Graduating WITH NOTHING TO SHOW
As the president urged the country to dance to the song Jerusalema this past Heritage Day, unenthused, I opted to sit this one out. Less because I have two left feet than that the flagrant nerve that once stirred towards my cultural heritage was doused 20 years ago on the banks of the Great White Kei.
The de facto directive is never to speak of these things and, for two decades, to untold emotional agony that often had me staring down an empty bottle of brandy, I have listened. I have listened because, for a Xhosa male, there is no ritual as
