Sexy and Talented!! Wish I could do.it again. <3 #BonJovi #JonBonJovi #SouthAfrica #Joburg #BecauseWeCanTour #2013
"I came a long way to South Africa for one reason and one reason only… To make the girls screaaaaam" -Jon Bon Jovi- Boy did he!! Best concert EVER!! <3 #BonJovi #JonBonJovi #Joburg #BecauseWeCanTour #2013
(Bloggers note: This piece was written by the smartest 13 year old Ive ever met, once I read it I knew it was too real to not be shared with the world. I hope it touches you like it did me)Gorillas In The Mist"Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,And towards our distant rest began to trudge.Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hootsOf gas-shells dropping softly behind.” (Wilfred Owen - dulce et decorum est)It was an early Wednesday morning, all days began to look like night. The thick dust smothered the world in front of me as my shift began. After punching in with the other gorillas, we were plunged deep into the earth, clad in worn work suits where daytime got lost and replaced with black. The fumes of unknown substances felt more like oxygen than the air above the mines with our constant exposure. The picking and beating seemed to mix with the darkness and make time just an idea, before the monotonous ringing signalled our shift end
Hacking coughs would plague us as we made our way home, as if a chorus was being performed in another language. Similar trudges of fatigue reflected on each gorilla as we would each enter a shack of our own. My shack held my emaciated family and barely three rooms. Two rooms were bedrooms of joined mattresses turgid with dust and the third room kept a small ice box with our carefully gathered rations next to a steel kitchen table. A radio sat on the table from which rusty voices would distract my mind only for moments at a time while my family would suffer from the same burning coughs that I had, turning cilia into claws. Laying on the mattress would make it easier to feel how much more black my lungs had become.Marikana ground vibrated slightly as silver cars pulled close to the mines the following day. The expensive silver shone across the foreheads of sweat-stained gorillas above ground. Gorillas disguised in newer, smoother fabric of men stepped out of these cars, cheeks full with corruption. I looked up at one of the familiar ones who returned the gesture with a look of smug hostility. They had walked alongside us once before. That was before they sold out our demands and refused to touch us. The plan had to be carried out for this war was now one of our own. Our unprotected faces went down into the mines for the last time.Symbolic music, spears and dancing themed Marikana. Not only revolution developed but hope had also imprinted on our cracked voices chanting “12500!” Repeatedly. Our feet stomped in unison because of determination rather than desperation for once. My heart then clenched as I heard heartier vibrations from the ground compared to the silver ones. Red and blue flickers just made it through the dust and my knuckles grew ashy from the grip I had on my spear. I held on more for reassurance than defense, however, misinterpretation is a cruel catalyst."Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling…Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.” (Wilfred Owen)My hands fumbled and searched for something to hold other than more distressed gorillas. I could just make out a row of blue gorillas looking anxious, with their guns at the ready. They couldn’t see that we weren’t a threat, under the illusion that they were men and so a gunshot of panic started the chain reaction."If you could hear, at every jolt, the bloodCome gargling from the froth-corrupted lungsBitter as cudOf vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-My friend you would not tell me with such high zestTo children ardent for some desperate glory,The old lie: Dulce et decorum estPro patria mori” (Wilfred Owen)The last image my eyes saw was a sun ray shining on the bodies of my friends and fellow workers before they shot us down like gorillas. Gorillas in the mist. “Dulce et decorum est pro frater mori.” (Gorilla)[Note: this was written by Sibonginkosi Madzima on 22/01/13 this essay is protected by copyright and plagiarism is punishable by law.]
Tired of Feeling like Im F***ing Crazy!