mooiste glimlag vergeet nie
En jou lag
Jou stewige lag
Jou Hart Wat so vol liefde was
My Ouma
Ek sal nooit vergeet dat dit was jy Wat vir my afrikaans geleer het
Ek het dit altyd met jou gepraat
My Ouma
Jou geselskap was altyd eerlik En jy het altyd my hart verstaan
My Ouma
Wat so lief vir Facebook was
My Ouma
Van muis stories
En my Ouma
saam met Wie Ek gebak het
My Ouma Van rose
My Ouma Van liefde
My Ouma Van lang goodbyes
En altyd ons ding
Waar ons het gese
Ons is so lief vir mekaar
My Ouma
Ek sal altyd dankbaar wees
Vir ons tyd saam
My lieflike Ouma
Ek sal jou met Rooi wange
En blou grimering onthou
My regte egte Ouma
Ek sal jou lag altyd ****
En jou laaste glimlag sien
En lippe Wat gese:
"Ek is so lief vir jou, my skat. Altyd."
Ouma Ek sal jou nooit ooit vergeet nie
Ouma
Ouma
My mooiste ouma
Van rose
En Rooi wange.

Totsiens my Ouma
This is an Afrikaans poem dedicated to my grandmother (Ouma). She passed away last night and she was very close to me.
Hoping some of you can understand the words...

RIP My Ouma (my grandmother).
Baie dankie—thank you—
Surrounded us as we shared our lunch
With empty-handed children,
And we heard it again painting
The tiny playground for Sister Catherine,

Though my head focused on the “bye,”
Gracious and dismissive
To the nameless Americans,
Taking pictures of their town.

Baie dankie* said the woman
With liquor on her breath—
*Back to your selfies and indoor plumbing
Your clear conscience, your noble heart.
JeanlBouwer Oct 2010
Met boeke vol helde, soos ek en jy
Potgieter, Trichardt, Smuts, Kruger selfs De LaRey
Almal met die doel, om hul volk te bevry,
Die Afrikaner, uit te brei
Om hul families, van leiding te bevry

Selfs, De LaRey
‘n Lafhart, wou eers nie beklei
Later die held, wat die boere, verder wou lei
Familie man, vader seun broer en gesant

Ja, die mense was ook bang
Maar met passie,
Met drang
Met dit wat slange vang
Het hulle als aangevang

Kyk na jou vriend
Kyk na jou maat
Kyk na die, anderkant die straat
Dis jy, wat hul toekoms baat
Dis jy, wat hul vereen, ou maat

Die Afrikaners, was plesierig
Dit, kan julle glo
Nou gevul, net met gierig
En al hul misnoe
Ja, dit kan julle glo

Waar is ons eendrag
Waar is ons mag
Waar is die dae, toe ons nog lekker kon lag
Waar is ons helde, van vandag

‘n Held, in elkeen wat die taal verstaan
Elkeen, wat n weg vir Afrikaans wil baan
Elk, wat sy man wil staan
vir die taal, wat min verstaan
‘n Kultuur, wat net ons verstaan

‘n Kultuur, so ryk aan helde soos ek en jy
Helde, wat die Afrikaner wil bevry
Helde, wat nie bang is om te baklei
Helde, soos ek en jy!
Luke Swanepoel Oct 2017
reëndruppel, reëndruppel
val van die hemels
reëndruppel, teerdruppel
my hart vir vergifnis bedel

reëndruppel, veerdruppel
op my hart val sag
reëndruppel, meerdruppel
'n storm in jou mag

reëndruppel, keerdruppel
wag, hy kom nou
reëndruppel, leerdruppel
'n brood gebak, steeds rou
This poem is in my native language, Afrikaans, unique to South Africa, and just translating it won't do you any good.
Khoisan Jan 2021
Vark sonder gehee
gloed van verspeelde perels
iemand se waansin

Unconscionable
glossary of wasted Pearl's
a swines glory
A messed up life
skillful
Pearl's
gifts
Love
Adriaan Harms Oct 2014
English: I Love You!
Afrikaans: Ek is Lief vir jou!
Chinese: 我爱你!
French: Je t'aime !
German: Ich liebe dich !
Irish: Is breá liom tú !
Italian: ti amo !
Portuguese: eu te amo !
Zulu: Ngiyakuthanda !
Sotho wasn't available.
We want to be loved.. But yet when was the last time you told someone you loved them?
Elizabeth Burns Mar 2016
You know what I'm going to miss most...
Are those short chats in Afrikaans class
That share sly secrets and hearts are opened freely
No pretence and no doubt in mind
And I come to realise
It is my last year to do so

It's the sound of the bell
That leads me along each day
That structure every day of my life
Calling me to its whims
To the places I should go
Next year I will be alone.

It's those short walks to each class
Where you get in those last bits of a conversation
You utter words of encouragement to those who are in need
To your fellow girls in green
And for the first time, I wonder if I'll ever see them again...

I've been surrounded by these radiant faces
Each day of my life
For the past five years,
Some twelve
I've walked these corridors with them
I've heard about pieces of their extraordinary lives
We've shared laughs as a class
And inside jokes...
That time when someone was given something in art that made her insane and declare "the tree bit me", again and again
The hazy day in grade eight when we were so delighted by our teachers absence, we caused such a raucous and when she came... That class captain shouted "SHE'S COMING!"
And all was back to normality...
I remember my first cultural day...
Singing to the entire school at the top of my lungs...

