Thought Leader

I don’t like the idea of “nationalism”, it sounds divisive and exclusive, but on days like Freedom Day I secretly wish I could hold a more legitimate claim to this country, which has adopted me. In thinking about this, a poem I came across on Facebook recently comes to mind. It is entitled “Diaspora Blues”…

My first remembered door was a toilet, me traumatised on the wrong side, trapped, wailing. Dad slid under the door a mysterious bit of serrated metal, introduced with the newly minted word, key, key … pick up the bloody key! Then, as I triumphed over the white oblong of wood and its forbidding creaks, three…