Easter brought a deserved peace

2017-04-14 05:21

What a week last week was! Journalists had their hands full in the past two weeks, juggling between the midnight announcement of a Cabinet reshuffle, to many eventful memorial services of the struggle icon, Ahmed Kathrada, to infinite press conferences, and then… boom! The national mass protests from the tip of Africa – Cape Town – to Beit Bridge up in Musina, Limpopo. No! The protesters didn’t enter Zimbabwe borders. Lest they succumb to starvation.

Eventually Thursday came, and all came to an end. What a relief!

But when everyone wanted to get back to their cocoons, I found myself stuck in yet another “mass action”. This time around, nobody was protesting or toyi-toying. We all were rushing to find our ways to our respective destinations.

Mine was to bid farewell to the East of London, known to Xhosa folks as eMondi, and to politicians as Buffalo City, going to my crib in the heart of Africa’s Eden, Limpopo.

The “mass actions” I’m referring to here are the traffic congestion… the convoys that were stuck in all directions possible. East London is largely a relaxed area. But this time around, my chauffeur had to apply the taxi-driver tactics to manoeuvre our way out of the city center, all the way to the airport. Oh boy! A winding queue at both the check-in and security checkpoints. Was this, perhaps, yet another 2010 FIFA World Cup?

Anyway, surprisingly, I made it just on time, boarded the plane, pretended to pay attention to the safety protocols from the cabin crew, and oh boy, I was seated right at the emergency exit. Now I had tortured with the scary lessons on how I should open the exit door “in case of emergency”. Really? Did she honestly expect me, a rural herdboy from Limpopo, to even put in my imagination the thought of doing such? Hai maani!

Anyway, we taxi’d and took off, and voila! the pilot started explaining that we’ll be flying over Lesotho and Swaziland. “Really? From where did he expect me to find my passport at that time?” I asked my fellow passenger. “No, man. Don’t be silly”, she said. “You need no passport to fly above the country. You need one to enter.” Sigh!

A snack and drink later, there was an announcement from the cockpit: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve now begun our descend.” As we approached, it was very clear that the bright sun was endemic to the skies only, while the rain reigned down below the clouds. Johannesburg was pouring cats and dogs.

At OR Tambo international airport as well, queues were winding, everybody on their phones, updating their statuses on every form of social media. I was convinced people were, in fact, taking pictures of me, until I realised they were on a selfie mood. We took connecting flight to Polokwane, forty-five minutes later, the bumper-to-bumper traffic congestion on the N1 North reminded me what day it was… IT WAS AN EASTER EVE!

How could I forget this? This has always been the most awaited date in the history of my existence. This is the day when the pilgrims forget everything and march to their respective pilgrimages… mine being at Patogeng ya Thaba, in Moria.

In and around Polokwane, both yesterday and this morning (Good Friday), I saw and still see totally different people than I did in the past few days. I see happy faces. I see united people, joyously singing, this time around not against anything or anyone, but just as a bunch of believers praising their God… Soli Deo Gloria. Here, journalists ain't got no job. No "Breaking News!" No surprises. Just peace.

I see a beautiful bunch of united black folks, who seem to be grudge-less with anyone. I see a bunch of loving South Africans, whose unity seem undefeatable. I see a bunch of different individuals who are so similar in every possible way. I see a bunch of motorists who are stuck in a slow-moving traffic jam, yet they seem not to even worry about it. It even seems like the longer they wait at the intersections, the more friends they make, the more they enjoy being stuck.

These are mainly the multitudes of pilgrims who, adorned in different uniforms, and in particular, destined towards a heavily congested R71 that heads to Moria. The congregants, resembled by to two different insignias, yet brought together by one same spirit, will be converging in that sacrosanct area, all in the name of peace… speaking in different languages, one thing in common shall be Peace be unto you!

This is a heavily congested place where one would expect chaos all over. In contrary, the order comes naturally there. There are no police officials to whip people into positions. Everything seem so spontaneous… hence I’m typing this piece now, right in front of my mirror, fixing my suit and tie, adorned in my badge, and heading straight there… for the entire long Easter weekend.

It pains me, though, that we can have such a multitude of South Africans who seemingly love each other, who gather together in joyous melodies, for the entire crimeless weekend, yet still live in a country that is so much full of hatred and political fights. Surely, there is something this group of millions of Zionists are doing, which we as the general public must emulate.

It can’t be, that people can preach peace for a weekend, and war thereafter. It is clear, from what I see now, as opposed to what I saw in the past few days, that as South Africans, we can live in harmony, together. May we all have a peaceful Easter weekend, and forever thereafter.

Peace be unto you!

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