Monologue 1 African Government Corruption

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Part of grade 11, 16-17 year old examination script regarding South African Protest Theatre

Submitted: November 14, 2017

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Submitted: November 14, 2017



Municipal Housing Corruption Monologue

Edited by Miss Lea, Original Idea and Performance by Graham Hastibeer

Even though it was 12 years ago, it still feels like it was yesterday when I had to live through the hell of personally experiencing corruption. We were in Port Dunford Village at the time. I’d spent years saving up to buy a house for my family so I could get them out of the tin coffin that was our shelter at the time. Each evening I went to sleep praying that it wouldn’t collapse on us and kill us in the night. I prayed for a new home, for bricks, a roof, a way to keep my family safe and warm, away from filth and the giant cockroaches that made my daughter scream. For a way to sleep with my wife in peace. I prayed for what the white people call “phenomenal living”.

Then it happened. Pastor Mathamkhulu was selling land and I had enough to buy a plot and raise a house from the ground up. A house with four bedrooms built with bricks and cement on a solid foundation, with a solid roof. I can’t tell you how excited I was when I handed over the cash, got the papers and began to build.

When it was ready, we had the home blessed, we packed up our things and moved into the glory of what had been built.

Our joy and peace lasted one month, just one month! 31 days later bulldozers arrived. We were woken up to the noise of the gandaganda bulldozer bashing down houses. I ran to the front stoop and a fat mama from the Municipality told me that we had to get out now, because our home was going down. I froze. I asked her if she was joking, if it was some sort of scam. . .

It turned out that it wasn’t a joke, but a scam. Ngwelengcele Pastor Mathamkhulu had sold the sites to us illegally and the mama told us so, staring at me like I was one of the walls that were about to come down.

She promised us a new home, an RDP home, for R2500. I sold my last bit of furniture to get the money, and 10 years later, I still do not have a homemade of bricks and cement, or peace when I sleep. All I have is a tin coffin.

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