Basibulele
They killed us when they killed you
From jump, you were right there in the maternity ward
In green scrubs, masks and gloves
When Kaizer XI drew its first breath
We all know what happened when they became the Chiefs of this place
Then you gave us Magesh the super-lyricist
The proud “Mfana KaMshengu” who created a groove
A groove that made us move, setting our souls free, singing songs of happiness
Long before “Tiki Taka” was even a thang
You bequeathed us the fabled Shoeshine & Piano at Mamelodi Sundowns
When uThish’ Gumede first told us about Bafana Bafana in a crowded Standard 4 class at Inanda Day School back in 1992
We didn’t know it then
But your fingerprints were all over the project
Just as they would be at Kaizer Chiefs and at Bucs, as you flexed your administrative muscle even further
With the latter’s strident and attractive play in successive seasons
The wind beneath the Iron Duke’s wings
SITTING WITH BRA STAN
Oh, Screamer, our luminous, streetwise elder statesman of football
How heartwarming to witness
I-“Youth Endala” and the true younger generation
Sitting with Bra Stan
As if huddled around a campfire, savouring its warmth
Grootmanne in their own right
Imbibing from the overflowing well of your wisdom
Bencela kogwansile
And you had stories for days
Stories that cut through the mist
That tends to cloud memories as the years go by
You took us straight to the middle of the action
Through the mastery of your oratory
We could see vivid images
Of that majestic, flashy sedan
Gliding slowly along a dusty township street
Before pulling up outside the home of yet another burgeoning bright talent
An open briefcase full of stacks of red R50 notes on the table
A few convincing words with his father
A little cajole here, a twist there
He signs on the dotted line
A handshake, deal signed and delivered
SCREAMER, INSIMB’ ENDALA… UMAKAD’ EBONA
You survived the brutality of apartheid and political violence
You outsmarted the sheer mercilessness of AIDS before ARVs
You out-dribbled the cruelty of COVID–19
Only to be snuffed out by some faceless dogs
When you named your son Tokollo in the smouldering ruins from the aftermath of 16 June ’76
This couldn’t have been the Freedom you were dreaming about
A precious senior citizen – football royalty – shot in cold blood, in the sanctuary of his very own home!!!
Njani South Africa???
UMKHOMBA KANJANI U-SCREAMER WONKE UZE UMDUBULE???
If high society isn’t spared from the spectre of violence, then what chance does the plebeian class stand?
We asked the same about Lucky Dube and Senzo Meyiwa: surely, they look at the face before pulling the trigger…
How could they not recognise you?
THE FINAL RUN
Shockwaves and words of condemnation in the wake of a most callous and dastardly act
A few months of false hope
Slowly but surely
A legendary scream
That reverberated freely for decades
Reduced to a stifled murmur
Then a whisper
Dead silence
Our faces cry a river of blood
Our hearts are streaming with tears
Kuxovaxovene
What a disgrace
There’s just no way to be pleasant about this one:
Izinja zisibulele for killing uBra Stan
Bra Stan is dead
Long live, Bra Stan
You will scream forever audible through your bold deeds
