Uhambo: pieces of a dream - Waiting in the Ambiguity of Liminality

Abstract

Waiting / for the house I was promised / the one I put my name on the list for / for the politician’s poetic speech to turn concrete / for the new-country-new-nation-media-mantra / to sink into the broken soil of my community / the aching earth / witness to our history / bearing all our memories / cut into pieces of property / sold to the highest bidder / or patched with matchbox houses / one step up from cardboard and corrugated iron / waiting / waiting / waiting for our women to have safety and security / for the gender politics to change / not just quotas, conferences, tokens and reports / for mutual respect / for equality / waiting / for my children to experience a better reality / for the return of old values / the return to district six / the resurrec- tion of Sophiatown’s spirit / for unity / waiting / for this democracy joke to make sense / for the conviction of my rapist / for the results of my HIV test / for medication for my infected baby / for a decrease in the number of AIDS-related deaths / waiting / waiting / for return of all our missing children / or news of where they are / at least the truth of how they died / waiting / for my husband to come home / for my son to be released from prison / for a decent job / for fresh water / for food to keep out the cold / waiting / for the bombings / the killings and the wartalk to end / waiting / to be seen / to be rec- ognised as human / not alien or enemy / waiting / to return home / for peace to descend / for freedom to come home / to come true / for all that it means / to me and you.