Riding the bus with Vusi
On a Friday after school
The taxi arrives, its really cool.
Awesome music blasts loud and clear
Sometimes so loud we can hardly hear
As we clamber aboard sitting hip to hip,
We’re off to Vusi’s home up in the township!
Peeling off jerseys, laughing out loud,
The taxi takes off, driving fast round the crowd.
We hit the highway, seatbelts on
All of us are having such fun.
Up the hill and around the bend
into the township we descend.
Slowing down for speed bumps as the pigs run by
then speeding up fast making chickens fly.
Brindled dogs race along with the car
And adults wave to see how happy we are
Bright red and yellow the washing dries
Hung under gleaming sun that glows in the sky.
We arrive just in time for tea.
Vusi’s Mom smiles when she looks at me.
It’s strange in here, for this house is wood
Not brick and tile or even mud.
With just two rooms this house is small
Not like ours where we have it all.
A table stands just inside the door
With a bright red rug upon the floor
Where Vusi’s sister Nobuhle crawls
and hitting her head begins to bawl.
He gathers her up with all good grace
And a beaming smile splits her face.
‘Go out and play now.’ His Mom smiles
The sun is hot and we run for miles
Shouting to others as we pass
We get to the stadium and fall on the grass
We count and choose the boys for each team
The ball goes in the net as if in a dream
‘Come on,’ says Vusi. ‘Let’s go home.’
We run past streets where cattle roam
The sun is going down so fast
And I’m sad this day just can’t last
I can smell wood smoke from the fires
As we race up the hill and over the wire
A lot of people are walking home now
That is something my Mom just won’t allow
She fetches us in a big, black car
Not that we even travel that far.
We burst in the door and there we see
My Mom has come early to collect me.
‘O please can I stay just a little bit more?’
We turn and wave as we walk out the door
I smile at Vusi and he smiles back
We’re very good friends and I like him a stack
I’ll see him at school again next week
But the weekend without him will be rather bleak.
On Speaking Out
Bellicose pregnant;
Rounded and tight skinned;
words hampered with weight;
Embryonic utterances trapped behind
My umbilical tongue.
Would that I could birth these thoughts
That swim the amniotic fluid in
My heart and deliver them between parted lips
To scream, childlike and breathless
In the rage of being born.
Copyright © 2008 Jane van Velsen. All rights reserved.
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