'A Letter To The President' Poem by Goodenough Sakhile Dlamini

Dear Mr. President
I'm sorry for the informality of this letter
My name is streetkid, I am not young though some call me "ipara"…
I live in the street I robe people
I smoke drugs, I hustle every day in the steeple
Their scared of walking in the beach because me, with knife I do sample
Sometimes I sleep without eating
When the rand go down it affect me too like beating
Because people won't buy breads, KFC and throw leftovers in dustbin retreating
That where I get meal for living, where I'll be repeating

My sister is with me in the street, she is young though but better than me
She sells her body for living, she looks...old now
My father wasn't on the army those dark days…it a wow
He was working for Mr Johns who went back to England when freedom was activated
I don't know my mom but I had my father one day said she was assassinated

You might not know me but I survived from those children who are beaten by police in the street
I hate my life, I know that why people hates me too so discreet
So they say "you should love yourself first to be loved" like sleet
I know my young brother studied at university of Johannesburg, I know it a "Dutch treat"
But still now he can't get any job, I had a hope from him what a mistreat
I don't know if you have to be political active to get a piece
I know you have to fight to get peace
I had about your crib, never mind them if I was you I would have done the same
It been 10 years of my life here but life still the same
.
Dear Mr President
My name is street vendor you will find me in the street selling
Chips, sweets, apple and all those stuff
I don't have a permit from municipality to sell my stuff
I always running away from metro police sometimes they catch me and took everything I sell
I'm living with my five children in the shack their father is an alcoholic
Four of them are in high school and one is in primary as they frolic
When it winter we suffer from snow and sea breeze the room leak
I remember when I voted for the first time they promised me a RDP house
I am still waiting though,
I didn't get the time to study in OBET, I had to look after my children
Thank you for the grant, sometimes we survive from it although…

Dear Mr President
My name is school learner, from township
Mr President, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township
I won't say my school name for private purposes
We share books in school, they're not enough, we have problem when we are given a home-work
Our school looks old now can't compare it with "inkandla crib"
Some classes doesn't have doors, windows and when it raining we can feel the rain inside.
I considered myself smart because I work hard and pass well
I'm scared of finishing my grade 12 because I wouldn't know where to go
I've had about the strikes in universities, students being excluded because they don't have money
The question is: do I have money? No my mother is a street vendor…
So that diminish my dreams and hope about life…
What would I be when I finish school….street kid maybe…

Dear Mr President
My name is a teacher, I teach in township area
As teachers we encounter many problems
Lack of resources, lack of information places
We struggle to implement the new curriculum,
Learners carry knifes, using drugs and we scared for our lives
I teach in fear and threats everyday
My profession is considered as mother of all professions yes it true
Although I am not among those highest paid in a country like those in governance
Hope this letter will reach you, not disturbed by corruption in a way to you

Yours sincerely unknown