Inside my Zulu Hut

It’s a hive without ant bees to build the walls

with the golden bricks of honey.

A cave cluttered with a millstone, calabashes

Of sour milk clay pots of foaming beer sleeping grass mats

Wooden head rests tanned goat skins tied with riempies

To wattle rafters blackened by the smoke of kneaded

Cow dung burning under the three legged pot

On the earthen floor to cook my porridge.

 

Oswald Mshali’s poem shows how Africans used their own latent power to be selfreliant and built their dwelling places without any handouts from government or charitable organization.

 

 

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