DIANA FERRUS

My naam is Februarie.
Ek is verkoop –
my borste, privaatdele, my oë,
my brein
is nog nie myne –
soos die Sao Jose
loop ek opgekap,
word ek telkens gesink deur ‘n ander storm –
geen Jesus wat op die water loop vir my

My naam is Februarie
Ek soek nog die stang van die stuur
want onderwater lê die familie,
die kind aan ma se rokspant,
die ma aan pa se hand.
Hoe diep lê hulle, aan watter kant?

My naam is Februarie –
opgeveil, verkoop, die hoogste bieder
het ontslae geraak van my regte naam,
geen vergoeding betaal
vir dit my naam, gesteel, gesink –
onderwater lê dit nog –
saam met die familie –
wrakstukke van die Sao Jose –
ten gronde geloop deur ‘n wind,
briesende branders wat die buit
se hele toekoms besluit,
die profyt teen die wal uitsmyt

My naam is Februarie,
die Masbieker op die Sao Jose –
so was ek genoem
toe my hierse moedertaal gestalte kry –
toe tonge met mekaar begin te knoop
en letters ‘n vrye gang begin te loop

in ‘n desperate poging in hoop
dat magte ook nie hierdie identiteit moet stroop
word ek die Masbieker, net ‘n naam –
onder ‘n ander lug gekraam
en diep gevul met skaam.

My naam is Februarie.
I rearranged this landscape.
My hands wove the patterns of the vineyards.
My feet pressed the grapes
and I was paid with the wine.
I carry Foetal Alcohol Syndrome children on my back

My name is February.
I still march on the eve of December one,
I walk the cobblestones of this city
when I cry in desperation,
“remember the emancipation of the slaves!”
My name is February.
Two hundred years after the Sao Jose
I was given the vote,
they said I was free

But do you see how often I am submerged,
weighed down?
I am the sunken, the soiled,
forgotten
and yet memory will not leave me!

My name is February,
stranded at Third beach
but no one comes to look for me,
no one waves from the dunes,
no bridges back to Mozambique

My name is February.
I will be resurrected,
brought to the surface
unshackled, unchained, unashamed!
My name is February!