
My heart is in tatters for Africa.  The stories of Xenophobia are frightening and surreal, especially when one is so far away.  This poem illustrates it beautifully.  I will attempt to translate, with apologies to the poet.
Vreemde  Voel Foreign Bird
Die hemel tuimel                                                                                        The heavens tumble
die blou lug en die wolke swaai en draai                        the blue air and the clouds turn and swivel
ek val                                                                                                                    I drop down
 asemloos                                                                                                          breathless
 sinneloos                                                                                                        thoughtless
 leweloos                                                                                                           lifeless
Ek het van ver gevlug                                                                           I fled from afar
 van haat, pyn en verminking                                                        from hatred, pain and mutilation
ek, banneling                                                                                                 I, the outcast
Hier by jou het dit veilig gelyk                                                    With you it seemed safe
Ek het sagte musiek hoor fluister                                             I heard the whispers of soft music
deur jou vensters                                                                                        through your windows
Ek dog in jou groen agterplaas                                                    I thought Bach's sheep could
kan Bach se skape veilig wei  safely graze in your pastures
Ja, ek is anders                                                                                            Yes, I am different
met my skril kras stem                                                                       with my shrill, loud call
my swarter vere                                                                                            my darker feathers
my parmantige wipspring stappie                                            my arrogant, cheeky gait
My vrou krys en sy skel jou                                                            My mate screetches and scolds you
skel jou                                                                                                                scolds you
 skel jou                                                                                                                scolds you
 en sy skel my:                                                                                               and she scolds me:
 “Staan op, staan op!”                                                                           "Get up, get up!"
 maar die plof van jou projektiel                                              but the plop of your projectile
 weergalm nou sagter                                                                           echoes more quietly now
 en dowwer ook die pyn and gentler too, the pain
 en ek verdwyn                                                                                                as I disappear
 ek, vreemde voël                                                                                       I, foreign bird
© 2008 Chris van der Westhuizen
(from My Kop op 'n Blok.)
NOTE: (In Africa the Indian Mynah birds are seen as intruders, and often shot by farmers.)
 
