We Are Coming!

Privileged people—those who have been given everything and never had to struggle—are always the first to tell kids who have nothing, who have fought for every scrap, that they need to "work harder" and "stop being lazy."

We, the underprivileged, bleed dry—bones and death—while you bleed gold and fresh goat milk. We are not the same. You will never understand what we endure.

For us, every day is a battle for survival.

The view from your mansion is peaceful, tranquil. Ours is a front-row seat to murderers, crime, and grief-stricken mothers cursing God in desperation for the suffering they endure daily.

The torment we are forced to bear—you only see on TV.

Look outside your car window. Witness our world burning. Then retreat back to your fortress, guarded by men with guns, snarling dogs, and eight-foot fences designed to keep us out.

We lurk beyond your walls like starving ghosts, waiting to take everything from you, waiting to infect you with our poverty like an airborne disease.

Have you ever heard the piercing screech of a famished newborn who hasn’t eaten in four days?

Terrifying.

Terrifying enough to steal your sleep.

God does not reside where I am from. They worship him, but he is sipping wine in your cottage. Tell him we are outside, waiting for answers.

Until then, we bleed ourselves dry.

Bones endure the flames of hell better than flesh—so we peel it off.

We are coming.

Like a tidal wave of emotionless Zulu warriors who know no love—we are coming.

—Menzi Buthelezi