Gukurahundi

This word, Gukurahundi, still haunts the hordes of refugees in downtown Johannesburg as they try to irk a living among people who don't want them. Gukurahundi, the wind that sweeps away the chaff before the rain comes, still reaches with its long fingers down from Zimbabwe to its people huddled each night in the squalor at Johannesburg's Central Methodist Church who dream of going back but can’t until the cause of the Gukuranhudi, Uncle Bob, has conceded. They dream of dignity, the right of law, peace and food. So today as I looked towards the church which houses over 3,000 refugees every night, the rain and hail came squalling in to sweep the streets clean. People hurried to find refuge from the relentless rain. I think of the refugees that live along the river in the affluent northern suburbs and wonder if they would find shelter. I then turn from the present to look to the future, the relentless marching of progress, the Gautrain. In between the waves of rain, workers in orange overalls scurried over the Gautrain Terminus building trying to get much done before the next wave of water arrives. There is such a large gap between the haves and have-nots. Ah my beloved country, the Gukurahundi is still blowing. For more insight to the Central Methodist Church see Sokwanele's post "Address: Stair number four, Fourth Floor, Central Methodist Church, Johannesburg".