Consolation Poem by Gert Strydom

How great it is not to be going
to Zimbabwe this summer
not having to go through
a packed border post,
the ruins that’s left of her cities,
or visiting friends on their farms,
since they have all being driven away.

No need to hunt for petrol
from fuel station to fuel station,
no need to find your way
through a crowd of hungry children
and no need to feel guilty
because you have food
and a car and a place called home.

There’s no Victoria falls here,
no Zimbabwe ruins built from rock,
no Kariba lake to live in a boat on,
no great Zambezi to white river raft on
and no need to be afraid
because you are white.

How much better to take the familiar highway
past Durban down to Margate
or to go somewhere on the South coast
and not to study outdated maps
of the unknown to find a place
called Mana pools
on a dirt track
in the middle of the veldt.

How much better to eat in great
familiar restaurants,
that does not charge in US dollars
and to holiday
right next to the big blue ocean
and to tan on a choice of beaches.

Robert Mugabe can have his whole damn country,
even if he’s not the chosen leader
as long as he keeps
his population there,
but everywhere I look
there’s Zimbabwean aliens appearing
out of the blue
and even on a lovely beach
a Zimbabwean girl
swims in panties and a bra
or walks without any.