July 13, 2020 by petrujviljoen
It’s South Africa. It’s winter, a particularly cold one (for South Africa). It’s a very small town, ravaged by Covid-19. Hunger prevails. A 1000 had to be fed by less than a handful. The chat group was ablaze last night. Where are the food parcels?
Tempers soared … and soured. A leader, in charge, peeved. Believe it!
Yes but, and then that, but you … but where did the food parcels go then? The rich and well off sit and sip liquor in the sun, arranging themselves for after (Covid). They gathered in God’s name. So where are the food parcels!
But if you did and if they didn’t … and then they put up the electricity charges. And still no-one says about the missing food parcels. Those who still could now can’t cook any longer unless they make a fire in the yard. A household of ten to eat from one granny’s social grant. One fire, one teacup worth of food, once a day. A small child has been crying non-stop for two days. It’s God’s Will. No food parcels. Be patient ‘they’ say.
Calling out, just, just short of being called names (on the chat group). Fingers pointing, pointed back, yes but you … whatever … where are the goddamn food parcels!!
the heat of the moment
passed – I draw the blankets up
to my chin
Linked to Frank J Tassone’s weekly Haikai challenge.