I remember my first day of grade 8,
A mousy timid being not sure of where she should go
To a phoenix screaming her name on the stage...
Ready to fly into the skies
And stare down at meak faces
And eyes filled with fascination

You see,
There are things in my school I love dearly
The radiant faces beside me each day, the ones that have always stayed and never strayed away...
The sound of the bell as it structures my day
And those conversations in Afrikaans class...
That keep me sane...
I ponder of what my life will become
And if I will always hold these memories
So close to my whimpering heart...
Elizabeth Burns Jan 2017
Sitting here
Where your body lies
Your heart deafened
Your life gone by

As the birds chirp
And life chatters away
I hear you
Loud and clear on this day

Your life beckons
Full
And dear

I miss you Ouma
My partner in crime
My maat
My beste vriend

Ek mis ons gesprekke
In Afrikaans
Ek mis jou lag
Jou Rooi rosige wange
Jy

En Ek sit hier
Sonder jou

I haven't felt myself since you've been gone
I've been empty
Waiting
For someone to help this yearning
This longing in my heart

I sit beside your grave
Tears clenched in my eyes
Holding back my own life

I miss you Ouma
I miss you so
And forever I will be empty
Without you
As I am
Yearning
For you so.
Marie Nov 2018
Liefde is:

om die langpad Kaap toe deur te dring met Afrikaans is Groot treffers omdat jy sien *** Pappa sy vingers teen die maat van die ritme tik.

Dis om te weet dat Mamma wel omgee al is sy soms te besig om na jou gunsteling gedigte te luister.

Dis om saam met Boeties rugby te speel al wil jou lyf al vir jare nie meer hardloop en rond gestamp word nie.

Liefde woon hier
Tussen die gee en kry,
Tussen die op offeringe,
Tussen ons almal.
Zukiswa Mvunguse Nov 2018
When I was little
The township we called home was the centre of my world
Our mud and zinc house was a Palace
My father it’s King
And we were his little princesses
My mother was just my mother
She wasn’t regal enough to be a queen

When I was little
We vacationed at centre of the universe
Nevermind that my grandparents farm lacked running water or electricity
And stood at the bottom of the valley
Surrounded on all sides by majestic hills
In comparison, it was just a stepping stone to the heavens
Even so, it was my heaven

When I was little
I looked to the heavens and I saw God
He wore a threadbare, leathery moonless night sky for skin
And had a cloudy facade with fallen stars for eyes
But when My God smiled
Sunlight shone through the cracks
And we all wanted to busk in his radiance

When I was little
My grandfather seemed a God
On cold winter nights, huddled around the fireplace
Stories of youthful escapades and adventures in the big city Spilled from his ambrosia loosened lips
Mesmerised by this linguistic wizardry
We hung onto every word as he switched from English to Afrikaans to Sesotho to Xhosa and back

When I was little
I was happiest lying in the sun
But than I grew up and the shadows were more inviting
Kingdoms fell and Gods became mere mortals
When I was little
The women in my family were merely extras to their male leads
But as I grew up they evolved into pillars
Holding up the roof their male counterparts have left to disrepair
I had to write an essay for English class about my childhood, but ended up with this. My grandfather died 2 years ago and I was emotionless at the time, so this suprised me.
Thando Jun 2018
Ah, Yes We Are Commemorating, Our Fellow Fallen Students
We Are Remembering Those Who Fought
For Better Education, Those Who Fought
For Our Identities.
We Are Mourning.
South Africa We're Crying
For Those Students.

When The Language Afrikaans Along With English
Was Made Compulsory As a Medium Instruction In Black schools
in 1974.
16 June 1976, Our hero's Marched Peacefully
Demonstrating Government's Unfairness.

I Always Read My Book, I Come Towards Names,
Young People Who Were Brutally Killed For Fighting
For What They Wanted:
Their Identity
Fair Education
People Like Hector
Hector Pieterson.
_
We're Memorizing
All Our Fallen Fellow Students
Our True Hero's.
16 June Is, Not To Strip Naked And Get Drunk
Smoke ****, And Burn Your Lugs
16 June To Remember
Those Students Who Died For Better Education.
IlledCC
In die hart van Afrika se suidegrond,
Styg ’n taal, sterk en bond.
Diep in son en sand,
Stemme dra oor hierdie land.

Afrikaans, die taal van hart en kin,
Gevleg met stories van waar ons was en bin.
Van boereveld tot stad se straat,
Sy ritme sterk, sy klank hard.

Woorde wat van berge hoog weerklink,
Stories oud, na die hemel gesink.
Met elke “sê,” ’n belofte gegee,
Van erfenis wat nooit sal verdwyn.

Ons taal sing van lag, van trane en vrees,
Van stryde gewen en drome geheg.
Al verander die tyd, al rol die gety,
Afrikaans bly staan, sterk en vry.

So hef jou stem, laat dit luid wees,
’n Lied van trots, ’n taal om te lees.
Want in elke frase, elke woord en rym,
Dra ons ons Afrikaans, deur elke tyd.
Don't gimme your West Afrikaans, Chad-tribal sass because I could
pass for ***** black with a fish bone in my nose & a hose up my ***
Don't gimme your West Afrikaans, Chad-tribal sass because I could
pass for ***** black with a fish bone in my nose & a hose up my ***

— The End —