Archive for June 12, 2018


84 … for our father


http://www.thepresidency.gov.za/national-orders/recipient/moosa-mosie-moolla



84 …



(for our father and grandfather and comrade Mosie Moolla who turned 84 years old this June 12)


Mosie Moolla with Nelson Mandela in the 1950s



84 …


The number says so much, the years of sacrifice and struggle that can never truly be left behind,


the stark years of revolution when you and the countless footsoldiers shared the tightest bonds of comradeship,


the dedication to the cause of freedom against the savage cruelty that was the crime against humanity – Apartheid,


the 27 years in exile, separated from your two children, your family, your home,


holding the hand of our mother who stood by your side, torn apart from her children, her family, her home.




84 …


the number says so much, more than half a century ago, forging relationships in the cauldron of resistance,


your brothers and your comrades –


Nelson Mandela,

Oliver Tambo,

Walter Sisulu,

Moses Kotane,

JB Marks,

Joe Slovo,

Nana Sita,

Bram Fischer,

Ahmed Kathrada,

Alfred Nzo,

Yusuf Dadoo,


and so many more,

in whose hearts and spirit the fires of the just fight roared on, never to be dimmed.




84 …


the number says so much, of our mother and of your shared sacrifice, of not knowing the joys of seeing your daughter Tasneem and your son Azad grow, the pain of being ripped away from your families, your homes, your motherland,


to travel to distant countries to keep the fight alive on the outside, building solidarity in the world to isolate Apartheid South Africa,


to fan the embers into the flames of international pressure against Apartheid South Africa.




84 …


the number says so much, returning home when your comrades Nelson Mandela and so many other giants were released from Apartheids’ prisons,


to work in mobilising the tasks for the  groundwork to build a new, free, non-racial, non-sexist democracy for people of all colours, regardless of religion or tribe,


to finally see your comrade Nelson Mandela become the first President of a free South Africa.




84 …


the number says so much, as you still keep the lessons of history alive, as you shake us all to remember and never to forget the comrades who were executed, tortured and killed, who fell on the battlefield, the comrades who did not see the birth of their dream of a free South Africa.




84 …


the number says so much, yet the furnace rages on,


inspiring us and many more,


the furnace will rage on,


in our hearts,


deep in our shared core.







(for our father and grandfather Mosie Moolla who turned 84 years old on this 12th of June)



receiving The Order of Luthuli in Silver from former South African President Jacob Zuma


Johannesburg 2000s


with old comrades 2000s


with comrades 2000s

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The Cost of Revolution …



(in memory of the June 16th 1976 student uprising in South Africa)





You hurled rocks, stones,

Molotov Cocktails,

Sling-shots against the brutality of racial oppression.



You fell on the streets of Soweto,

Thokoza,

Kagiso,

Sharpeville,

Tembisa,


and countless more across this nation. 



Tasting the acrid stench of tear-gas,


Feeling the flesh ripped off your bones by their dogs,


Drenched by water-cannons,

Stung by rubber-bullets,

Whipped by sjamboks,

Shot in the head by lead,

Paid for by your country’s gold.



You stood trial for Treason,

Facing the hangman’s noose,


You stood firm, you did not break,

Even though,

You had wives, sons, daughters, lovers, brothers, sisters, and friends to lose.



The revolutionary dream burned bright,

In all your hearts,


Even as the jackboot of Apartheid,


Fractured your bones and tore your families into broken and splintered parts.



You left your brothers,

Sisters,

Sons,

Daughters,

Lovers,

Wives,

Comrades and friends,


Seeking out foreign lands,

With only the ammunition that you held in your hearts, your minds and in your never-wavering hands.



The enemy did not waver either,


Tyranny didn’t cease.



2 AM knocks on doors around this land,

Meant to stifle, to intimidate,


Yet,

You took a stand.



Hungry,

lost far away from home, pining for freedom and your loved ones,


Still,

You stood firm,

You fought on,


“Release Mandela and all Political Prisoners” was your cry,

In capitals in far-off lands,


You feared not the bayonet in the enemy’s hands,


The revolution was burning bright,


Even as the dawn of Freedom was in sight.



Finally on a February day,

They released him and the joy was palpable, nothing stood now in the revolution’s way.


All the while,

The enemy consolidated its power,


Paying off traitors,


Seeding violence,


Orchestrating mayhem to taint the noble cause,


And still you took the tyrant’s rifles and clenched their muzzles in-between your brave jaws.



Never standing down,

Backing away,

Retreating to safe space,

The fire of revolution burned,

Spreading through the plateaus and valleys and townships and cities and villages in this pained land,


And still,


Still,

You held that Kalashnikov in your hand.



And when that day of freedom came,


You felt the stirrings of joy and pain and yes,

Of shame.



You felt the shame of leaving those you left behind,


You tasted again the pain,

Of economic hardships,

Of capitalism and its illusory promise,

Of a revolution left incomplete,


Till,

Every man, woman and child has enough to eat.



A revolution still incomplete,

Where hunger stalks the night,

Where mercy,

And comradely solidarity,

Left last night on a first-class flight.



You stand tall still,

Working as you always have,


Polishing the metal chariots of those you once bled for,


Still feeling the injustice,

Of not having the two cents more,


That deprives you of your daily bread,


And you try hard to remember,


Whether this is the revolution,


For which so many died,


The countless whose names remain unsaid,


The brothers and sister,

mothers and fathers,

Lovers and friends,


the martyred dead.






(dedicated to all South Africans who sacrificed their lives, their families, in pursuit of the revolutionary dream. A dream that remains a dream to many, and a dream that will continue to be dreamed)



all photographs from google



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