Waiting On The Leader Poem by Gert Strydom

(in answer to Tatamkulu Africa)

At the airport a crowd waits,
waits on their Leader to land
and they stand grouped together
softly talking, their voices in a background hum
but they fill the lounge, past capacity
are plunged into the parking area
and I have a plane to catch,
have to walk right through them

and the police are only onlookers,
watching but not aiding
in finding a passage through
and there two-way radios
talk much louder than the crowd

and suddenly they sing in full voice
and my ears ring
from the combustion of voices
and clapping hands
and they dance everywhere
almost like a rioting crowd
and while I squeeze through
someone steals my cellular phone
and the police are not bothered
by my well being

and just as I am rid of the crowd
their Leader comes through the door
and walks right up to me
asking in Afrikaans,
why I am looking so disgusted
to see him, why the awful frown
and I tell him about the missing phone
and he says:

"my man, this is Africa"
and I answer him:
"Yes man, this is Africa
where people steal and kill"
and it startles him.

["Waiting for Lazarus" by Tatamkulu Africa.]

© Gert Strydom