Do not abuse me, my African brother

The Star Early Edition - - LETTERS - Ju­lia Banda

MY AFRICAN brother, Safa saphela isizwe es­im­nyama, safa. But this time sicedwa ob­huti bethu (this time we are killed by our broth­ers).

Is this the free­dom utata Man­dela fought for? Is this the free­dom the youth of 1976 fought for? That we must turn against each other and prey on one an­other?

My African brother, yes, I might not be your blood sis­ter but, I am a daugh­ter, I am a sis­ter, I am a wife, I am a mother, I am a friend, I am a neigh­bour, I have peo­ple that love me and will mourn me when I am gone.

My African brother, when I see you, I should proudly run to you and not run from you. I should find com­fort in you and not die at your hands. I should be cared for by you and not raped by you.

I should be pro­tected by you and not abused by you. Well not for­get­ting my African queen, my African queen, stop run­ning for men with monies.

Study and show your­self ap­proved so that you can af­ford to buy those things you want from him. Fo­cus on your stud­ies so that you don’t stay ume­qala ukukushaya Ama Brazil­ian weaves nama long nails are not worth your life.

Re­spect your African brother and hon­our him. If you feel that he is not man enough for you, walk away and do not dis­re­spect his man­hood.

My African queen, think twice be­fore you utter yet an­other word.

Re­mem­ber that you have par­ents, sib­lings, chil­dren, friends, col­leagues who will mourn you when you are gone.

My African brother, care for your African queen. Rood­e­poort

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