feathery, misty, settling gently on this city’s breath.
hiding amongst the clouds,
while silver ribbons of moonlight, caress the concrete.
Midnight in Jo’burg,
alone, in this wild-eyed, crazy city,
warm and cruel at once,
ragged, torn, sublime,
brimming with African life,
alive in an African summer night.
Zimbabwe, you are us,
Morocco is infused in our veins,
Nigeria lingers on our wet kisses,
Malawi, we are you.
A continental mosaic,
the smells of Cairo,
and sounds of Dakar,
soaked in tastes of Addis,
mingle on my city’s streets.
We are all, African.
‘They’ are not the other,
we are ‘them’, tossed in a communal pot,
and chowing pap and vleis*,
in my city,
* – a home-brewed drink, and a maize-meal porridge and meat.
** – all names refer to Johannesburg.