I've followed with keen interest the proceedings around the eTolls saga and vowed from day one that I shall not sign up for an e-tag. I further vowed to inflict maximum harm to sellouts who do not take the fight to government. Those who perpetuate clear and blatant corruption by agreeing to use the system as currently proposed.
So when I heard of public engagements around the issue, I told myself that I will be the first one to be arrested or killed for sending a clear message to those defending etolls i.e. department of transport.
I got the date diarised, Thursday 15 November at The Forum, cnr Kikuyi & Leewkop streets at 18h00. With my speech memorised, I bid my colleagues farewell, got into my car , drove to the place and called my lawyer to be on stand-by.
See, my lawyer is used to these things and doesn't dare fight me or try to convince me not to go ahead with them. When the Marikana massacre happened I was first to jump into my car and drive to North West to see for myself what had happened. I will publicly write and admit, here right now, that I was at the foreground breaking police barricades, tearing down the barbed wire and singing struggle songs. I was there shouting to murdering scum (read: police) to f-off. Luckily they did and nothing happened.
This time though I wanted another Marikanna at The Forum with the etolls guys. I wanted to show our government that we are gatvol of the lies and secrets. I wanted to show them that the Arab Spring has moved down South.
As I got to the Beccleugh Interchange I could feel my blood pumping. I knew the risks but I was ready to take and deal with the consequences. My baby's mama phoned and asked me to pray – she is all too familiar too with my daring ways as she's visited me in jail after another stint with the corrupt.
What made it worse was hearing our president on the radio talking down issues, fence sitting and obviously lying to us about the R250m his administration has splurged on his private residence. His compound, dare I say so Mr. President without sounding like a Clever Black racist?
As I looked through my tablet, using Google Maps, trying to locate the said address of the meeting, I got more frustrated and angry that these officials chose a hidden location; perhaps smartly so for their safety but more than anything they didn't want many people to find the it.
I passed The Core a couple of times looking for this “The Forum” place with no luck. After driving all the way to Leeuwkop prison I decided to go to a petrol station nearby to ask for directions. They pointed to the same direction; near The Core.
I have a good sense of direction but this was becoming rather frustrating as I had heard on the radio reports of proceedings at my destination; and now this was the second half-hourly bulletin and yet I was not any closer to figuring out how to get to this location.
I do not want to be a faceless coward who writes blogs or starts a facebook campaign page – the clickeratti or slacktivists as they are called. I want the world to know that perhaps my God, ancestors or whatever prevented me from seeing the place is not ready for me to go.
I'm ready. I'm ready to fight for the soul of this country as Mandela and his generation did. I'm ready to give it all up and ensure that nobody can spend R1.6b renting buildings they could've bought for R50m or less. Enough is enough that our public broadcaster and the other parastatals waste billions of our money while others die of hunger.
Ek se genoog is genoog! It can't be that someone can defend 30% pass rate and clearly poor education engineered to create a dump generation of social grant receivers who will ask no questions but be forever grateful for the wonderful and caring government who takes care of them.
Ngikhathele ngidiniwe bab' umongameli. I and other youth have heard enough.
I tweeted my frustrations about not finding the place and having someone reply to me, I simply decided to put it off until the next time.
This is only the beginning.
My dad is one of those people who struggled, as many did, during apartheid and got arrested for not having a dompass. My family buried him in absentia, not knowing if he was still alive or dead but the latter was generally assumed to be true. He walked in months later during his funeral service to declare he was only arrested for defying the law. He too was willing to die for freedom and what he believed.
I remember once standing with him as four impimpis we ere necklaced. He whispered to me then that I must never be afraid to stand up for what I believe and since then I've realised that I need to do what needs to be done.
What needs to be done right now is do the right thing. The right thing to do is some times the wrong thing.
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