Hum If You Don't Know the Words

by Bianca Marais

But what quality of freedom will it be if it is won with blood? And after that? Once our rage has boiled and we have taken the life force of our enemies, have we not become the very people we have fought against, the ones who use violence against us? If we ever taste victory, will our fighters lower their fists and live in peace or will they always be looking for the next conflict? I despair that we are all becoming murderers, white and black alike, and that we will never be able to wipe this blood from our hands. I pray that I am wrong. The young people are singing a song, one that is accompanied by the beating of a thousand drums and makes my heartbeat quicken. Yet, as much as I want to sing along with them, I do not know the words. Perhaps that is what it means to get old: you must let the young ones sing their own songs.