SA 60: Poem — Mzansi: Come Walk With Us

Poem — Mzansi: Come Walk With Us

Come walk with us where the ocean remembers the sun,  

where Table Mountain keeps its slow, patient watch over the city,  

where the wind writes letters in the grass of the Highveld  

and the veld answers back in a thousand small green voices.  

Come with a suitcase of curiosity and a pocket full of questions;  

leave with a map of new stories stitched into your palms.

Here the coastline is a long, generous hand—  

Cape Town’s bays like open notebooks,  

Durban’s warm sea a slow, laughing drum,  

the Garden Route a ribbon of emerald and salt.  

Drive and stop and listen: the gulls have accents,  

the waves recite old names, and every harbour has a welcome.

In the north the land opens like a book of light—  

the Karoo’s blue distance, the Drakensberg’s cathedral of stone,  

where dawn pours gold into the cracks and the world inhales.  

In the east the forests keep secrets of rain and bird-song,  

and the rivers carry the slow, sure language of time.  

In the bush, the earth remembers the footfall of kings and of antelope;  

the lion’s breath is a story told in the hush between heartbeats.

Taste the country:  

braai smoke curling like a memory;  

bobotie, chakalaka, and the sweet, bright surprise of amarula;  

a cup of rooibos that tastes like the veld at dusk.  

Markets bloom with color—beaded necklaces, woven baskets,  

voices bargaining in a dozen rhythms, laughter like a chorus.  

Sit at a table where strangers become friends by the second course.

We are a mosaic of tongues and songs.  

We sing in the language of the sea and the language of the mountain,  

in the cadence of township choirs and the hush of desert nights.  

We say to you, with a grin and a knowing nod: Hulle wetie wat ons wetie.  

We say it in English: They don’t know what we know.  

We say it in Afrikaans: Hulle weet nie wat ons weet nie.  

We say it in isiXhosa: Abazi ukuba siyazi ntoni.  

We say it in isiZulu: Abangazi ukuthi siyakwazi ini.

But this is not a secret kept from you; it is an invitation.  

It means there are corners of joy you will discover only by stepping in—  

a hidden café in a laneway, a mural that tells a family’s history,  

a guide who knows the best time to watch the sun set on a herd.  

It means the country holds small, private wonders for those who look.

Walk the streets where history and future meet—  

Johannesburg’s pulse, a city of reinvention;  

Pretoria’s jacarandas, a purple rain in spring;  

Bloemfontein’s quiet dignity and the Free State’s wide, honest sky.  

Ride the train that hums through towns where time moves at its own pace,  

and in each place find a face that will tell you a story you did not know you needed.

For the adventurous: climb, paddle, and follow the wild.  

Stand at the lip of a waterfall and feel the world rearrange itself;  

track elephants through dawn-misted bush;  

watch whales write their slow, enormous poems along the coast.  

Let the night be a canopy of stars so close you can almost touch them—  

and listen as the veld speaks in the language of insects and wind.

For the gentle traveler: find a village where the tea is poured with care,  

where children will show you how to play a game that has no name in your tongue,  

where elders will teach you a proverb that fits your life like a key.  

Stay in a guesthouse where the hosts wake early to bake bread,  

and the morning light arrives like a blessing through linen curtains.

We are a country of contrasts and of harmony—  

ancient rock art and modern skylines,  

sacred hills and bustling markets,  

quiet reserves and music that will make your feet remember how to dance.  

We are laughter and resilience braided together,  

a people who will clap for your small triumphs and cry with you at the beauty of a sunset.

Travel here with respect and curiosity.  

Learn a greeting, try a phrase, let a local teach you a recipe.  

Bring your camera but also bring your silence; some moments ask only to be felt.  

Let the rhythm of the place slow you down, and you will find the country opens like a hand.

There are festivals that light the night with drums and color,  

and quiet mornings where the mist still holds the memory of the stars.  

There are roads that lead to vineyards where wine tastes like the soil,  

and paths that lead to markets where spices tell stories of trade and time.  

There are museums that hold the weight of history and galleries that hum with new voices.

Children will run to show you a secret path; fishermen will wave from their boats;  

a guide will point out a bird you have never seen and name it like a blessing.  

You will learn that hospitality here is not a performance but a way of being—  

a sharing of bread, of stories, of the small, essential kindnesses.

.  Voortrekker Road, Bellville 1951

So come with an open heart and a steady pair of shoes.  

Come to learn the names of trees and the songs of rivers,  

to taste the slow-cooked patience of a family meal,  

to stand where the land meets the sky and feel your breath match the horizon.  

Come to Mzansi and let the country teach you how to listen.

We will show you our cities and our quiet places, our music and our meals,  

our histories and our hopes. We will teach you to read the light on the veld,  

to hear the language of rain on tin roofs, to find the best view of the sunset.  

We will say again, with a smile that is both challenge and welcome: Hulle wetie wat ons wetie.  

We will say it in the tongues that cradle our days—They don’t know what we know; Hulle weet nie wat ons weet nie; Abazi ukuba siyazi ntoni; Abangazi ukuthi siyakwazi ini.

And when you leave, you will carry a small country in your pocket—  

a taste, a song, a phrase, a photograph of a sky you did not know you loved.  

You will return to your own streets with a new map in your hands,  

and sometimes, in the quiet of your day, you will whisper back to us:  

“I know now. I know what you know.”  

Then we will smile, because that is the true gift of travel—  

to come as a stranger and leave as someone who understands a little more of the world.